#Chapter 5: Truth and Consequences

Jason's POV

"Laila?"

The name slipped out before I could stop it. Like a reflex I couldn't control.

The woman at the nearby table went stone-still. Her brown eyes found mine across the restaurant. One heartbeat. Two.

Something passed between us. Recognition maybe. Or fear.

Then she was shaking her head, backing away from our conversation. "I'm sorry. You've got me confused with someone else."

I studied her face like I was trying to solve a puzzle. She looked nothing like the Laila I remembered. Different hair. Fuller figure.

The resemblance was barely there. Maybe I really was losing my mind.

"I apologize," I said, running a hand through my hair. "I haven't been feeling well today."

She nodded quick and returned to her friend. But I caught her glancing back. Like she was listening to every word we said.

My family had gone dead quiet after Marcus's bomb about Laila maybe being dead. The whole table felt heavy.

Everyone processing the news in their own way.

Mother broke the silence first. Her voice came out soft but clear in the restaurant noise. "So she's really gone."

Real grief shadowed her face. She'd always had a soft spot for Laila. She'd been the only one who asked where Laila went when she disappeared. The only one who seemed to actually miss her.

"If a human dies, then they die," Brittany said with a shrug. Her voice pitched just loud enough to carry. "She was nothing important anyway. Just another mouth to feed."

I couldn't believe how cruel Brittany could be.

How had I ever convinced myself I could live with someone so heartless? How had I let this woman stand beside me for years when she had zero capacity for compassion?

The contrast between her and Mom's genuine grief was stark. Painful.

It reminded me why I'd been trying to find a way out of this engagement for months.

"Laila wasn't suited for pack life anyway," Brittany added with malicious satisfaction.

That's when I noticed the woman at the nearby table tense up. Her shoulders went rigid when she heard Laila's name. Her coffee cup froze halfway to her lips.

Her friend leaned closer, whispering something that made the woman's face go pale.

They were definitely listening. Too closely to our family's private conversation.

But something about the woman's reaction felt personal. Like our words were cutting her as deep as they were cutting me.

"We should discuss this somewhere more private," I said, glancing around. Too many ears here.

But my father was already warming up to lecture mode his expression stern. "Brittany's right though. The pack would never really have accepted a wolfless. Not to mention a wolfless... luna."

He talked about Laila like she'd been a liability. A political problem solved by convenient disappearance.

The cold calculation in his voice made my stomach turn.

I wanted to argue. To defend Laila's memory. But the words stuck in my throat like glass.

What right did I have to defend her now? I'd told her she was just an experiment to me when she was alive. And then she left me immediately without a word.

The fact that we probably had nothing left in between before her death somehow made me feel angry about myself.

Mom's voice cut through the cruelty like a blade. "You're both wrong."

Steel in her tone I rarely heard. "Laila was a sweet girl with a good heart. Kinder than most wolves in our pack, if I'm being honest. She deserved to be accepted by everyone."

Her voice cracked with real emotion.

"It doesn't matter now," Father said firmly. Clearly uncomfortable with feelings. "She's gone."

I found myself thinking about the last time I'd seen Laila alive.

She looked devastated when I brought Brittany back. It's hard to believe that the exact same person would leave that night without even telling me.

Once again, I started to wonder why she would leave so hastily?

The Laila I'd known hadn't been greedy.

Would she really have taken money from Brittany and disappeared without a word?

Or had there been something else. Something I'd been too blind to see.

"Jason," Mother said softly, pulling me from the memory. "You've barely touched your food."

I looked down at my plate, surprised to find it still full. My appetite had vanished completely somewhere between Marcus's news and Brittany's casual cruelty.

"I'm not hungry," I said.

"This whole thing has you rattled," my father observed, his tone more understanding than before. "But you can't let the past consume you. Dead or alive, Laila made her choice when she left."

"Did she?" The question slipped out before I could stop it.

Everyone at the table went quiet.

"What do you mean?" Mother asked carefully.

I looked around the table. At Dad's stern disapproval. At Brittany's smug satisfaction. At Mom's genuine concern.

"Nothing," I said finally. "Forget I said anything."

But I couldn't forget. The doubts had been growing.

That's when Marcus's phone buzzed. He glanced at the screen, his expression shifting to something serious. Professional.

"Excuse me," he said quietly, stepping away to take the call.

I watched him move toward the restaurant's entrance, phone pressed to his ear. His body language was tense. Alert.

Whatever he was hearing, it was important enough to interrupt family dinner. Important enough to make his face go pale.

The woman at the nearby table had gone completely rigid now. She was watching Marcus with an intensity that made my skin crawl.

Like she was listening to every word of his conversation.

Her friend kept tugging at her arm, clearly wanting to leave. But the woman stayed frozen, her attention locked on my Beta.

After several minutes of hushed conversation, Marcus came back. His expression was strange. Carefully controlled in a way that put me on guard.

"Alpha," he said carefully, glancing around at our audience. His eyes took in the other diners, my parents, Brittany. "I just received the investigator's full report."

My stomach dropped like a stone. Something in his tone warned me that whatever he'd learned was going to change everything.

"What did he find?" I asked, though part of me already dreaded the answer.

Marcus hesitated. His eyes darted to the other diners, my parents, Brittany. The kind of hesitation that meant bad news was coming.

Really bad news.

"Her last recorded interaction with any official system was medical," he said finally.

The word hung in the air between us. Medical could mean anything. But something about Marcus's tone suggested this wasn't routine.

"What kind of medical?" I pressed, my voice rougher than intended.

"Childbirth," he said quietly this time.

The word hit the table like a physical blow. Everything went silent. Even the background noise of the restaurant seemed to fade.