CHAPTER 4

Mavis Thornefield POV

"Let go of me!" Mavis raised her chin, staring firmly at the man in front of her, her eyes gleaming with a cold resolve.

"Ottilie Brackenbury is dead," Benedict's deep, lethal voice suddenly dropped from above.

Mavis's entire body stiffened in an instant, her struggling coming to a complete halt. A slight ripple of surprise appeared on her calm face.

Ottilie's death was not surprising to her, as she had witnessed the horrific fall herself outside the estate. But hearing the brutal reality confirmed by Alpha Benedict Crowell made a phantom blade twist deep inside her heart.

She remembered the exact moment she had chosen to break their mate bond five years ago, standing over her empty hospital bed as she asked him, "Benedict, would you have shed a single tear if the woman dying on that operating table was me?"

She distinctly remembered the icy glare in his eyes back then—a look cold enough to freeze her blood.

He had sat with effortless grace on the leather sofa, legs crossed, his golden amber gaze veiled behind a wall of absolute detachment. His faint lips had parted, uttering a quiet answer that shattered her world completely: "No."

Then he had picked up the quill, signing his name on the pack dissolution papers without a second thought.

On that dark night, she had walked out into the freezing storm, leaving the Crowell Pack forever.

Looking back now, she had been such a fool to ever believe in a sacred mate bond!

Gradually, her mournful expression smoothed over, replaced by a flawless, impenetrable mask.

Mavis lifted her head, a sharp smirk tugging at her lips. "She was your chosen Luna. Shouldn't you graciously accompany her body to the pack healers? Shouldn't you hold a grand pack funeral and continue playing the role of her devoted lover?"

Mavis coldly shoved her hands against the man's broad chest, her smile dripping with bitter mockery. "Rest assured, Alpha. I won't expose your little tragedy to the pack council."

She turned around, her hand already reaching for the brass handle of the bedroom door.

Yet before her fingers could turn the metal, Benedict suddenly hoisted her over his broad shoulder, carrying her across the room, and unceremoniously tossed her onto the King-size bed.

Mavis violently snatched at his wrist, dragging him down with her so that both she and Benedict fell onto the mattress together. To avoid crushing her wounded leg, Benedict slammed one heavy hand flat against the headboard, hovering directly above her.

Benedict looked down at Mavis, his amber eyes dark and veiled in mist, a dangerous, possessive edge in his low voice as he whispered against her ear.

"Why are you so eager to escape my sight? Are you afraid of your Alpha?"

Even trapped beneath his massive weight, even as his crushing dominance made her breathing shallow and ragged, Mavis chuckled in derision. "Because I am just a weak wolf. It is only natural to feel disgust when faced with a wild beast, isn't it?"

"After all these years, you have become a master of biting back," Benedict murmured, completely unbothered by her venom. A faint, dark smile tugged at the corner of his lips.

Mavis glared at him, her teeth gritted so tight her jaw hit a dull ache. "Sometimes a rogue wolf needs sharp teeth to survive in the wild, Mr. Crowell. Do you really need me to draw blood before you release me?"

She looked like she was ready to shift and tear into his throat at any moment.

Benedict calmly met her blazing eyes, his tone smooth and unreadable. "Considering you were the only witness present when Ottilie fell from the balcony, you are not leaving this suite."

Before Benedict could finish his sentence, Mavis coldly cut him off. "You want my statement for the pack enforcement officers, don't you? Fine. I will go down to the pack station and cooperate with their investigation. Can you get off me now?"

She stared up at him calmly, her voice as icy as the northern frost.

Benedict slowly pushed himself upright, releasing her wrists. He adjusted the cuffs of his dark shirt with practiced elegance, looking down at her with cold authority. "Pack enforcement will be here shortly. Once you finish giving your formal statement, I will let you go."

Mavis knew better than to push him. If she refused to cooperate, this arrogant Alpha would keep her locked inside Villa Seven indefinitely. Wrapping her arms around herself, she grabbed the heavy grey blanket and pulled it close, leaning against the edge of the mattress to keep her distance.

Suddenly, the thought of how many other women might have occupied this very mattress over the last five years flashed through her mind, making her stomach turn. Mavis immediately dropped the blanket as if it had burned her skin.

"No other female has ever slept in this bed," Benedict stated sharply, instantly catching the disgust flashing across her face.

Only then did Mavis drop her guarded stance slightly, though she still wrapped her canvas jacket tightly around her frame, giving Benedict a sharp, suspicious glance.

Benedict calmly watched her defensive posture, a cool, arrogant smirk playing on his face as he casually added, "Although no other female has slept here, those sheets are the ones I used last night."

Mavis's mind reeled. She knew his private habits all too well—Benedict always slept completely bare, his hot skin transferring his rich cedar and pine scent directly into the fabric. A look of pure revulsion crossed Mavis's face, and she instantly kicked off the sheets, scrambling off the bed despite the sharp stab of pain in her injured leg.

Benedict's lips curved into a dark, mocking smile as he watched her frantic retreat. Without another word, he turned on his heel and strode out of the bedroom, his powerful aura lingering in the air like a heavy weight.

Mavis stood by the window, her heart hammering against her ribs as she tried to catch her breath.

Through the clear glass, she looked down at the courtyard below. Two black pack enforcement vehicles had just pulled up to the main gate, their red and blue warning lights flashing against the white stone walls.

Her hands shook as she pressed them against the cool pane.

Just as she prepared to walk toward the door to face the officers, her burner phone vibrated violently inside her coat pocket.

Mavis pulled out the small device, her eyes dropping to the screen.

It was an automated message from the Moonbrook Maternity Ward archive system—a medical file unlocked after five years of absolute silence.

The attachment opened automatically, displaying an official DNA report stamped with Dr. Ambrose Peverell's personal pack seal:

Sample ID: P-8821. Maternal Match: Mavis Thornefield (100%). Paternal Match: Benedict Crowell (100%). Status: Subject Infant Alive. Location: Crowell Private Nursery.

Mavis felt all the air vanish from her lungs, her knees buckling beneath her as the phone nearly slipped from her numb fingers.

Her baby was alive.