Chapter 4

“Vivian, is that you?”

I turned. Catherine Lavine, the werewolf hospital doctor, hurried over with a worried look.

“You’ve been—”

I cut her off before she could finish. “I’m fine.”

No one could know. Especially not David.

If he found out I was dying, he’d think I was faking it just to gain his pity—and that would make him hate me even more.

I forced a small smile. “I’m just here to watch Joseph’s sports day.”

Catherine’s gaze softened. “Is your mate not here again?”

The question sliced through me like a blade.

I tightened my grip on Joseph’s hand. “He’s been away for years. Too busy to care about us.”

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw David turn—his face flickering with surprise.

For once, there was guilt in his eyes.

He didn’t expect me to defend him.

He thought I’d use the truth to humiliate him in front of everyone, but instead, I spared him.

Maybe for the first time, he saw the damage he’d done.

Joseph squeezed my hand gently. “It’s okay, Mom. Even if Dad isn’t here, your love is enough.”

His voice was small, too calm for a boy his age.

David looked at him with faint approval, mistaking his quiet sadness for maturity.

He didn’t realize that a five-year-old had finally stopped hoping.

When Joseph’s name was announced as the first-place winner, everyone clapped.

The teacher smiled. “Joseph, come up to the stage! Your father will present your medal.”

The smile froze on my face.

Every eye in the crowd turned, searching for the Alpha—the father who had never once claimed his pup.

I looked toward the stands.

David was sitting right there, beside Sophia, helping her fix Lucas’s collar.

The perfect family in the perfect light.

Joseph’s small fingers dug into mine. “Mom… can I skip the award?”

My throat ached. I nodded. “Of course, baby.”

When the ceremony ended, we slipped out quietly.

But near the gates, David was there—pacing, cigarette in one hand, a melting ice cream in the other.

He looked almost nervous.

When he saw us, he smiled awkwardly. “You’d better eat this before it melts.”

He patted Joseph’s head, like that single gesture could erase everything.

Joseph hesitated, then took it politely. The corners of his lips twitched up, but his eyes stayed empty.

David turned to me. “Vivian… Lucas wants to join the junior hunting competition, but he needs a qualifying score. Joseph already won first place—he’s not entering the next round, right? Maybe we can let Lucas take his spot.”

For a heartbeat, everything went silent.

Then the ice cream slipped from Joseph’s hand and hit the ground, splattering between his shoes.

He stared at David, his voice soft but steady.

“If Lucas wants it, he can have it. I won’t need it.”

The way he said it—so quiet, so final—made my chest burn.

But David didn’t seem to hear the breaking sound inside his own pup.

Before he could respond, his phone rang. Sophia.

“David, Lucas has a fever—come quickly.”

He didn’t even look at us. “Stay here. I’ll handle it.”

Then he turned and walked away.

As his car started, Joseph called out, voice trembling,

“Goodbye, Dad!”

David froze. His hand hovered on the steering wheel.

For a moment, I thought he’d come back.

But then he drove off, leaving us in the dust.

That night, Joseph didn’t cry.

He just sat quietly while I packed.

“Mom,” he said softly, “can we go somewhere where nobody calls me ‘Alpha’s mistake’?”

My heart shattered.

“Yes, baby. Somewhere far away.”

We left before dawn. No goodbyes. No messages.

Just silence.

But on the plane, I sent David one final text:

This is the end. From now on, you’ll never see us again.

By the time the sun rose over Blazetooth Pack, Joseph and I were already miles away.

And for the first time in five years, the bond between us and the Alpha began to die.