All Chapters of The Alpha's Castaway Mate: Mummy, Is He Our Daddy?: Chapter 251 - Chapter 260

~Ruby's POV~The atmosphere in the Council chamber was tense, filled with quiet murmurs and hushed conversations. I was at the centre, feeling the weight of their gazes on me—some curious, some hostile, and a few even fearful.I gripped the folder in my hand tightly. It contained solid evidence from Kai, proof I couldn’t ignore. I raised my chin, determined. There was no time for doubt; everything was at stake now.“You called for this gathering,” Eliot said. "I'm going to make this as quick as possible," I said, my voice cutting through the noise like a blade. "Going straight to the point."The whispers died down instantly.I could feel Roman's absence like a ghost at my back, but I drew strength from it instead of letting it shake me. Slowly, I stepped forward, laying down printed images on the long, polished table — hacked files, stolen communication logs, internal notes."You all claimed Roman was guilty," I said, my voice ringing through the council chamber like a whip crack. I

~Kai’s POV~The dim blue glow of my laptop screen was the only light in the office, throwing strange shadows across the scattered papers and empty coffee cups. My fingers flew across the keyboard, heart hammering in my chest as I pulled the last of the encrypted files from Damien’s hidden folder.Almost there. Just a few more seconds.Lines of code scrolled faster than my eyes could follow, the Tribunal’s secure database unravelling in front of me like an old, fragile map. I had hacked into high-clearance systems before—military, government, and even private wolf packs—but this felt different. More dangerous. More... necessary."Come on," I muttered, tapping my foot anxiously.Finally, the upload bar blinked green: SUBMISSION COMPLETE.I sat back with a sharp breath, wiping my forehead with the back of my hand. The files—everything: illegal experiments, secret auctions, conspiracies — were now public. Leaked under a fake, high-level Alpha Court signature. The Tribunal had no choic

~Roman’s POV~The late afternoon sun hung low in the sky, casting a warm glow over the open training field. The air was filled with the sounds of light grunts, the thud of feet on the ground, and the rustle of grass being disturbed by determined movements. I stood just outside the entrance to the field, my hands in my pockets, quietly watching everything happen.In the centre of the clearing, Rhett was hard at work. Sweat trickled down his forehead, and his cheeks were bright red from the effort. His moves were sharp. They weren’t perfect—he was only six, after all—but the fact that he was out here, going up against Evan and Esperanza, said a lot."Keep working on those forms, Rhett!" Evan called out."You're doing really well," Esperanza added from the sideline, her arms crossed, a satisfied smirk on her face.I watched as Rhett adjusted his footing, shifting his weight like Evan taught him. He maintained a wide stance, with his knees bent just enough, his spine straight, and his f

~Ruby’s POV~The wind was sharp that night—cold and wild, like it knew what I was walking into.It didn’t howl. It whispered. Like the trees were holding their breath, the stars refusing to blink. A silence thick enough to hear your own heartbeat in your throat.I left the letter folded neatly on the kitchen counter. One for Roman. One for the twins. I didn’t write much—no drawn-out goodbyes, no sentimental fluff. Just enough for them to understand I had to do this alone.I couldn't risk Roman holding me back. Not with his heart, not with his fear. Not this time.And now I stood beneath the broken arches of the ruined sanctuary, deep in the forest where no streetlights dared to shine. The stones were old, their carvings worn down by the wind and time. Moss covered everything, feeling thick and damp beneath my boots. The shattered stained-glass window above let in bits of moonlight, casting patches of red and blue on the floor like blood and bruises.She was already there, of course.

Ruby's POVRoman was quiet after the fight. Too quiet.He didn’t complain about the bruises, the slow way he moved, or how he occasionally winced when standing too fast. He just… watched me. Every time I brought him water or pressed a cool cloth to his shoulder, every time I adjusted his bandage or touched his arm longer than necessary—he watched me.Not like a patient. Like a man memorising his reason to stay alive.He didn’t ask for help, but I gave it. Just like he once nursed me when I was broken, lost, confused, and afraid of what I’d become. Back then, his hands had steadied me without demanding anything in return. So now, I gave him the same.It felt… right.The pack had settled for now. No threats. No chaos. No one knocking on the door screaming for blood. Just silence and this fragile space we were building together, like walking on a glass bridge in bare feet.And then, one evening—when the bruising on his cheek had finally faded to a yellow-brown smear and the dark exhaus