All Chapters of His Rejected Mate: Chapter 151 - Chapter 160

A few days before her delivery and a few days after her dream.You know something before they even occur. Your body, mind, heart and even your soul knows. And I could see something like that. For the past few days, everything around me has been calm. Not the eerie calm, but the peaceful kind.I didn’t know I could feel a peace of this sort.All the burden, taints and whispers that floated about me, all the emotions and hurt I had faced, all the wounds and scars I had burnt, everything seemed to fade. I felt like nothing could hurt me more.Ever.Maybe it was due to the dream or the fact that I had let go of everything, realizing that it was not worth carrying them more than my baby.My baby.I think this is the first time I have smiled without tears in my eyes. My heart and chest feel so open that I could feel an entire plantation swaying as I breathe. As if resonating my very own spirit, my baby kicked me, making me smile. It pained a bit, but it was worth it.He was strong and beauti

The dream didn’t come like most do — in fragments, hazy and dissolving before they could be understood. No. This one arrived whole.It began with silence. Not the absence of sound, but the heavy kind, thick enough to press on my chest, so suffocating it made each breath a conscious effort. I stood in a place I knew yet didn’t recognize — our old garden, the one Seraphina used to tend when the world between us hadn’t been reduced to ashes. The roses were there, but they were dying — petals curling inwards, leaves brittle and brown. Even the air smelled wrong, carrying a faint metallic tang instead of her usual lavender.And then, I saw her.She stood at the far end of the garden, back to me, her white gown swaying faintly in a breeze I couldn’t feel. Her hair — gods, that hair — spilled down her back like midnight ink, untouched by the decay surrounding her. My throat closed at the sight of her, my body aching with the kind of yearning that could tear a man apart.“Seraphina…” I sai

I couldn’t sleep.Not anymore.It has been a week since Caelan left with my son.My son.This is probably the first time I have acknowledged it to myself—that he was mine. He was ours. He is ours.I sat up, rubbing my eyes, trying to find ways to sleep. But I just couldn’t. Not anymore. A lot of things haunted me and it was too late.Why did she not tell me? I knew the answer for it. But a part of me wanted to ask her that question anyway, as if saying it aloud would change the truth.Why did I not do anything when I knew that she was pregnant? I saw her… I saw her in a way I had never seen before, I saw her swollen with my child, and yet I didn’t make a move. Not once did I go and check on her. Why?And the dreadful part. The birth.It clung to me like blood that refused to wash away.I leaned forward, pressing my forehead into my palms, when the memory clawed its way back to me—uninvited, merciless.The midwife had been trembling when she came to me that night, her hands still smell

It had been a month. A month of nights when the silence felt too vast, when her voice should have filled these walls but never did. A month of mornings when a child’s soft cry was the only thing that tethered me to this world. He was not mine by blood, not mine by right, yet the moment she had placed him in my arms, with that broken whisper—take him, promise me he will live—something inside me shifted.From that day, he was my son.I sat in the garden now, the late afternoon sun spilling across the stone paths, warming the cradle that swayed gently beside me. His tiny chest rose and fell in rhythm, fist curled against his cheek, lips parted as though he were smiling at some secret dream. Her dream.

Shane’s voice faded into silence, the story ending like a candle guttering out in a room too heavy with shadows. I sat there frozen, staring at her as though her words were still weaving themselves into the air around me. My throat felt raw, my chest heavy, and yet the ache that spread through me wasn’t only sorrow. It was something else—a strange, unexpected peace, tangled with grief.Seraphina. Her story was not just words, not just fragments of a past long buried—it was her life. Her pain. Her stolen joy. And for the first time, I felt the full weight of it.Tears burned at the corners of my eyes, and I didn’t bother wiping them away. I let them fall, let them trail down my skin. Maybe I owed her that. Maybe I owed her far more.