All Chapters of Addicted to His Rejected Mate: Chapter 41 - Chapter 50

[Sera]Time drags by in this sterile limbo, and I'm finally dressed again, perched on the edge of the hospital bed like it's a ledge I might fall off.I rehearse my face in the mirror across the room—hollow eyes, drained cheeks, the portrait of a woman who's just carved out a piece of herself. Defeated. That's the vibe I need to sell. No cracks, no fire left.A knock rattles the door, sharp as a warning. It swings open, and there he is—Liam, striding in like he's ticking boxes on a checklist.

[Sera]I slouch in the back of Liam's sleek black sedan, watching the city lights smear into the encroaching darkness of the forest. My hand rests on my belly, fingers numb from the chill seeping through the window. That tiny warmth underneath is like a secret ember, steady and defiant. I cling to it, even as every bump in the road jars my nerves a little closer to snapping.We're heading back to that godforsaken gray house, the one with walls that feel like they're closing in before you even step inside. The ritual. The big severance. Killian's grand plan to cut me out like a bad tattoo. And here I am, playing along, because what choice

[Sera] I stand there, frozen in his arms, his whine vibrating through my chest like a desperate plea from some wild thing caught in a trap. God, this feels like déjà vu on steroids. Every full moon, every stolen night when his eyes went gold and he looked at me like I was the moon herself, it always sparked this stupid flicker of hope. Like maybe, just maybe, the man behind the wolf would wake up one day and feel it too. That pull. That ache. That impossible connection. It was like choking down candy laced with broken gla

[Sera]Seattle greets me with rain. Because of course it does.The airport shuttle spits me out downtown, where I transfer to a city bus that smells like wet dog and regret. Google Maps chirps directions from my phone, leading me further and further from anything that looks like a main road. The commercial strips give way to something older, quieter. An artsy neighborhood where graffiti murals bloom across brick walls and indie bookshops lean against secondhand record stores like old friends holding each other up.Rain drills into my hood. My suitcase whee

[Sera]The doorbell buzzes at exactly 3:07 p.m., because Ryan's nothing if not punctual. I buzz him up, wiping flour from my hands on a dish towel. I've been wrestling with pie crust since noon, and it's winning. Lulu's in her high chair, smashing banana chunks into abstract art on the tray, her curls dusted with a rogue sprinkle of sugar.I open the door, and there he is, in a faded college hoodie that's seen better days, hair shaggier than last time, clutching a stuffed bear that's comically oversized, like it could double as a beanbag chair."I know she