It was three days after my son, Dorian Terrell, received the top-tier wolf evaluation when my mate, Brad Terrell, ambushed us at our front door.He held a beautifully wrapped box containing homemade pastries—something Dorian used to crave above all else.Back then, Brad only ever baked them for Finlyn Graham, his first love's son.The moment Brad saw Dorian and me returning from the training grounds, he straightened up.He looked as if he hadn't slept in days. Dark circles bruised the skin under his eyes, and dark stubble dusted his jaw."Laila, Dorian, I came to apologize," he said, holding the box out toward us. "Dorian, I made these for you. Have a bite."Dorian didn't take it. He just offered a cold glance, saying, "Alpha Brad, I don't care for those anymore."Brad's smile froze, and his hands hovered awkwardly in midair.Watching him standing there, I almost felt like laughing.Here was the high-and-mighty Alpha of our pack, adored and revered by every pup, completely ren
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