A Mothers Warmth

At the Thorn Pack banquet, Jacob Mason carefully cut the steak on my plate. His gentlemanly demeanor and meticulous attention to detail drew envious glances from those around us. "Our Alpha is so good to our Luna," a voice murmured from across the table. "You won’t find a more devoted mate in all of Southspire." I glanced at Jacob, a sweet warmth unfurled in my chest. I silently tightened my grip around the Moonstone Ring—a ring my father had left me, the symbol of power in the Lotus Pack. I had planned to give it to Jacob when the banquet ended, when we were alone. But as the evening wore on, the noise and the clinking of glasses became too much to bear. I feigned a slight dizziness, excusing myself to return to our castle ahead of him. In truth, I needed the time to prepare a surprise—something special to commemorate this night. When everything was set, I silently slipped back into the banquet hall, ready to take Jacob by the hand and whisk him away. But as I arrived, I stopped dead in my tracks. There he was, holding Hazel Rhea tightly in his arms. "Chloe is so rigid," he said. "Always clinging to the dignity of being the Lotus Pack Alpha's daughter. How could she ever compare to Hazel's passion?" "Don't worry," he added, his tone light with mock reassurance. "Hazel and I are just friends. Chloe won't feel betrayed." He laughed softly. "But don't tell her, alright? She's so old-fashioned—if she found out, she'd leave me for sure. Honestly, the thought of spending the rest of my life with such a dull partner… It's exhausting." Just friends? Is that what he called the way his hand slid beneath her dress—being "just friends"? I didn't interrupt them. There was no need to disturb their lively conversation. Instead, I slid the Moonstone Ring onto my finger. Without a word, I turned and left. In the quiet of the night, Xavier Grey—who had been following me all along—waited. Together, we set off on the journey I should have taken long ago.

From my earliest memories, my entire family is cold and distant toward me. When my parents look at my younger sister, Claire Lloyd, their eyes fill with warmth and joy. Yet, when they turn to me, only disgust remains. Claire's life is filled with applause and excessive love, while mine is filled with disdain and suffering. When the explosion erupts at the street corner, I save the stranger beside me. Later, I learn he is Byron Whitmore, a mafia family's Don. He begins pursuing me after I rescue him. Later, I quit my job and move to a new place, but he finds me and proposes in 100 different ways. "Why me?" I ask countless times. "Because it's you," he always answers. The wedding causes a sensation throughout the city. I truly seem to have transformed from an ugly duckling into a swan. That is, until I'm five months pregnant, when Claire needs a transfusion of rare Rh-negative blood after a car accident. The blood bank has a shortage. Because of that, my parents knock me unconscious and send me to the hospital. In my daze, the blood extraction machine hums continuously. As two thousand milliliters of blood leave my body, I see Byron. Tears well up in my eyes. I begin thinking he's here to save me. Instead, I hear him say, "We can't take any more. Sharon and the baby will die." "But Claire has lost too much blood. She'll die, too..." My mother pleads. "No one wants Claire safe more than I do." Byron's voice is thick with pain. "She's my first love. I've never forgotten her. I only married Sharon because her face looks so much like Claire's. "But I can't trade her life for Claire's. Trust me—I'll find another way." So, that's his reason for marrying me. The blood extraction machine continues running, but my heart has already stopped beating. The affection I see in his eyes has never been for me. He's always looking through me at someone else. Everyone in the world loves Claire, and Byron is not the exception that I foolishly believe him to be. That grand wedding is nothing but an ugly duckling's self-deceiving fantasy.

On Christmas Eve, my father got the man I had secretly loved for ten years drunk and sent him to my bed. When I woke up the next morning, Roy pulled away from my attempt at a good-morning kiss. His voice was cold and distant as he agreed to marry me. After the wedding, Roy wasted no time submitting a transfer request. He took an overseas post and left. He did not return for five years. I gave birth to our daughter, Eve, alone and waited for him to come back home. When I heard that Roy had finally applied to return to a domestic position, I was overjoyed. I spent days preparing, imagining our first reunion as husband and wife. But even when the clock struck midnight, he still hadn't come home. Our daughter, ever so thoughtful, placed her most treasured possession—a photograph of Roy—into my hands. "Don't cry, Mommy," she said softly. "Look, Daddy's right here." I tried to convince myself that his absence was due to a delayed flight. But later that night, while watching the news, I saw him. He was on a crowded city street, holding a young girl in his arms. Beside him stood a woman, her smile soft and warm. Facing the camera, Roy said, "Being with them is my greatest wish." At that moment, something inside me broke. I wrote up the divorce papers, packed our things, and planned to take Eve to change her identity. I didn't want him anymore. The day before we left, a man I had never met came to see me. He was Roy's father. "You could call me Dad," he said, a faint smile playing on his lips. "But I'd rather you call me Ryan." I told him everything about the past five years—how I had waited, how I had hoped. When I finished, he laughed softly, an unusual warmth in his voice. "If it was just business," he said, "perhaps your father should have tied a bow around me and sent me to your bed instead. But I hold my liquor well—if I ever end up wrapped in a bow, you can be sure it's by choice."