Chapter 3

Since then, it was like Alpha Clark feared I’d disappear if he blinked. He stayed home every single day, hovering around me like a shadow.

Every divorce agreement I drafted, he acted like it didn’t exist. He completely ignored it.

I gave him the cold shoulder and deliberately treated him like air. He didn’t even flinch. Instead, he cheerfully grabbed a quilt and a pillow and moved to the couch in the living room. We had an excellent guest room, but he insisted on sleeping on the sofa.

It was apparent he was trying to guilt me.

But I didn’t budge.

He slept on that sofa for days until the dark circles under his eyes were so pronounced it looked like he hadn’t slept in weeks.

One day, as I was working on a new version of the divorce agreement, he came over again.

"Babe, I fired Taylor," he said like he expected me to compliment him.

"And?" I didn’t even look at him. "Am I supposed to applaud you for that?"

I slid the papers toward him, gesturing for him to read. He pretended not to see them and continued standing there like a kicked puppy, hoping his pathetic look would win me.

But his Samsung Fold phone started ringing before he could open his mouth again.

I glanced down at the screen. Omega Taylor.

Alpha Clark froze, eyes darting toward me. He didn’t dare answer, but the phone kept ringing. Over and over again. Each ring stabbed at the quiet tension in the room.

He clutched the phone, his fingers turning white like he wanted to answer but didn’t have the nerve.

I let out a short, humourless laugh.

"Go ahead, answer it. "I said, scrolling through Zillow listings for studios in Brooklyn. "Maybe something happened to the baby. You are the biological father, after all. You should at least give a damn."

"She’s just a baby. It’s not fair for you to curse her like that," he snapped almost instinctively.

I turned to him slowly with my ice-cold voice. "The child might be innocent, but the betrayal isn’t."

He clammed up, guilt written all over his face. The phone finally stopped ringing, but the silence it left behind was even heavier.

I pushed the papers toward him again.

He slapped them off the table in frustration, then collapsed onto the couch like the weight of the world had suddenly hit him. His eyes were glassy with unshed tears.

"How can you be so heartless?" he choked. "Do you even love me? Say something..."

"Loving you is exhausting." My voice trembled despite myself. "This shouldn’t have even been that big of a deal but look where we are."

Alpha Clark shot up, anger flaring in his eyes. "That’s enough! I give you everything, but it’s never enough! It’s like loving a black hole—no matter how much I give, you suck it in and demand more."

"You throw the sentence ‘sever the bond between us’ around like it means nothing. Do you even care about what we had?"

"And what about me?" he continued, voice rising. "You think I don’t have pressure? With the Calderon pack at stake, you expect me not to have an heir?"

I stood there, stunned.

That was what this was all about?

Not love. Not guilt. Not even regret.

It was a legacy. Bloodlines.

The words hit me like a truck, sharp and unforgiving. The pain ripped through me, raw and ugly.

And for the first time since this nightmare began, I broke.

I cried.

It was gut-wrenching, soul-tearing sobs that clawed their way out from a place so deep inside I didn’t even know they existed.

Everything I’d buried—the heartbreak, the betrayal, the endless nights of pretending I was okay—it all came rushing out.

I couldn’t believe how much resentment he’d been hiding all along. That being with me was some burden—a sacrifice.

Alpha Clark froze, realizing what he’d just said. The panic on his face was almost comical as he rushed toward me, trying to make it right.

"Don’t touch me!" I screamed, shoving him back with all the strength I had. "You’re filthy. Don’t lay a hand on me!"

He stood there like he’d been slapped and his mouth slightly open He was speechless.

Then, as if the universe needed one final twist, the doorbell rang. Loud. Urgent.

Without another word, he rushed over and flung the door open.

There stood Omega Taylor.

Pale. Shaking. Cold sweat beaded her forehead.

"Clark... my stomach... It hurts. Help me. Save the baby..."

She could barely stand, gripping the doorframe like it was the only thing keeping her upright.

Alpha Clark didn’t even hesitate. He rushed to her and scooped her up in his arms like a Hallmark movie hero. I didn’t look back. He didn’t say a word to me.

He was so frantic that he forgot his car keys.

And that’s when I saw it.

Blood.

She left blood on our Parquet floors.

My stomach twisted. The air left my lungs.

As much as I hated it—hated her, hated him, hated everything—I couldn’t stand by and do nothing.

The situation was critical.

And I wasn’t heartless.