Chapter 4

I leaned against the bedroom doorframe, my gaze sliding down the hallway and landing on the scene in the living room.

Emma sat in the middle of the couch. Lucas was curled in her arms. Samuel stood beside them and casually draped a blanket over the child’s legs.

At that instant, a memory flashed through my mind.

Three months ago, on my birthday.

There had been a performance of ancient wolf songs. I’d been waiting for it for a long time.

It only happened once a year. Many of those melodies were sung only that night. It was more like a ritual than a show. I’d bought tickets early, picked seats right up front, and even planned what I’d wear.

That morning, Samuel had hugged me and promised he’d take me that night.

By evening, he got a call.

The call didn’t last long, but the moment he hung up, his expression went cold, like a decision had already been made.

“I need to go out,” he said.

I asked if something happened.

He paused and didn’t look at me.

“Something came up,” he said. “I’ll be back late.”

I stood there and watched him change clothes, grab his keys—clean, efficient, no extra explanations.

That night I waited alone at home, wearing the dress I’d chosen for the performance, my chest clogged with a dull ache.

I didn’t know how long after the show ended before Samuel finally came back.

He was holding a child.

Lucas.

Lucas had been small then, arms around Samuel’s neck, cheek pressed to his shoulder. He smelled like baby formula mixed with sweat.

Samuel’s clothes carried the same scent, like he’d rushed straight from somewhere else and hadn’t even had time to change.

“A friend had an accident,” he’d said.

“Got attacked by a wolf pack. Didn’t make it. This child was all that was left.”

He hadn’t looked at me while he spoke, like he was reciting something he’d already decided to say.

“I can’t just leave him.”

I’d asked, “What about us? Didn’t we agree to be childfree?”

He’d lifted his eyes to me. He looked exhausted, but his tone was firm, like he was shutting down a question that shouldn’t be asked again.

“He’s not our child,” he said. “It’s temporary.”

I believed him.

I even felt guilty for my disappointment, like my feelings were inappropriate as if I was picking a fight at a funeral.

I put the concert tickets into a drawer and didn’t say another word.

That night, I woke up in the middle of the night and heard someone talking in the study.

The door wasn’t fully closed. I stood in the hallway and heard Samuel speaking on the phone in a low voice.

“Don’t worry,” he said softly. “I’ll take care of you and your son.”

I stood there stunned for a long time.

In the end, I told myself he was probably comforting a friend’s family.

Looking back now, that explanation was almost laughable.

When Lucas woke up and saw me, he clung to the hem of Samuel’s shirt and whispered, “Dad.”

I froze on the spot.

Samuel had patted his head and explained to me, “He’s too young. He can’t tell what he’s supposed to call.”

That day, I believed him.

Later, Lucas got scared of thunder and ran into our bedroom in the middle of the night, burrowing into Samuel’s arms. The way he curled up in his sleep was exactly the same as Samuel’s.

Samuel’s hand rested on the boy’s back, patting lightly, so practiced it looked like he’d done it a thousand times.

I still remembered asking him, “I thought you didn’t like kids?”

He’d lowered his voice. “He’s temporary.”

Temporary. It like a cloth thrown over the truth, hiding everything.

Until today when that cloth finally slid away.

In the living room, Emma smiled at Samuel. “Lucas asked yesterday when he could live with Daddy and Mommy, without having to sneak around anymore.”

Samuel didn’t answer.

He only picked up a slice of strawberry cake and handed it to her, his gaze so tender it hurt to look at.

That tenderness... was the kind he used to save for my birthdays.

I stood in the doorway, freezing. My wolf began to churn beneath my skin.

So the childfree promise had been a lie.

The “friend’s kid” had been a lie.

Inside the love he claimed to give me, there had been a complete family—one I’d never been invited into.

Something else hit me.

Lucas’s eyes were a rare silver-gray, just same as Samuel’s.

Not just the color, but the way he looked at people, the angle and the possessiveness. Wolf pups started showing hints of their bloodline mark around the age of three. When I’d bathed him before, I’d noticed a small mark at the back of his neck and thought it was a birthmark.

Now I knew what it really was.

It was the budding shape of a totem.

Proof of a shared blood.

In the living room, Emma laughed softly, like she could finally see the ending she’d been waiting for.

Lucas ate his cake, cream on his fingers, then climbed to Samuel’s legs and rested his head on Samuel’s knee.

Samuel looked down at him.

That look wasn’t “taking care.”

It was the instinctive softness of a father wolf looking at his pup.

Heat rushed to my eyes. And I finally realized—I used to stand in the most important place in his life.

Then he moved me aside, little by little.

And I’d actually found excuses for him.

Samuel suddenly turned his head and saw me.

Panic flashed in his eyes, like he’d been caught on the spot. It lasted only half a second before he stood up, like he wanted to explain, like he wanted to come to me.

But I couldn’t move.

My wolf made a low, deep hiss, like a wounded beast finally waking up.

Lucas saw me too.

He tilted his head, watching my tears fall as if he was studying something unfamiliar.

His mouth was still shiny with the oily mix of cream and meat broth.

His voice rang out, crisp and innocent.

“Dad,” he pointed at me and asked seriously, “why is she crying? Emma said she’s extra.”

In that moment, I heard my wolf release a low growl so suppressed it felt like bones snapping.

And Samuel’s face went completely white.