Chapter 3

I bit my tongue. Blood flooded my mouth, sharp and metallic, ripping me back from the haze.

Emma’s snarl tore through me: “Don’t let him touch you!”

I staggered back, panic breaking my voice.

“Don’t touch me!”

For an instant, I saw it—the flicker of annoyance in his eyes.

Then it was gone, masked again by tenderness. He stepped back, voice soft as silk.

“Don’t force yourself. Being late for work isn’t the end of the world.”

The light turned green. And suddenly, it was only us—standing in the gap between cars.

I collapsed to the ground, tears and snot blurring my face. My cry ripped from my chest:

“Help! This man is a rogue—he traffics wolves!”

Gasps. People stopped. The old couple turned back.

Two young men rushed forward, planting themselves between me and Michael.

“We knew something was off! You kept pressing into her space—what the hell are you doing?”

“There are cameras everywhere. I’m calling the police. You’re done.”

One already had his phone out, fingers white-knuckled.

Michael’s mouth opened, hands raised in protest. But when he heard the word police, his face shifted.

He spat a curse and bolted toward the stroller.

“Fine! Good intentions wasted. I won’t help again!”

The moment he fled, the Mate bond’s fog began to dissolve. My head cleared.

Emma’s breath returned to me, ragged but strong. I whispered to her in my mind, steadying my shaking hands.

I ran for the company, flipping through hospital records as I went.

Not one prenatal entry. Not a single shred of proof.

Relief broke over me like air after drowning. Avoiding him had worked.

But the echoes of those past words still stung:

“If not for money, no one would call you mother.”

Yes, I had earned plenty. Yes, I had bought my home outright.

And suddenly, a thought struck me—

Sell the house. Cut the last chain.

End every excuse he has to haunt me again.

I called the real estate agent, gave him my door code, and begged him to list my house within three days.

The video he sent back showed everything exactly as I’d left that morning.

But no matter how many times I called—seven, eight times—my mother never answered.

Not until that evening, when I returned to unlock the door, did she finally pick up.

“Zora, your son misses you. Come home quickly after work,” she said in that same unnerving, gentle tone.

Before I could reply, the door opened from the inside.

Michael stood there in an apron, spatula in hand, smiling with feigned warmth.

“Darling, you’re home. Wash up—it’s dinner time.”

My body didn’t even think. Instinct screamed run.

But his hand shot out, clamping my wrist so hard the bones creaked, knuckles white with force.

Cold sweat broke across my forehead. My limbs went weak.

And then my mother stepped out of the elevator, her voice sharpened with familiar reproach:

“Zora, why are you running? The car accident was half a year ago. You still don’t remember your pup and your mate?”

Her words were like a script, rehearsed.

“You still don’t remember your pup and your mate?”

Each syllable pressed me deeper into the nightmare I thought I had escaped.

The scene replayed, exactly the same as before. The fear in my bones multiplied.

Why? Why was I tied to this low-ranking wolf as my Fate Mate?

Why, even when I avoided him, did destiny shove me back into his arms?

Why did the Moon Goddess delight in hurling me into fire I could never escape?

No one answered. Only Emma’s growl, low and primal, whispered inside me:

This time, you won’t be their puppet.