TRAYTON’S POV: "Curse that fool of a son! How dare he taint our bloodline with a human girl?!" I seethe, my voice laced with fury. Shadow, who's inside me, stirs. His growls echoing in the recesses of my mind. -"He is your flesh and blood, a reflection of your lineage. It’s just right that you deny him the chance to choose a human mate. Braxton’s infatuation with that human is a threat to our pack's traditions and strength."- My eyes flash with anger, my pride clashing with my wolf's fierce loyalty to our kind. My fangs bare in defiance as I sneer. "He must marry a she-wolf, one who can carry on the legacy of our pack." Shadow’s response is equally vehement. -"A human cannot comprehend our world or our ways. They are weak, fleeting creatures whose hearts cannot hold the power of the moon."- I nod, a cruel satisfaction enveloping me. "Precisely. Their puny emotions will only lead my son astray from the path of strength and power." Shadow agrees with a savage eagerness. -
ELOISE’S POV: The grand elevator ascends with a hushed elegance, carrying me and my Maddox to a world I had only glimpsed a few times before. As the polished brass doors slide open with a gentle whisper, we step into a palatial penthouse that belongs to a realm far beyond our humble existence. The surrounding that greets us is overwhelming, a symphony of luxury orchestrated with impeccable taste. Marble floors glisten like shimmering pools beneath our feet, reflecting the golden glow of crystal chandeliers that adorn the soaring ceilings. Expansive windows frame a panoramic view of the city's glittering skyline, a sight that steals my Maddox’s breath away. I steady my own racing heart as we’re greeted by a uniformed woman, her demeanor admirably courteous. "Welcome, Ms. Garcia, Master Maddox," she says with a warm smile. "Alpha Braxton, we’ve been awaiting your arrival." “Thank you,” Braxton responds. With a mixture of excitement and anxiety, I follow the woman and Braxton de
Braxton’s fingers caress my cheek, his touch gentle and reverent. He leans in to capture my lips with his own once again, savoring the sweetness of our kiss. As our mouths move in a very passionate manner, my heart races even faster, my body yearning for more. But amidst the heady rush of emotions, unease gnaws at my mind. I break the kiss, breathless, and look into Braxton’s eyes with a mix of desire and apprehension. "Braxton," I whisper, my voice trembling slightly, "I want this, I truly do. But I'm afraid... afraid of what might happen afterward. I don’t wanna get pregnant again. Our Maddox got his blood disease because of our different DNAs." Braxton’s eyes soften, and he caresses my hair, tucking a loose strand behind my ear. "Eloise, there's no need to be afraid. We can take all the necessary precautions. We can be responsible together." My heart warms at his understanding, but the fear lingers. "I know, but even with precautions, there's still a chance, however small. I don'
BRAXTON’S POV: I stand before Maddox, trying to put on a serious face while concealing a smile that’s threatening to burst forth. My little one, with eyes filled with curiosity and a mischievous spark, looks up at me with innocence and determination. "Papa, don't go!" he protests, holding onto my leg like a barnacle on a ship. I chuckle softly, attempting to free myself from the tiny grip. "Oh, buddy, I must go to work. But don’t worry, I’ll return early." “Let’s play,” he says, displaying his puppy eyes. For the first time, an urge of hesitation to go to work rushes through me, torn between the call of duty and the pull of my heart. My gaze softens as I brush Maddox’s hair off his forehead. "We’ll have more time together when I get home, buddy." His pouted lips make me add, "Oh, but think of all the fun things you can do here while waiting for my return. You can become the mighty ruler of this castle! You can command the things you can see around here, and they shall obey your
-"You seem nervous?”- I pause, meeting the piercing gaze of Squall through my mind. ‘I am, but I know what I must do. The press conference is not just about refusing the engagement; it is about making a stand for my right to choose my own path.’ Squall nods in understanding. -”A powerful declaration indeed. But be wary, Braxton. The world can be unforgiving. Your actions may spark anger and fear.”- ‘I am aware of the risks,’ I reply, my eyes flaring with determination. ‘But I cannot allow our pack's destiny to be decided solely by the customs of old. Love and freedom should guide our choices, not duty and politics.’ -”Your father's shadow looms large over this decision. But remember, you are not him. You must lead with your own heart."- I exhale slowly, acknowledging the weight of dad’s legacy. ‘I respect my dad, but I cannot blindly follow his desire. He may have chosen this engagement for the greater good, but I’ll stay true to myself.’ -”Well, goodluck. Even if we alwa
"Braxton," dad’s voice is low and menacing, "I have given you every opportunity to marry well, to secure our pack’s legacy, and yet you insist on this... this dalliance with that human." I stand firm, my jaw clenches, though fear ripples beneath my façade of defiance since Eloise and Maddox may now face the wrath of dad’s cruelty. Dad’s eyes narrow more into slits, and he stands up to mirror my firm stance. Then he steps forward, closing the distance between us with an imposing gait. He reaches for a nearby cane, running his fingers along its polished surface as a menacing grin tugs at the corners of his lips. "Very well, then," he sneers, "If you're so enamored with that wretched girl, perhaps you need a reminder of what's at stake." My heart pounds in my chest, the gravity of dad’s threat sinking in like an anchor in stormy waters. I glance towards the portrait of my beloved mother, hoping for strength from her memory, but all I see is disappointment in her painted eyes. "I wil
When the moonlight starts to bathe my office’s space, my gaze is drawn to the figure that emerges from the shadows of my mind – Squall, its fur a silvery-gray that mirrors the moon's glow. His gold eyes bear an intelligence, a connection that transcends the boundaries of human speech. "Squall," my voice is a quiet rumble that resonates in the stillness. "Tonight, I’ll stand at a firm belief, a choice that will surely ripple through the threads of our pack's destiny." -"I’m so proud of you for choosing to stand against the tide of convenience.”- He declares, his voice firm like the air billowing around me. He then steps forward, his powerful frame radiating a sense of purpose. In the moonlight, his eyes flicker with an ancient wisdom, a sentinel of instincts and loyalty. Now is the time of reckoning, the time when I’ll address the press and, by extension, the country. I’ve spent the past hours locked in negotiations with myself and Squall, grappling with decisions that will shape
TRAYTON’S POV: Outside, the sky gets darker, the mansion's lights casting elongate shadows across the manicured lawns. And inside its walls, emotions simmer, poised to erupt like a dormant volcano. I pace impatiently across the gilded floor of my study. My face, usually adorned with an icy composure, is now twisted into a mask of anger. My finely tailored suit seems to tighten around me, unable to contain the storm brewing within. At the center of this tempest is Braxton, my son, my only heir. Young and intelligent, with a countenance that reflects both his privileged upbringing and his own sense of independence. His defiance has reached a pinnacle earlier today, when he stood before the assembled press and declared his rejection of the carefully arranged marriage proposal I had orchestrated. A crystal decanter of aged whiskey rests atop my desk, and I pour myself a generous measure. The liquid gleams amber in the soft light, mirroring the fire that burns within my heart. I then br
Life has a peculiar way of throwing storms at you when you least expect it. It's as if the universe conspires to test the strength of the bonds we hold dear. And there were times when I thought the storm had won, that the thunder and lightning would tear us apart. But here we are, still standing, still together. First, there's the soft warmth cradled in my arms – our Brayleigh, a delicate blossom of life that has graced our family. In the hush of the night, her tiny breaths become a lullaby, a reminder that life, in its purest form, is an exquisite gift. Each flutter of her thick curly eyelashes, every tiny yawn, is a manifestation of hope and renewal. She has brought a new chapter, a fresh narrative of love and laughter that continues to unfold with every passing day. And then, there's the triumphant cadence of our Maddox’s recovery. The journey through the shadowed corridors of illness has transformed into a sunlit path of resilience and healing. His laughter, once muffled by the wei
I sit by the bedside, my fingers intertwined with those of Braxton’s as we wait for the verdict that’ll release our hearts from the cold grip of anxiety. Through the small mirror hanging on the wall, I stare at my reflection. My eyes bear the telltale signs of sleepless nights, etched with soft lines of worry and dark circles that betray the emotional toll of the past few days since our Maddox has undergone his much-needed surgery. My hair, usually neatly pulled back, now falls in loose waves around my face. The soft glow of the bedside lamp reflects in my hazel eyes, which flicker with exhaustion and a tenacious hope that refuses to waver. Braxton has his arm wrapped protectively around my shoulders. His eyes, tinged with weariness, still have a glimmer of resilience. The almost non-visible lines on his forehead mimic the burden we’re both carrying, but his stoic demeanor offers a sense of stability in the face of uncertainty. Our attention shifts to the small figure of our Maddox l
It’s been hours since I laid back on the crisp sheets of the narrow hospital bed. The faint hum of machines and the antiseptic scent create an atmosphere that both comforts and haunts me. I glance at the empty space at the corner where my Maddox and his bed were there earlier before the nurses took them away. Braxton, sitting on a leather chair, his eyes fixed on the door as if willing the doctor to appear. His hands clutch a small notebook, its pages filled with medical jargon and hastily scribbled notes. His fingers tap a restless rhythm on the armrest, a physical manifestation of the tumultuous emotions churning within. The ticking clock on the wall echoes the anxious beats of my heart. The weight of our Maddox’s fate rested heavy in the room, casting a solemn shadow on us. Braxton looks at me, his eyes conveying fear and determination. He reaches for my hand, fingers intertwining as if seeking strength from the touch. Our silent exchange speaks volumes, a language formed through
The hospital room, a space that has become my world, harbors the echoes of countless emotions—joy and sorrow woven into the fabric of its sterile walls. Months have passed since the persistent hum of medical equipment became the backdrop to our days, and days since the arrival of the newest member of our family. I remember the first time I stepped into this hospital, the antiseptic scent clinging to the air, contradicting the warmth of life growing within. It's been years of watching my Maddox battle an illness that’s insurmountable, of holding his hand through the long nights and finding solace in the fact that every sunrise means another day of fighting. Then, the arrival of my Brayleigh, a burst of sunshine in the midst of the storm. Her cries mingle with the beeping of monitors, a symphony that encapsulates the bittersweet nature of life. The joy of her arrival, tempered by the reality that her blood can hold the key to her brother's recovery. As I perch on the edge of the bed,
The labor room is like a controlled chaos, with the rhythmic beeping of monitors, the hushed conversations of medical professionals, and my occasional muffled moans of pain and discomfort. In the midst of it all, I lay exhausted yet triumphant on the sterile hospital bed, my damp few strands of hair clinging to my forehead. Beads of sweat glisten on my skin as I prepare to cradle my newborn daughter in trembling arms. Dr. Miller carefully places the tiny bundle into my arms. The baby, swaddled in a soft blanket, seems to attempt opening her still close, swollen eyes. The weight of new life settles against my chest, a tangible affirmation of the incredible journey I’ve just traversed. Tears of joy and relief blur my vision as I gaze down at the fragile creature in my arms. The baby's delicate fingers wrapped around one of my own, creating an instant and unbreakable connection. To my side is Braxton. His eyes, filled with awe and adoration, meet mine as his hands reach out to wipe
-Two Months Later- The hospital room hums with the low buzz of fluorescent lights, casting a clinical pallor over the otherwise hushed atmosphere. I sit by the bedside, my hand gently stroking my sleeping Maddox’s fevered brow. The scent of antiseptic and the rhythmic beeping of the machines meld into the backdrop of my weary vigil. My pregnant belly, now swollen and prominent, presses against the fabric of my hospital gown as I shift on the couch. Time seems to warp and stretch in this place, a strange concoction of minutes that drags on and days that disappear in a blur. It feels like just yesterday that I’ve discovered the joy of new life growing within me, and now, here I am, navigating the labyrinth of a hospital with a child in one bed and the promise of another in my womb. I gaze out the window, watching the city move with the same rhythm as the hospital's routine. My mind oscillates between the present reality and the impending future. A juxtaposition of hope and despair prob
ELOISE’S POV: The sterile scent of antiseptic greets me as I step into the hospital once again, my heart heavy with worry. The familiar surroundings, while offering a semblance of routine, only serves to amplify the ache in my chest. I thought we’re past this, believing the worst was over when we finally brought Braxton home just a few hours ago. But life has a cruel way of reminding me that hope is a fragile thing. The fluorescent lights flicker overhead, casting a pallid glow on the tiled floors that echo with the muffled footsteps of nurses and the distant hum of medical machinery. My steps are hesitant, my fingers trembling as I clutch the edges of Braxton’s suit jacket draped over my shoulders. I round the corner and approach the nurse's station, where a tired-looking woman with a sympathetic smile sits. "Ms. Garcia?" the nurse asks, her voice a soft murmur. I nod, my eyes darting anxiously toward the corridor that leads to the rooms. "Dr. Tiu will meet you in a few minutes,
The gravel crunches beneath the sleek tires of my black Bugatti as it glides to a stop in front of the imposing iron gates that guard the entrance to the pack’s vast estate. Dad’s mansion looms in the distance, a grand and ancient structure cloaked in ivy, a silent witness to generations of power and influence. I step out of the car, my posture straight, accentuating my broad physique and confident demeanor. My Gammas flank me and my family, their eyes scanning the surroundings with a vigilance born from years of experience. Beside me, Eloise, who steps gracefully onto the gravel, her hand delicately cradling the small form of Maddox, whose eyes wander around, oblivious to the tension that hangs in the air. As we approach the mansion's entrance, a group of high-ranking pack officials awaits us in the front yard. Some wear expressions of cold indifference, while others struggle to conceal their disdain. My gaze sweeps over the assembly, meeting the eyes of those who dare to look dire
As I lay in the crisp sheets of the narrow bed, the steady beeping of the heart monitor keeps reminding me of the ordeal I’m faced with. Eloise sits on the chair by the bedside, her lips are stretched and curled at the corners, her eyes twinkle with elation as she stares at the engagement ring on her finger. While Maddox, who’s seated on her lap, plays with a stuffed bear. Moments later, the door creaks open, and Dr. Reynolds, a middle-aged man with kind eyes, enters the room. His white coat seems to glow under the harsh fluorescent lights, and the smell of antiseptic billows in the air as he approaches me. "Good morning, Mr. Guttierrez," he greets with a warm smile. "How are you feeling today?" I manage a weak smile in return, my voice a rasp. "Better. A lot better." The doctor glances at the monitor and nods, satisfied. "Your vitals are stable, and the wound has healed remarkably well. You're a resilient one as I should expect from a CEO and an Alpha, I must say." Eloise grips