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CHAPTER EIGHTEEN: Getting that Second Chance
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What?! We're Mates?! CHAPTER NINETEEN: Hugh's Half-baked Plan
HUGH’S POV: Yvanna's confession lingers between us, throwing me off balance. This isn't part of the strategies I’ve prepared. I only agreed to this date to give Anastasia a job so I can keep her close to me, and also to make her realize that she likes me too by making her jealous. I look at Yvanna, searching her eyes for some sign of hesitation, of uncertainty, but find none. Her gaze is unwavering, filled with a depth of emotion that leaves me regretting ever meeting her again. My hand, clasped in hers, feels foreign, the warmth of her touch no longer familiar. In a desperate attempt to confirm my own suspicions, I tighten my grip, hoping to feel the bond that once connected us. But there’s no spark, there's nothing, only the coolness of her skin against my own. Yvanna is obviously waiting for my response, but I have none to give. I can’t tell her I still love her too because I don’t, but I also don’t wanna heartlessly reject her, especially since I'm the one who reached out to h
What?! We're Mates?! CHAPTER TWENTY: Confession
Yvanna watches me with a mixture of concern and anticipation, her confidence slipping off. She senses my inner struggle, the tension that coils beneath my calm facade. "Hugh," she murmurs. "What's wrong?" My expression remains strained. "Yvanna, please, put your dress back on." Her brow furrows in confusion, but she doesn’t comply, pushing the fabric of her dress away with slow, deliberate movements of her foot. As she approaches me, the distance between us seems to stretch infinitely. "I don’t wanna test the waters just through dating, we can do it by becoming more intimate," she says softly, her eyes searching mine. Without answering her question, I hurl a response in an icy tone, “I’ll call my delta and have him drive you home.” Yvanna’s eyebrows flick in surprise, her lips opening then closing without a single word slipping through them. Her eyes glisten with unshed tears, even her wolf who’s reflected behind her eyes, seems to be hurt by my words. She rests her palms and
What?! We're Mates?! CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE: A New Step
ANASTASIA’S POV: The first tendrils of dawn filter through the sheer curtains, casting a soft glow across the guest room. I stir, the warmth of Hugh's embrace cocooning me in a sense of security I haven’t known before. I shift slightly, feeling the dull ache between my legs, a reminder of the night's passionate intensity. But I welcome it, for it’s a small price to pay for the bliss I’m feeling. Ignoring the twinge of discomfort, I focus instead on the rise and fall of Hugh's chest against my back, the steady rhythm of his breath is comforting. I marvel at the sensation of his arms wrapped around me, holding me close as if I’m the most precious thing in the world to him. But even as I bask in the warmth of our connection, I can’t shake the nagging thought that this moment may be fleeting, that reality will soon come crashing down around us. I turn to gaze at Hugh's sleeping form. His face, so handsome, every edge, perfect. With a tender smile playing on my lips, I press mys
What?! We're Mates?! CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO: Hugh's Admission, Yvanna's Confession
Highvalley Pack's Village unfolds before me. The cobblestone pathways wind through meticulously manicured gardens, vibrant blooms bursting forth in a riot of color. In the heart of the village stands Hugh's parents' mansion, a testament to wealth and refinement that surpasses even the grandeur of the Ashfell Pack's leaders’ mansion. Its sleek facade rises majestically, adorned with gleaming glass panels that catch the sunlight in a dazzling display. Unlike the traditional charm of Yvanna’s parents’ ancestral home, this mansion exudes an air of modernity, its architecture are clean lines and cutting-edge design. The scenery is more breathtaking than how I imagined it to be from the novel’s description of it. But, as much as I'd like to keep appreciating the scenery, I can’t. My heart clenches as I watch Yvanna's possessive gestures towards Hugh, my jealousy, though controlled, is burning. From the moment we stepped into the penthouse's elevator, Yvanna had draped herself over Hugh.
What?! We're Mates?! CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE: A Son
HUGH’S POV: I stare blankly at Yvanna, my mind grappling with the weight of her revelation. "A son," I murmur, the words feeling foreign on my tongue. A son I’ve never known existed, a son I’ve never laid eyes upon. The realization is like a punch to the gut, leaving me breathless and disoriented.Anastasia's hand in mine feels like my only anchor. I tighten my grip on her slender fingers, seeking solace in her warmth. But even her reassuring touch can’t dispel the turmoil churning in my heart. I turn to Anastasia, my eyes locking with her wide ones in silent communion. A silent vow is forming in my expression which I hope she’s able to read: that nothing will change between us, not even this revelation could tear us apart.The atmosphere shifts when dad’s voice slices through the tension like a blade. My thoughts are abruptly interrupted."You should marry Yvanna," dad declares, his tone brooking no argument. "Now that it's been revealed you have a son together, it's only right."
What?! We're Mates?! CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR: Red Chrysanthemum
ANASTASIA’S POV: In search of respite, I find my way to the mansion's backyard garden. Sunlight filters through the leaves, casting a warm glow on the winding pathways. The fragrance of blooming flowers surrounds me, a welcome distraction from the heavy atmosphere inside. I stroll along the manicured lawn, while the sultry air caresses my face, hoping it’ll wash away the weight that rests on my shoulders. As my mind drifts back to the revelation and discussion at the dining area, I fail to notice an approaching figure until its voice interrupts my reverie. "S’cuse me?"Startled, I turn to face the man who has materialized beside me. The sunlight highlights his features. He shares the same body frame as Hugh, and has black curly hair with neatly shaved sides."I'm Dwight," he says, extending a hand in greeting, making his bicep flex underneath his fitted shirt. "It’s my first time seeing you. Did you come here with Alpha Hugh?”“I did.”I shake his hand, the touch sending something
What?! We're Mates?! CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE: Yvanna and Hugh's Son
YVANNA’S POV: The heavy velvet curtains drawn shut, the room is dimly lit by the soft glow of the bedside lamp. I sit on the edge of my bed, my fingers tracing patterns on the silk bedspread, my thoughts a tempest raging within me. Hugh’s confession still echoes in my mind like a relentless storm, each word a piercing arrow through my heart. How could he? How could he love another, someone who isn't even one of our own kind? Someone who has deceived me into believing that there’s still a chance for us?“Unbelievably disgusting!”My frustration simmers, and I can’t contain it any longer. With a fierce cry of anguish, I leap up from the bed and stride to the vanity dresser. Without a second thought, I begin to hurl my possessions from the top of the dresser, the sound of shattering bottles of perfumes, porcelain figurines and thudding containers of cosmetics, trinket boxes filling the air. Christy, who’s entering my room, jolts in confusion. But I pay her no mind, my focus solely on
What?! We're Mates?! CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX: The Fake Son
With cameras relentlessly flashing and reporters eagerly scribbling notes, I remain on the platform with a calm facade, though my heart is pounding with nerves. As I speak about the details of my fake pregnancy, my mind is elsewhere, anxiously checking my phone under the tablecloth. I need Christy to arrive with the orphan soon. Though the weight of my deception continues to press heavily on me, it's too late to falter now. -Is he here yet?- I hastily type, my fingers trembling slightly. I hit send and hold my breath, hoping for a positive response. Just as I finish my speech, a sense of relief thrills through me as Christy appears at the garden's entrance, cradling the precious two-year-old orphan in her arms. My eyes glisten with unshed tears as I watch Christy approach. With a practiced smile, I wipe away a non-existent tear and beckons Christy forward, subtly gesturing for her to make the child visible in the prying eyes of the media. As Christy reaches the platform, I take a
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