Mother in the bathtub, wrists slashed, blood turning the water crimson.
She left one line: I lost to fate.
Alena said Father changed after that.
Started drinking heavily. Raging. Became volatile and unpredictable. He removed all Mother's portraits, sealed her chambers, and forbade anyone entry. In his final mercy, he allowed the woman to bear her child—Finn—then exiled her from the pack.
After the grand funeral, Mother became merely the past. Everyone assumed Father would recover—grieve appropriately for a few months, then select a new Luna. Even Alena thought so. After all, he was a man...
But she was wrong. Everyone, including Mother, was wrong. Father truly loved her. He spared Finn not a single glance, never chose another Luna. Declared he'd have only one wife this lifetime. But he also grew increasingly obsessed. From my earliest memories, the firstlesson Father taught me wasn't courage, strength, or ambition—it was:
"Fated mates are a curse."
As I grew, he repeated it ceaselessly. From the tall, warm father of my early memories to the gaunt, bitter man on his deathbed. Twenty years of the same refrain.
"Fated mates aren't love—just instinct. Physical attraction. Nature's trap."
"Real love is rational. Your mother was my true love. I lost her forever."
"If you ever meet your fated mate, you must reject her. Or you'll destroy everything."
Those words carved themselves into my bones.
That night I lost control with Layla... But when I came to my senses, felt the bond's undeniable connection—tidal panic drowned me in that instant.
No. This couldn't be happening.
I couldn't be controlled by instinct, couldn't destroy everything.
I couldn't become Father!
So I called it a mistake. Rejected her. Denied the bond before everyone—convinced I was doing right. I hypnotized myself repeatedly, ignoring my wolf's fury inside. I simply refused to become Father. I was protecting myself, the pack, and our future.
But I was wrong.
I began dreaming of her, thinking of her in countless mundane moments. Obsessively kept her diary close—the only thing that could restrain the violence churning inside me.
Kayden Blackwood, how pathetic you are. You feared nothing more than becoming your father. But look—look at everything you've done, the ruin you've wrought with your own hands. You've already become him.
No. You're worse than him.
Only after losing Layla Gray did you realize you cared.
A knock at the door.
"Alpha?" Evan's voice. "The gala is beginning. Guests are waiting."
I drew a steadying breath, carefully returned the diary to my inside pocket, and pressed against my heart. Then, I stood, walked to the mirror, and straightened my tie.
The man reflected there wore a perfectly tailored black suit, silver eyes calm, expression composed. No trace of the breakdown moments before, no hint of inner turmoil.
I opened the door. Evan stood waiting respectfully.
"Tonight's agenda?" I asked, voice restored to its usual control.
"Jewelry exhibition, charity auction, several key clients requesting meetings." Evan's report was crisp. "Also, the James Family from the north and Morrison Family from the east have both arrived, hoping to discuss partnerships..."
I crossed to the VIP room's floor-to-ceiling windows, gazed down through the one-way glass at the venue below.
