His hand trembled, tears streaming down. This man who'd tormented Mother, tormented me, tormented himself his whole life—in his final moments, still consumed by that obsession. He wanted to relive his life with Mother through me.
"I promise."
The moment I said those words, he finally closed his eyes.
Those were the last words he heard.
"The old Alpha... is dead."
My throat tightened as I spoke. I looked at Victoria, enunciating each syllable clearly.
"His dying wish won't become my chains."
Victoria stared at me, tears finally breaking free. The elegant composure she'd maintained all this time crumbled. She cried like a child, shoulders shaking violently.
"So you chose her." She wiped at her tears with the back of her hand. "Ella Ross. A woman you've only known for days."
No. Her name is Layla Gray. We're fated mates. We've known each other longer than half our lives. We have a six-year-old child. A good kid.
But I said nothing.
"Kayden Blackwood." Victoria took a deep breath, wiped away her tears, and straightened her spine. She'd put that fragile shell back on, replaced by something cold and almost frighteningly hard. "You'll regret this."
"Maybe." My voice stayed calm. "But it's my choice."
"The elders won't agree."
"That's their problem."
"You'll lose a lot of support." Victoria's voice had regained its composure, but that calm was more unsettling than anger. "Drake controls a third of the pack's resources. Morris's family controls the northern trade routes..."
"If they want to leave Silver Moon Pack, I won't stop them." I walked to the door and pulled it open. "Victoria. Please leave."
She stood there looking at me for several seconds. Her gaze held the distance of looking at a stranger.
"Kayden." She finally spoke, voice soft as a sigh. "Some things aren't up to you."
Then she turned and left, her heels clicking down the hallway, fading into the distance.
Victoria really did resemble Mother.
The thought surfaced again, and I couldn't help a bitter smile. In the first few years after Father's death, his dying wish had spread through my life like a vine, following my every move. I'd once considered giving in, becoming a true puppet, mating with Victoria as he wished.
But I couldn't do it. Layla still appeared in my dreams like warm fire. I replayed our few encounters over and over, caught scraps of love's warmth from her diary. Only then could I feel like just myself—just Kayden, not Father's replica.
I stood there staring at the empty room, suddenly exhausted enough to collapse.
Back in my office, I closed the door, walked to the liquor cabinet, and pulled out a bottle of Macallan.
Father's favorite brand.
I poured a glass and drained it. Then poured another.
The whiskey burned a line of fire from my throat to my stomach. That searing pain cleared my thoughts somewhat, letting certain long-suppressed ideas surface.
Father's obsession had passed to me like a hereditary disease. Carved into my bones, mixed into my blood. The moment I thought of defying it, memory dragged me back to that day when I was ten.
His twisted eyes still haunted me. After the first time with Layla. When she exposed us as fated mates in front of everyone. When all those eyes bore into me, Father—he must have been watching from the shadows, through his assistant, through the messenger's eyes, watching me!
