The Sincir estate was unusually quiet, the weight of impending confrontation settling over the grand hall like a storm cloud. Reginald Sincir stood near the entrance, hands csped behind his back, as his guest stepped inside. The man moved with controlled fury, his tailored suit doing little to hide the rigid tension in his frame. Damian Bckwood was not a man to be crossed, and certainly not a man to be humiliated.
He barely acknowledged Reginald before speaking, his voice clipped and seething. “Where is she?”
Reginald gestured toward the sitting room, though Damian didn’t move. His sharp gaze locked onto the older man, daring him to provide an excuse.
“I assume you’ve heard,” Reginald said carefully.
Damian’s expression darkened. “That your granddaughter has disgraced both our families? Yes, I’ve heard.”
Reginald inhaled deeply, his grip tightening behind his back. “We are handling the situation.”
Damian let out a humourless chuckle. “Handling it?” He took a slow step forward. “Tell me, Sincir, who is the father?”
Reginald’s face remained unreadable. “She refuses to say.”
Damian’s jaw clenched. “How convenient.” He scoffed, shaking his head. “She was raised better than this. A Sincir daughter—promised to me, no less—ends up pregnant by some nobody? It’s an embarrassment.”
Reginald exhaled slowly. “It is regrettable.”
“Regrettable?” Damian’s voice dropped to a dangerous level. “This is more than that. This is a stain on your family’s legacy—and on my name.” His fingers twitched at his sides, barely restraining his temper. “Do you have any idea how this makes me look?”
Reginald leveled him with a steady gaze. “The marriage can still happen. The child can be… dealt with.”
Damian’s expression twisted into something unreadable. “Dealt with?”
Reginald’s tone was firm. “Delih must understand the consequences of her actions. If she wants to remain in this family, she will do what is necessary.”
Damian studied him for a long moment, then let out a slow, bitter ugh. “You’ve lost control of your own blood, Sincir. And now you expect me to fix this.” He rolled his shoulders, exhaling sharply. “Fine. But let me make something clear—if she refuses to correct her mistake, I will handle it myself.”
With that, he turned and strode toward the door, leaving Reginald standing in the suffocating silence of his home.
Things had just become far more complicated.
As they drove through the dimly lit streets, Damian sat in the back seat, his fingers tapping against his knee impatiently. The tension in the car was thick, his mood foul. His Beta, a wolf named Victor, gnced at him through the rearview mirror, a knowing smirk pying on his lips.
“You’re really going through with this?” Victor asked, his tone ced with amusement.
Damian’s jaw clenched. “Head to the hospital.”
Victor chuckled under his breath. “Didn’t take you for the sentimental type.”
Damian shot him a sharp look. “This has nothing to do with sentiment.” His voice was cold, unyielding. “This is about control.”
Victor hummed in response, turning his focus back to the road. “And what exactly are you pnning to do once we get there? Rip the kid from her arms?”
Damian’s lips curled into a humorless smirk. “If I have to.”
Victor let out a low whistle. “Cold.”
“This isn’t about emotion, Victor,” Damian muttered. “This is about ensuring that a Sincir doesn’t make a fool out of me.”
Victor shook his head, clearly entertained. “And here I thought you just wanted to see if the kid was really yours.”
Damian didn’t respond. He wouldn’t dignify that with an answer. All he knew was that Delih had been promised to him. If she had a child, it should have been his. And if she thought she could make a mockery of their arrangement and walk away unscathed, she was gravely mistaken.
The car pulled into the hospital parking lot. Damian adjusted his cufflinks, his expression unreadable.
“Stay here,” he ordered, stepping out. “I’ll handle this myself.”
Victor chuckled, shaking his head. “Whatever you say, boss.”
*
Damian arrived outside the hospital room, his sharp senses guiding him straight to her. The scent was unmistakable—Delih, exhausted yet still carrying the faintest traces of something… unfamiliar.
Peering through the small window, he saw her pacing the room, one hand bracing against the small of her back, her breathing uneven. He frowned. She looked worn, but it was more than just post-bour fatigue. There was tension in her shoulders, something unsettled in the way she moved.
Without hesitation, he pushed the door open and stepped inside. The door clicked shut behind him.
Delih turned at the sound, expecting a nurse, maybe her mother—but when her eyes nded on Damian, shock spread across her face. Her lips parted slightly, and for a fleeting moment, she seemed at a loss for words.
Composing herself, she swallowed hard, standing still as he stepped further into the room. The air between them turned thick, the silence charged with unspoken things neither wanted to acknowledge.
Damian’s gaze flickered away from her, drawn toward the bassinet near the bed. His steps were slow, deliberate, as he closed the distance. His heart pounded, not with anticipation, but with something colder. He had to see.
The moment she realized where he was headed, Delih snapped out of her shock.
“No—wait—” she rushed toward him, reaching out to stop him.
Damian barely spared her a gnce as he shoved her away with ease. She stumbled back, her hip knocking against the bed before she colpsed onto the cold tile floor. A sharp hiss of pain escaped her lips, but he was already turning his attention back to the baby.
The child y nestled in a soft bnket, impossibly small, his breathing steady. But Damian felt it immediately.
A pulse of energy.
Raw. Untamed.
Alpha blood.
His breath caught. His eyes widened in disbelief. The presence of dominance in the child’s aura was undeniable, potent—nearly on par with his own.
Impossible!
Slowly, he turned back to Delih, his expression unreadable, though his mind reeled.
“Is he mine?”
Still on the ground, she frowned at him, confusion fshing in her eyes.
“Why the hell would you think that?” she asked, voice ced with disbelief.
Damian’s frown deepened. “If we had a child, why didn’t you tell me?”
Delih shook her head, feigning frustration, but in that instant, her mind raced. Fshes of her past encounters with Damian at vish parties filled her thoughts—the nights they’d danced, drank, and ughed.
Still… this was perfect.
If Damian accepted the child as his, she could finally escape her family’s suffocating grip.
…but what would happen when he eventually found out the truth?
She’d deal with that ter.
Steeling her expression, she met his gaze and decred, “He is my son and no one else’s.”
For a moment, Damian studied her, his sharp gaze searching for any trace of dishonesty. Then, to her surprise, his expression softened. His lips curled into a rare, genuine smile.
He stepped forward and wrapped his arms around her.
Delih tensed at first, unaccustomed to the warmth of such an embrace, but she allowed herself to rex against him.
Unbeknownst to her, Damian took the opportunity to inhale deeply, discreetly scenting her body. His hands moved over her back, then subtly brushed her neck and arms as if comforting her—but he was searching.
For any sign of a cim.
For any lingering scent of another wolf.
He found nothing.
Lyra’s scent—her mark—had vanished the second their son entered the world.
Satisfied, he cupped her face in his hands, his thumbs stroking her cheeks. She barely had a second to react before his lips met hers.
The kiss was slow but firm, filled with a silent promise.
Delih stiffened, startled, but then something strange happened. A warmth spread through her body, chasing away the exhaustion that had clung to her since giving birth. The aches in her limbs faded, the bone-deep fatigue lifted, and even the dull pain in her abdomen vanished as if it had never existed.
When they parted, she gasped softly, eyes wide with realisation.
What the hell just happened?
