Chapter 2

Years later, contacting Night Breeze again through secret channels, my fingers actually trembled.

The moment the communication connected, my father's dignified yet visibly excited face appeared on the light screen. He'd aged, frost at his temples, but his gaze remained sharp as an eagle's.

"Silvia! My child! It's really you!" Father's voice carried an incredulous choke. "You're alive... thank God..."

Hearing Father's voice, all these years of grievance and strength nearly broke through, but I held it back desperately.

"Father, it's me." I managed to speak.

"Good, good!" Father repeated, his gaze urgently scanning my face as if checking whether I was well. "Your mother thinks of you day and night..."

"Father," I turned slightly, gently pushing little Owen, who'd been curiously peeking from behind my leg, in front of the light screen. "Father, this is Owen, your... grandson."

Owen looked somewhat shyly at the unfamiliar old man in the screen, calling out softly: "Grandfather?"

In that moment, I clearly saw my father—always known for his iron-blooded ruthlessness—his eyes instantly redden, tears rolling down without warning. He looked at Owen almost greedily, voice shaking uncontrollably: "Grandson... I have a grandson... good, good! He looks like you, his eyes are like yours as a child... Silvia, bring him home! Come home immediately! Night Breeze will always be yours and the child's support!"

Home. That word made my nose sting. Finally, I had a home to return to.

Father couldn't wait to arrange for people to fetch us, but I stopped him. I needed some time—not for Clare, but for Owen. The little one was almost five years old. Though he'd sensitively noticed the coldness between his parents, deep down he still held deep attachment to the man he called "Daddy."

"Will Daddy celebrate my birthday?" He'd been asking me anxiously these past days. "We'll blow out candles with Daddy together, right, Mom?"

Looking at his hopeful big eyes, all my determination to leave immediately melted into heartache. I couldn't cruelly rob him of this pitiful hope right away. I told myself, wait a bit longer. At least let Owen have a birthday with his father present, even if it might be the last time. Then I'd take him and leave completely.

However, I underestimated certain people's shamelessness and impatience.

Three days before Owen's birthday, Clare actually sent people to "invite" us back to the main residence. The messenger servant's attitude wasn't exactly respectful—it even carried a hint of hidden pity.

A bad premonition rose in my heart, but thinking Owen might get to see his father, I still tidied up and took him there.

Stepping into that hall once filled with warmth but now feeling only cold luxury, I immediately realized this wasn't an ordinary family gathering. Almost all Clare's family's prominent relatives were there, holding wine glasses, chatting and laughing. When their gazes swept over us mother and son, they carried undisguised contempt and mockery.

Clare stood by the fireplace. Seeing us, his expression flickered complexly, seemingly surprised, wanting to say something but not speaking. Royston clung tightly to him, one hand intimately holding his arm, the other intentionally or not caressing her still-flat abdomen. Her face radiated a victor's smile, her gaze toward me full of provocation—I understood. This was entirely her scheme!

I turned to leave, but first heard Clare clear his throat, face the crowd, and announce some "good news."

"Thank you all for coming today. I have two pieces of good news to announce." He paused, gaze sweeping the room, finally seeming to casually pass over me before quickly moving away. "First, Blaze Tooth under my leadership has gained unanimous recognition from the council of elders. I will officially succeed as the next Alpha."

The crowd erupted in agreeable laughter and flattery.

"Second," he raised his voice, even forcing out what seemed a happy smile, reaching out to embrace Royston's shoulders, "Royston and I will soon welcome the fruit of our love. And we'll soon hold a marking ceremony."

Though mentally prepared, hearing it directly, seeing them nestled together, my heart still felt like it had been viciously stabbed. Owen seemed to sense the atmosphere's strangeness, his small hand gripping my hem tightly.

Relatives' congratulations flooded in like a tide, but mixed in were some deliberately raised, pointed comments.

"Now this is a true Alpha and Luna, a perfect match!"

"Should have been this way all along. Certain women of unknown origin and their children never should have existed."

"Exactly. The Alpha was kind-hearted, adopting that fatherless child, only to have someone latch on..."

Adopting? Fatherless child? I snapped my gaze to Clare. He avoided my eyes.

In this atmosphere, Royston became like a victorious queen, holding her wine glass, swaying gracefully as she walked to me. She looked down at me, her smile openly contemptuous.

"Oh, I almost forgot." She deliberately used a sickeningly sweet voice. "I should thank you for 'helping' take care of Clare these past years. But it won't be necessary anymore. After all, there's a difference between a hired, unsuitable servant and a true lady of the house, right?"

The women around her let out mocking laughs.

Owen looked up at Royston, then at Clare's livid face, then at the surrounding malicious gazes. His beautiful big eyes filled with fear and confusion. He tugged my sleeve, voice carrying a crying tone, asking softly: "Mom... are they talking about me? Am I not Daddy's child?"

This innocent question was like a needle, puncturing the scene's hypocritical clamor. Instantly, the hall quieted considerably.

All eyes focused on Clare.

A struggle flashed across Clare's face. He opened his mouth as if to say something.

But Royston immediately seized the moment, forcefully grasping his arm, saying sweetly: "Clare, for our child's future, some things must be made clear."

Clare looked at her, then at Owen's tear-stained, frightened face. Finally, he closed his eyes. When he opened them again, only cold silence remained. He—acquiesced.

My heart died completely.

Royston smiled triumphantly. She bent down, in a voice only we few could hear, said to my Owen, word by word, like the most vicious curse: "Poor thing, did you hear clearly? Your daddy's child is here." She patted her own belly. "And you? You're just a nameless orphan—"

The word "orphan" stabbed into my ears like a poison needle.

The next second, my slap landed on her face. The crisp, loud sound reverberated throughout the entire hall.