Chapter 4

On Owen's birthday, from morning on, he seemed unusually quiet and expectant.

He put on his best little outfit neatly, running to the window from time to time to look out, muttering softly: "Daddy will come, he'll remember, he'll bring cake..."

Watching his small figure trying to stay calm, my heart felt pierced by needles. I'd sent Clare a message ahead of time, simply saying: "Today is Owen's fifth birthday. He hopes you can come." No accusations, no pleading, just stating a fact.

The message sank like a stone, no reply.

I called. Once, twice... always going unanswered.

As time passed and sunset approached, the light inside gradually dimmed, and the light in Owen's eyes slowly extinguished. He no longer ran to the window, just sat on the sofa, hugging his old toy bear, head down, silent.

I walked over, wanting to comfort him but not knowing where to start.

Just then, he suddenly looked up at me, forcing out a smile uglier than crying, saying softly: "It's okay, Mom. Maybe... Uncle Clare is too busy."

Uncle Clare.

He no longer called him "Daddy."

This change in address was like a dull knife, slowly and deeply cutting my heart. My child, on his fifth birthday, had personally severed his last fantasy and attachment to his father.

In this heartbreaking silence, the doorbell suddenly rang.

Owen practically leaped from the sofa like he'd been shocked, his dim eyes suddenly bursting with amazing light. He screamed: "It's Daddy! He came! He remembered!" Like a happy little bird, he rushed toward the door.

But a strong unease rose in my heart. If Clare were coming, he would never ring the doorbell.

I tried to stop Owen, but it was too late. He stood on tiptoe, forcefully pulling open the door.

Standing outside was Royston, wearing an expensive custom dress, her face carrying undisguised malice. Behind her followed several large werewolves belonging to Clare's family.

The smile on Owen's face froze instantly, replaced by enormous disappointment and fear. He instinctively stepped back, his small face deathly pale.

I immediately rushed forward, tightly shielding Owen behind me, watching Royston warily: "What are you doing here?"

Royston curved her red lips in a triumphant, cruel smile, slowly surveying our house as if looking at garbage. "What?" She laughed lightly, waving her hand. "Of course I'm here to reclaim the house. You think you two abandoned wastes still have any right to continue living in the Alpha's property?"

The werewolves behind her immediately barged in roughly, rummaging through boxes and cabinets, carelessly throwing things belonging to Owen and me—or even just traces of our life with Clare—onto the floor or directly smashing them.

"Get out! You two get out of Blaze Tooth's territory immediately!" A relative Royston brought shrilled. "Your existence only damages the Alpha's reputation! You're a stain on the pack!"

Owen was frightened into trembling all over, tightly gripping my clothes, burying his face behind my back, crying softly, suppressedly—no longer wailing like before, but muffled, filled with despair. He asked me quietly, voice choking: "Mom... has Daddy abandoned us? Is he... making us leave?"

My heart felt sliced apart. I hugged him tight, shouting at Royston: "Shut up! We'll leave right now!"

But Royston deliberately blocked the doorway, looking at me provocatively: "Leave? Of course you have to leave! But before you go..." She suddenly stepped forward, raising her hand to slap me. "This slap is me returning yours!"

I was prepared, forcefully swatting her hand away. Perhaps my strength was uncontrolled in my emotional state—Royston cried out, staggering backward several steps, happening to collide with someone rushing over.

It was Clare.

He'd just witnessed me "pushing" Royston, immediately flying into a rage, catching Royston and roaring at me: "Silvia! Are you this vicious?! Addicted to hitting people?! You even dare attack a pregnant woman!"

His eyes held disgust and fury like tangible things. The surrounding relatives immediately swarmed forward at the sight, aggressive, as if about to attack.

Just then, Owen, who'd been terrified all along, suddenly broke free from my hand and rushed to Clare.

Under everyone's shocked gazes, this child just turned five suddenly dropped to his knees on the cold floor.

He looked up at that man he'd once called father with a tear-stained face, using a trembling voice full of fear and pleading, addressing him with the most distant, most respectful title:

"Alpha Clare... please... don't hurt Mom... please... we'll leave... we'll leave right away..."

In that moment, time seemed to stop.

The fury on Clare's face instantly froze. He looked in disbelief at his son kneeling at his feet, humbly begging, pupils violently contracting. He probably never imagined there'd be a day when his own flesh and blood would kneel before him like before a stranger, a lofty ruler.

The surrounding clamor also abruptly ceased.

I rushed over, scooping Owen up from the floor, holding him tightly, my heart nearly splitting from pain. I looked at Clare, my eyes no longer holding any warmth, only cold despair and complete determination.

"We're leaving." I said quietly to Owen, not sparing that man another glance, holding my son, pushing through the stunned crowd, leaving that hell once called "home" without looking back.

The moment I stepped outside, I silently bid farewell in my heart to that soul I'd once deeply loved:

"Clare, from this moment on, I refuse any further connection with you."

In the darkness, holding my traumatized son, I felt something deep in my bloodline sever—I actively broke the marking bond between wolves. Then I forcefully threw that phone that would never receive responses into the cold lake water, watching it sink into the dark depths.

Owen lay on my shoulder, unusually quiet. After a long while, he finally said softly: "Mom, let's go find Grandfather and Grandmother."

I held him tightly, tears finally silently falling. My child—his heart had already broken first.

"Okay," I kissed his hair. "Mommy will take you home."

Deep in the darkness, several agile figures quietly appeared. The leader bowed respectfully to us:

"Heir, Night Breeze pack guards, under orders to escort you and the young lord home."