Chapter 437
Chapter 437:
The gentle, grieving Lycan Senator who had held me while I cried over Jaxon’s hospital bed. He knew. He had known from the very first second I walked into his office. He was the monster in the library. He was the father.
And Jaxon — Jaxon was my own flesh and blood. My pup.
A sob tore from my throat, raw and agonizing. I stumbled backward, turned, and ran out of the building. I didn’t stop until I threw myself into the driver’s seat of my rental Porsche.
My wolfless body shook uncontrollably as I gripped the leather steering wheel, gasping for air. Grant had orchestrated my entire nightmare. He held my stolen life in his hands and watched me bleed for his amusement.
а𝘤𝗍іv𝗲 с𝗈𝗆𝗆𝘂𝗇𝘪𝘁𝘺 оn
Just as my trembling fingers reached for the ignition, my phone lit up in the dark cabin. A text message.
Jaxon just fell asleep. He asked for you before he closed his eyes. Goodnight, Carmella. — Grant
I stared at the glowing screen. The sickening, manipulative warmth of his words didn’t break me further. Instead, it acted like a bucket of ice water poured directly over my soul.
The panic, the confusion, and the suffocating grief instantly evaporated. In their place, a cold, absolute, and terrifying clarity settled into my bones.
Carmella Golden POV
The cold, terrifying clarity that had settled into my bones in that Yale parking lot didn’t leave me. It froze over my heart, turning me into something unrecognizable by the time the grey dawn crept through the windows of my Chelsea apartment.
I hadn’t slept. I stood before the full-length mirror, stripping away the sharp, polished armor of a corporate CFO. I pulled on a simple black cashmere sweater and faded jeans. Harmless. Unassuming. Just “Auntie Carmella p>
Before leaving, I opened an encrypted channel on my laptop, reaching out to a grey-market broker I knew from my European finance days. Find the sealed medical files from a Geneva clinic seven years ago. The ones detailing my ‘miscarriage’. That was step one. Step two required physical proof — proof that not even the Continental Pack Council could deny.
Thirty minutes later, I stood before the heavy oak doors of Grant’s Upper East Side townhouse. The guards let me in without a second glance; to them, I was the Senator’s Mate. The moment I stepped into the quiet, luxurious foyer, his suffocating scent of rosemary and rain hit me, twisting my stomach into violent knots. I swallowed the bile, forcing a warm, placid smile as I held up a bakery box.
Upstairs, Jaxon’s bedroom smelled of pure, innocent pup mixed with the lingering shadow of his father’s dominance. A low-ranking Pack nanny was folding clothes near the window.
“I brought cookies,” I said softly, keeping my voice light. “Why don’t you take a quick break? I’ll sit with him p>
Her submissive Inner Wolf easily yielded to the supposed Luna of the house. She bowed her head respectfully and slipped out into the hall, leaving the heavy oak door slightly ajar.
Jaxon was sitting on the plush rug, deeply focused on a massive Lego spaceship. “Auntie Carmella!” he beamed, his bright eyes looking up at me.