“Enough, Vivienne!” he snapped, slicing off my words with a growl of irritation. “Your behavior these past days has been unacceptable. If this continues, I might have to reconsider whether this mating bond is still viable.”
He paused, eyes chilling to frost.
“Unless you want the pup inside you to grow up without a father.”
He was threatening me. Threatening divorce. Threatening rejection.
As I stared at him—his profile turned away like he always did when he was done arguing—every warm memory we’d built disintegrated. The vows he whispered under the moon, the promise that this nursery would belong to our firstborn forever… all of it felt like smoke and lies now.
All of it meaningless.
Without another word, I turned and walked out. My fingers instinctively cupped my stomach, feeling the soft flutter of life beneath my palm.
“It’s alright, little one,” I whispered. “We don’t need that room. I’ll make you a better one. Somewhere safe.”
Behind me, Lucian remained motionless, watching me retreat. That same fleeting guilt I saw at the clinic flickered over his face again—sharp, fleeting, almost human. Then Sabrina called his name from the nursery, and he pivoted toward her without hesitation.
---
Later, when I returned to the master bedroom, my phone buzzed repeatedly. A string of voice messages from Sabrina.
I pressed play.
With each recording, Lucian’s gentle, doting voice washed over me—soft tones, comforting murmurs, the kind he once used with me when he thought he was being a good mate. But hearing them now, layered with Sabrina’s coy responses… the truth slammed hard into me.
Every affectionate gesture Lucian ever gave me had been nothing but training for her.
The soups he served me to “strengthen the pup.”
The gifts he bought for the nursery.
The care instructions he read out loud.
The nights he talked to my belly as though speaking to our future heir.
All of it—every last piece—had only been practice.
He had used me and my unborn child as a rehearsal, a trial run so Sabrina wouldn’t suffer through his inexperience. Even the nursery, which he swore was for our pup, had been prepared for the offspring in Sabrina’s womb.
I listened to the messages again and again until the ache in my chest twisted so painfully it forced out a laugh. A brittle, broken sound.
I wasn’t laughing because it was amusing.
I was laughing because the hurt was so deep it split something inside me.