“I’m sorry, Alpha,” she said, her voice breaking as she clung lightly to his arm. “I didn’t know the room was important. My cats… they didn’t mean it…”
Alpha Cain’s gaze shifted to me. Annoyance flickered in his eyes.
“Stephanie,” he said, his tone sharp, “why are you making a scene?”
I stared at him.
“A scene?” I repeated, disbelief creeping into my voice.
He glanced around the room, taking in the mess.
“It’s just a room,” he said dismissively. “No one’s even using it.”
My hands clenched at my sides.
“This room—” My voice shook. “This room was for our child. The baby I miscarried!”
He didn’t react. Not the way I hoped he would. Not the way I needed him to.
“If you’re upset about the mess,” he continued, as if I hadn’t said anything meaningful at all, “then I’ll have it renovated. Everything can be replaced.”
Replaced. The word hit me harder than anything else.
“No,” I said, my voice trembling. “You can’t replace those.”
His brows furrowed slightly.
“They were the clothes I bought for our baby,” I continued, my chest tightening painfully. “The one I lost… the one we lost.”
“No one is going to use those anyway.”
I stopped breathing.
“The baby’s dead.”
The words were cold. Blunt. Careless.
Something inside me shattered completely. I stared at him, unable to comprehend how he could say that so easily.
So… casually. As if that child meant nothing. As if that loss was insignificant.
He stepped closer, his hand reaching out to rest on my stomach.
“This baby is more important,” he said, his tone softening slightly.
I flinched.
“Don’t worry,” he added. “I’ll buy new clothes. Plenty of them.”
My throat tightened.
“For girls,” he continued. “Let the cats have the old ones.”
I couldn’t speak. Couldn’t move. Couldn’t even think. Because in that moment, I realized something terrifying.
He never mourned that child. Not even once.
And if... If something happened to this baby…
My hand instinctively moved to my stomach. Would he care? Or would he simply move on again?
Stephanie’s POV
Today was supposed to be mine.
I stood in front of the mirror, adjusting the fall of my dress with careful hands. The fabric draped elegantly over my body, soft yet structured, chosen not just for appearance but for presence.
The reflection staring back at me looked composed. But I knew better. Because beneath the surface, everything was already crumbling.
I inhaled slowly, my hand drifting down to rest over my stomach.