The Alpha King is unavailable 140

of control.

"You can look now," I said when I finished.

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< Chapter 85 Matriarch's Mem

+8 Points2

Ethan turned, something clutched carefully in his hands. My breath caught when I recognized

Lily's mug, painstakingly pieced back together.

"I spent the night repairing it," he said, his voice uncharacteristically hesitant. "I know it doesn't

make up for what I did, but I wanted to try."

He held it out to me, the cracks visible but the mug whole again. The childish drawing of our

family-a family that never truly existed-made my heart ache.

"Olivia, about Lily's birthday..." Ethan began, his amber eyes earnest. “I didn't intentionally miss it. There was an emergency with Emma at the Silvercrest Pack Medical Den. Dr. Rivers diagnosed a spleen injury requiring immediate blood transfusion."

My hands trembled as I took the mug from him.

"I should have been there for Lily," he continued. "I know that now. It won't happen again."

His words, meant to appease, only deepened my pain. The authority in his voice- an Alpha

making a solemn vow-meant nothing. It was too late for promises.

"Won't happen again?" I repeated, my voice dangerously quiet. "She's dead, Ethan. Our daughter is dead."

Something snapped inside me. With a sudden movement, I hurled the mug against the wall.

sound of breaking ceramic echoed my broken

more.

my voice

fall.

out, leaving him stunned amidst

(Matriarch Evelyn's POV)

the scent of moonflowers as my car

at the ancient

renewed by the sacred rituals and

Bernard Sheppard announced, opening

that had characterized his decades

his arm as I stepped from the vehicle. "I won't

a brief visit to pay my respects to old

morning light. I made my way to Matilda's grave, my old bones protesting slightly at the exertion. After placing fresh moonflowers on

saying a brief prayer, I turned to

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85

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when I saw it-a new tombstone gleaming in the soft light. Something about it

closer.

the polished granite embedded with small moonstone crystals that seemed to absorb and reflect the light. But it was the photograph

read aloud, my fingers tracing the engraved name. "Beloved

in our hearts."

indicated she had lived just five short years. Such a tragedy

the cemetery exit. But the name echoed in my mind, stirring something deep

Winters. Why did it sound so

call with Olivia, my grandson's mate. She was holding a newborn baby,

said, her

with emerald eyes, perhaps

she had called, her laughter like silver

in my chest.

one on

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