Chapter 21

( Logan’s POV)

“What are you doing here?” I bark the words before I can stop myself. My voice comes out harsher than I intend, edged with surprise and something else I don’t want to name.

Evelyn doesn’t flinch. Her tone is cold and clipped, like polished steel. “I’m the manager of the camp hospital now.”

That’s it. No greetings, no pleasantries. Just a title.

I narrow my eyes. “Manager? Of a military camp hospital?” I snort, the disbelief curling in my chest. “Did the prince hand you that title as some kind of favor?”

She doesn’t rise to the bait.

“You’re welcome to tour the facility if you’d like. I was going to inspect the recovery wing.” She pivots on her heel, giving me a professional nod, and walks off like I’m just another guest.

I follow, teeth grinding. A year ago, Evelyn wouldn’t have dared speak to me like that. Now she barely looks at me.

It's infuriating.

I scan the hospital halls as we walk. Something gnaws at the back of my mind—this place used to be a mess. Chaotic, disorganized, lacking discipline.

But now? Now it’s quiet and clean, humming with efficiency. Nurses move with purpose. Files are organized. Healers work swiftly, confidently.

And then we reach the heart of the ward.

Chris.

He’s there, crouched beside an injured Gamma warrior, treating the wound with practiced hands.

My jaw tightens.

Of all wolves.

He looks up briefly, nodding once to Evelyn. His eyes flick past me like I’m invisible. I don’t acknowledge him either, but I have to admit—he’s good.

The technique he’s using is precise, advanced. Military-level skill.

What the hell happened to this place?

“What’s your relationship with him?” I ask, my voice low and tight.

Evelyn’s brow arches. “Chris is the new Head Healer. I promoted him.”

“That’s not what I asked.” I step closer, keeping my voice even, but there’s a storm brewing beneath my skin. “Is the prince not enough for you? Now you need a healer, too?”

She goes still.

Her lips press together into a thin, furious line, and without hesitation, she grabs a metal clipboard off the counter and hurls it at me.

I catch it midair, barely flinching—but not fast enough to hide the flash of my wedding ring catching the light.

She notices. Her eyes drop to my hand. Cold amusement flickers across her face.

“You still wear it,” she says, her voice low and full of contempt. “Cute.”

Her own hand is bare.

I clench my fist and lower it to my side. “Habit,” I lie.

She scoffs. “That figures.”

I hate how effortlessly she turns her back on me.

Like, I’m not the one who gave her everything.

Like I’m not the one bleeding inside every time she looks at me like I’m a stranger.

But I refuse to show it.

“You think managing a hospital makes you important?” I sneer. “You’ve never spent a day in a real military unit. You don’t know what it means to command respect.”

She spins back toward me, fury in her eyes. “I don’t need your respect, Logan. I’ve earned it from people who matter. People who work hard, not just parade around wearing a title.”

I feel the insult land square in my chest. And yet, as I glance around, I see the truth of her words. The hospital is transformed. Even Chris, that smug bastard, is keeping the place running like a damn clock.

Still. That doesn’t mean she’s not playing games.

She turns away again, brushing past me like I’m nothing, and stalks toward the admin wing.

I watch her go, hating how every step she takes away from me feels like a wound I can’t close.

(Evelyn’s POV)

My heart is still hammering when I leave Logan behind. I shouldn’t let him get under my skin, but he always does—like a splinter that refuses to be pulled.

He had no right to question me. No right to accuse me of anything.

As I walk down the corridor, the hospital’s familiar rhythm soothes me. The nurses nod when I pass. One of the junior healers gives me a grateful smile.

This is my work. My life now.

And I won’t let an Alpha who couldn’t love me properly tear it apart.

Later that evening, Chris invites me to the tavern. I think he senses I need a break.

I almost decline, but then he gives me that lopsided smile of his and says, “It’s not just for drinks. Come on—you’ll like it.”

So I go.

And the moment I step inside, I freeze.

“Surprise!” someone yells.

The entire staff from the hospital is there—nurses, healers, admin aides. A banner hangs over the bar: Thank You, Evelyn.

My throat tightens.

“Fireworks?” I ask, blinking as the last of the little indoor sparklers fade.

Chris grins. “It was either that or balloons.”

There’s laughter and music and cake. Real cake—not that dry military rations nonsense.

They tell me how the hospital’s budget is finally being used properly, supplies are coming in on time, morale has gone up, and they’ve never had a leader who cares before.

My chest swells with pride, and something warmer—something softer—tugs at the edges of my heart. This is a different type of love.

It’s somehow more real than I ever imagined it would feel and has less than nothing to do with Logan.

That…feels good.

No, it feels great.

I drink. Too much, probably. But for the first time in weeks, I let myself enjoy it. My laugh is real. My smile isn’t forced. It feels… free.

At some point, Chris helps me up. I don’t remember when I got so dizzy, but he’s steady at my side, guiding me toward the exit.

“I’ll take you home,” he says.

But just as we reach the door, a voice cuts through the air, slicing through the noise like a blade.

“She’s my wife.”