He Fed My Daughter's Cure to His Fated's

My chosen mate used his Beta authority to give the entire moonbloom compound to his fated mate's daughter.

The healer had said to split it—half for each child. Both would live. He overrode her. Gave the full dose to Rosalie Blackwell.

He wanted a full recovery. Just not for ours.

Three days later, my daughter Wren's organs shut down. She died on her birthday, still asking why Daddy wasn't there. The dress I'd made her—white with little silver wolves along the hem—she never got to put it on.

That same day, his fated's daughter walked out of the healing hall completely cured. He even threw a feast for the whole pack.

I collapsed at the border of Thornecrest territory. The healers told me it was cancer. Late-stage. Nothing left to treat.

Now I sat alone in our empty house with Wren's unworn birthday dress across my lap and drafted the dissolution papers.

It was past midnight when Declan finally walked through the door.

He kicked off his boots and reached for the light switch. The room was pitch black.

He flinched.

I was on the couch. Wren's birthday dress folded across my knees, white with tiny silver wolves stitched along the hem. I'd picked it out two months ago. She never got to put it on.

"Goddess, Elara. Sitting in the dark? What is wrong with you?"

I didn't answer. My fingers traced the silver stitching.

His eyes dropped to the dress. His jaw tightened—not with guilt. With annoyance.

"You're still on about the dress? She'll wear it when she's better. Stop turning everything into a funeral."

When she's better. He still believed there would be a "better." There wouldn't. Not anymore.

"I've explained this to you a hundred times." He paced toward the kitchen, pulling off his jacket. A scent clung to the leather that didn't belong to this house. Sweet. Floral. Not mine. "Briony confirmed the compound works best at full concentration. Rosalie's body was at the ideal stage. Splitting it in half meant two sick pups dragging along instead of one full recovery. I'm the Beta. I had to make a call."

"Briony recommended splitting it equally."

He didn't even turn around. "Half-dose, half-result. That's basic. You want both girls limping? I chose the option that actually saved a life. Wren is MY daughter too—you think I'd just toss her aside? Next blood moon is in three months. We'll get more moonbloom then."

Three months. Wren didn't have three days.

He glanced at the cold stove. The untouched counter. The dishes I hadn't moved since yesterday.

"You didn't cook." Not a question. An accusation. "I've got early training tomorrow. I need a real breakfast, Elara. Not whatever this is."

He gestured at the dark kitchen like it had personally offended him. Like the woman sitting five feet away, holding their dead daughter's dress, was just another chore that hadn't been done.

I looked up at him.

"Let's dissolve the bond."

The words landed before he could take another step.

He went still. Turned slowly. Stared at me like I'd spoken in a language he didn't recognize.

"What did you just say?"

"I want to dissolve the bond, Declan. The papers are ready. We'll do the ceremony tomorrow."

Something shifted in his face. Disbelief folded into a hard, mocking smile. "Oh. So that's what this is. You're using the bond to punish me." He let out a short laugh. "Classic Elara."

I held his gaze. Said nothing.

The smile dropped.

"Fine." His voice went flat. Cold. He grabbed his jacket off the chair and pulled it back on. "But don't even think about taking Wren. I'm the Beta of Silverpine. No pup crosses the border without my word. You want out? Get out. She stays."

He walked past me without another glance. At the door he stopped, one hand on the frame.

"I mean it. Try anything and I'll have every patrol wolf in this territory looking for her."

The door cracked shut behind him. The whole house rattled.

I sat there. The dress was warm where my hands had been pressing into it. The silver wolves caught what little light came through the window.

He'd been home for less than ten minutes. In that time he'd blamed me, demanded breakfast, mocked my pain, and threatened to take the only person I'd ever truly loved.

He never asked if Wren had eaten today. Never asked if she'd slept through the night, or if the pain had gotten worse.

He never once looked at the dress—really looked at it—and wondered why I was holding it like it was all I had left.

Declan, you didn't make it to Wren's last breath. And you won't make it to mine, either.