Chapter 39

Nicholas’s POV

I found her by instinct.

Not the guards’ directions, not Dan’s reports, not even the clinical logic of hospital layouts. All of that would have been useless if not for the bond—the invisible tether that still pulsed between us, fierce and unrelenting, even after everything. I could feel it tugging at me like a leash, sharp and raw, and I followed it without hesitation.

It wasn’t just her scent. It was the mix of warmth, the faint trace of wild herbs she always carried, the undercurrent of fear and exhaustion that made my wolf restless, hungry, protective. Even the antiseptic couldn’t mask it. I hated it. I craved it.

And there she was.

Standing outside a child’s ward, her back pressed to the wall, shoulders shaking beneath the thin hospital gown. Her head bowed, almost bowed under the weight of everything she carried—fatigue, fear, debt, responsibility. She clutched a piece of paper in one trembling hand, the edges worn and creased, the folds speaking louder than words: a bill.

For a long moment, I didn’t move. I simply watched her. Every line of tension in her body, every flicker of her hands, every small intake of breath screamed of how near she was to breaking.

She looked… breakable.

And that enraged me.

“You’re a fool,” I said, voice sharp as a whip in the empty corridor.

Her head jerked up. Her eyes—those dark, storm-filled eyes—flew to mine, wide with shock before narrowing immediately, suspicion cutting through like a blade.

I stepped closer, every inch of my frame imposing, every step deliberate. “Do you have a death wish?” I demanded. “You nearly died in that crash, and here you are, skulking in the halls, weak and exposed, instead of resting.”

“I don’t need your lectures,” she snapped back, voice faint, almost swallowed by exhaustion. “I’m fine.”

“Fine?” I laughed, though it was bitter, sharp. “You look like one gust of wind would snap you in two. Do you think your children need a mother who collapses in a hospital corridor because she refuses to take care of herself?”

Her jaw clenched. Her fingers tightened around the paper until her knuckles turned white. For a heartbeat, I expected fire, the kind of defiant flame she used to carry when she had the energy to fight me. But she didn’t. She simply turned her face away, shoulders trembling once more.

And that—her silence, her retreat—cut deeper than any sharp retort ever could.

I should have been satisfied. She deserved my scorn, didn’t she? A liar, a thief, a woman who had run from me, hidden children that should have been mine. Yet the sight of her, so fragile and weary, made my anger drain into something heavier. Something more dangerous.

Not pity. Not quite.

A sharp, low-edged ache, something I had buried for years, settled in my chest. I couldn’t admit it—not to Norman, not to myself—but it was truth, as undeniable as the bond that pulled me toward her.

“You won’t last at this pace,” I said, voice hard, controlled. “Do you want to leave your son motherless? Is that your plan? To drive yourself into the ground until the only thing left of you is a body they bury?”

Her lips parted, trembling, but she didn’t answer. Her silence spoke volumes.

I should have left her there. Walked away. Let Kevin or the world deal with the broken woman who had betrayed me. But my feet refused to obey, rooted to the cold tile beneath me. My hands curled and uncurled at my sides as I watched her slump further, chin dipping toward her chest.

She looked so small.

And Norman growled, low and accusatory in the back of my mind. She’s your mate. You leave her like this, you’ll regret it.

“She chose this,” I muttered under my breath, stubborn pride stiffening my spine.

She’s ours, Norman snarled. And she’s breaking.

I clenched my jaw until it hurt, swallowed the admission, and transformed the anger into action.

Later, when Esther finally returned to her room—still trembling, still trying to maintain some semblance of composure—I cornered the hospital administrator. The man nearly tripped over his own feet trying to bow low enough before my presence.

“Every bill in her name. Every debt owed to this hospital,” I said, my voice cold, precise, a blade cutting through hesitation. “Clear them. Today.”

The administrator blinked. “Alpha King, with respect, the amount—”

“Do you think I asked for your opinion?” I snapped, cutting him off. “She doesn’t see another notice. She doesn’t get another warning. Not one word leaves this hospital about her debts, or you’ll answer to me.”

The man went pale, nodding rapidly. The orders were clear. Executed immediately. Simple. Efficient.

And she would never know.

When I returned to the corridor outside Carl’s room, she was gone. Only the faint trace of her scent lingered, sharp and salty with tears, heavy with despair and determination. I exhaled, long and ragged, pressing my back against the wall, letting the tension bleed from my body just enough to keep from collapsing entirely.

I told myself it was for the children. That no matter who fathered them, they were blameless. Keeping Esther alive, safe, and capable was necessary for them.

Norman snorted beside me. Liar. You did it for her.

I pressed my palms against the cold plaster, eyes closed, trying to ground myself. Weakness. That’s what this was. Weakness dressed in control, mercy wrapped in a threat. And yet, I could not turn away.

Not from her. Not anymore.

I recalled every moment of my life with her—the anger, the obsession, the infuriating ways she had always evaded me, even when I thought I had cornered her. And yet, beneath it all, there was the bond, pulsing and alive, relentless and merciless. Pulling me closer. Tying me to her in ways neither of us could control, no matter how much pain or distance we tried to wield.

I had thought my hatred for her was the strongest thing I possessed. I had believed cruelty and dominance could sever the bond, bury it beneath years of scorn and punishment. But no. Seeing her now, shivering and pale, her pride battered but unbowed, I realized hatred had only been the surface.

Beneath it was need.

Need I could not quell.

Need that would drive me to act, to intervene, to bend the world around her so she could survive—even if she refused to let me near.

I pictured her curled over Carl’s small frame, whispering promises into his unconscious ears, pledging herself to battles she was too weary to fight. My chest constricted. Every instinct screamed at me that she should not be left to bear that burden alone.

I moved through the hospital corridors like a predator and a guardian in one, each step measured, every shadow scanned for threats. Norman paced restlessly at the edge of my consciousness, growling at my restraint, knowing I was walking a fine line between mercy and obsession.

I cornered every obstacle in my path. Every bill. Every debt. Every detail that could threaten her, her children, or her fragile pride—I destroyed them before she even knew they existed.

It was silent. Invisible. Perfect.

And still, when I leaned against the wall outside her door, waiting, I felt the pull of her even when she wasn’t there. The faint trail of her sorrow, the remnants of her exhaustion, lingered in the air, mixing with the antiseptic scent of the hospital. It clung to me like smoke.

Norman growled again. You did this for her.

I pressed my jaw tight, swallowing hard. Yes. I did. I’d do it again a thousand times. Every time.

Because she could walk the path of despair alone, but she didn’t have to. Not while I breathed. Not while I existed.

The corridors were empty now, silent except for the distant beeping of machines and the low hum of the hospital at night. I let myself breathe, slow and steady, though my heart still thumped with the twin rhythms of fear and anticipation.

She would return. She always did. And when she did, she would never know what I had done. Never know that the invisible hand that saved her, that protected her, that preserved the fragile line between survival and collapse, was mine.

But that didn’t matter. Not really.

Because this wasn’t about pride. Not about control. Not about power.

It was about her.

And for all my resistance, for all the scorn I had built to keep her at a distance, I could not turn away.

Not from her. Not anymore.

I exhaled again, slower this time, allowing the tension to settle into the cold hospital air. One thought persisted, sharp and undeniable: I will keep her safe. No one else will. Not the world, not the debts, not even herself.

And if I must remain in the shadows, unseen, unknown, silent… I will.

Because she is mine.

And no force on this earth will take her from me.