Hated and His to Claim

Chapter 5

IVY

The car stopped in front of a tall building. Large, raised letters mounted on the wall read: Mancini Healing Hall—the pack hospital.

I stepped out of the car. Craig followed suit and led me inside. As we reached the reception, I noticed a few Mancini Pack members lingering there.

A small child walked up to me and said softly, "Miss, are you also here to get treated?"

I looked down at myself. My gown was dirty and partially burned, my hands bruised and scraped.

Yeah, I looked exactly like someone who needed treatment.

Suddenly, a woman rushed over and yanked the child away. She hissed, "Don’t go near her."

The other pack members at the reception stared at me with suspicion—some even with visible rage in their eyes. I didn’t carry their pack scent. I understood. If the situation were reversed, if a stranger had entered the Risemoon Pack like this, we would have reacted the same.

Craig quickly led me away from the reception desk.

We walked down the hall until we stopped in front of a ward marked VIP Patient Room. Just as we entered, Craig paused, as though receiving a mindlink.

"We came at the right time," he said after a moment. "I just received a mindlink. Your mother is conscious. You can speak with her, if you wish."

"Sure," I replied.

Great. If she’s conscious, we can escape together.

"Where is she?" I asked, trying to sound casual, though my heart raced with hope.

Craig gestured toward a nearby room. "She’s in the VIP room."

I blinked, stunned. A VIP room? Those were expensive. Why would Vladimir—who admitted to hating my pack and its members—put my mother in one?

I strode toward the room. At the entrance stood three men dressed in black, armed with heavy guns. They wore the same uniform as Vladimir’s personal guards.

So that’s the reason for the VIP room. Not for comfort—but for control. To make sure she doesn’t escape.

The guards moved aside and let me in.

I opened the door and stepped inside. My mother lay on the bed, an IV drip in her hand. Her eyes looked heavy with exhaustion.

When she saw me, she whispered, "Ivy…"

She tried to sit upright, but she was too weak.

I rushed to her side and gently helped her up, placing a pillow behind her back so she could rest against it.

She leaned back, closing her eyes for a moment.

I sat beside her on the bed, holding her hand.

"Are you getting better?" I asked softly.

She nodded slowly.

I stroked her hand. "That’s good."

Then she opened her eyes again—still tired—and asked, "But Ivy… why are we in the Mancini Pack?"

My other hand curled into a fist. How do I even begin to tell her? The Risemoon Pack… defeated. Everything she’d fought to protect was gone. My heart clenched.

She noticed my silence and became alert. "Did something happen?"

"Yes," I answered quietly. "A lot happened. But right now, we need to focus on escaping this pack."

She placed her other hand gently over mine and whispered, "I trust you. But it’s dangerous…"

"Trust me," I said firmly. "Everything will work out."

She nodded faintly, and after a while, she drifted off to sleep again.

I stayed in the room for what felt like hours, waiting.

Finally, I heard footsteps receding outside. I crept to the door, cracked it slightly, and peered out.

The guards were leaving.

They’re rotating shifts. That meant a window of opportunity.

I slipped out and hurried to the nearby nurses’ station. A young nurse looked up.

"Please," I whispered. "Can I borrow a phone?"

Her eyes swept over me—my tattered gown, the faint bruises on my skin, the desperation in my voice. Something in her expression shifted. Pity, maybe. Or concern.

She hesitated for a moment, then nodded. "Sure."

She handed over a phone.

I returned to the VIP room quickly—but my heart sank.

New guards were already approaching. Different men, but still Mancini.

I rushed inside the ward and locked the door manually from the inside. Then, with shaking fingers, I dialed a number I knew too well.

The line rang once. Twice.

"Hello?" came the familiar voice.

"Uncle?" I called out, my voice trembling with relief.

"Ivy?" he replied, surprised.

"Yes, Uncle—it’s Ivy," I said quickly.

Uncle Amos—my mother’s youngest stepbrother and a commander in the Mancini Pack.

"Please, Uncle, I need your help."

"I’m always willing to help. Go on, dear."

Tears pricked at my eyes. "The Mancini Pack won against Risemoon. We’re captives now. Please, Uncle… you’re a commander here. Help us escape. Help us get to the border."

There was a pause. "Ivy…"

"Please," I begged, voice breaking, tears sliding down my cheeks.

Suddenly, a strong hand snatched the phone from mine.

My breath caught. I turned.

Alpha Vladimir.

My heart pounded.

He brought the phone to his ear and spoke coldly, "Commander Amos, report back to duty. As you should."

A beep echoed through the room.

The call ended.

Just like that… our escape ended.

Vladimir moved toward the chair nearby, sinking into it with calm ease. "A small key can unlock a door," he said smoothly, "even when it’s locked from the inside."

He clicked his tongue. "I thought you were smart enough to know that, Ivy."

My fists clenched.

I hated how he said my name—like it was a joke. I hated how my desperation amused him. I hated everything about him.

With mocking ease, he added, "Calling someone who answers to me… to betray me? That was bold. Stupid, but bold."

"I hate you," I muttered, my voice trembling.

He adjusted his cufflink, gaze cool. "Save your hate—and your energy—for tomorrow."

He turned to leave.

But I couldn’t stop myself. "Just kill me, then. Why drag it out? Why this… game?"

He paused.

Then turned.

Step by slow step, he approached.

I backed up instinctively—until the wall caught me. He didn’t stop until he was inches away.

One hand slammed beside my head.

I froze.

His presence wrapped around me like chains. When I dared to open my eyes, his deep blue gaze was already locked on mine. A strand of golden hair had slipped free, brushing his cheek.

His voice dropped—steel wrapped in silk. "If I could, I’d end you right here."

My breath hitched.

"But I can’t. Because of that damn prophecy."

He leaned closer, his breath brushing my cheek.

"So," he murmured, "you’d better obey every word of that contract. Or I swear, Ivy… prophecy or not… I’ll make you wish you had."