When fate and worlds collide

29 | Harsh Truths

“For almost four years,” Rowan spat, voice shaking with restrained emotion, “all Mum ever told me, was that my dad loved me. That he’d come back for me.” Glen froze. “For four years she talked about you like you were still here,” Rowan continued. “Like you mattered. Like the good times—however few and pathetic they were—meant something.” His fists clenched at his sides, power stirring in response to the raw honesty pouring out of him.

“I knew it hurt her,” he went on. “I knew how kind she was being to a man who treated her like s**t. But she did it anyway. For me.” Rowan closed his eyes and took a slow, steady breath—centering himself exactly the way I’d taught him. “For almost four years,” he continued quietly, “Mum has done everything she could to do right by me. Even though she would’ve loved nothing more than to erase you from our lives.”

My throat tightened.

“She could have let you die out there,” he added. “Never told anyone. No one would’ve known. Not even me.” His gaze shifted to me then, softening in a way that nearly broke me. “But she didn’t. Because she cared more about what it would do to me, than how much you hurt her. She gave me the chance to make my own decision.” Silence swallowed the room. Glen looked at me, eyes glassy and red, something like regret finally cracking through. I’d imagined this moment so many times—imagined satisfaction, vindication, even relief.

Instead, my chest felt unbearably heavy.

“Even after what you did to her before the fall,” Rowan continued, and the flicker of shock on Glen’s face told me he hadn’t realized just how much his son remembered, “and what you did to us both after. Mum still wanted me to feel loved. By a father who abandoned his child to die, for another woman while the world was falling apart.” Tears filled Rowan’s eyes—not the fragile kind born of pain, but the sharp, burning kind forged from years of swallowed anger. From knowing, too young, that he hadn’t been chosen.

“Rowan… I—I—I’m sorry. I—” Glen stammered, words tripping over themselves in their rush to mean something.

“I don’t want your apology,” Rowan cut in. His voice didn’t rise. “I don’t want your reasons. Nothing you say will ever excuse the abuse you gave her, or me. Or leaving us to die. Nothing will change my mind.” He crossed the room and slipped an arm around my shoulders, grounding both of us. I forced myself not to show how fiercely proud I was—how this moment stitched together something in me I hadn’t realized was still torn, but it surged through the link so he would know my pride for him. “I’m angry at myself,” Rowan went on quietly, “for how long I spent trying to decide. But I understand now. The father Mum told me about—the man who supposedly loved me—never existed. You don’t abandon people you love.”

Glen opened his mouth again. Rowan didn’t let him speak.

“I don’t need you in my life. I don’t want you in my life. And I don’t want anything to do with that woman or her daughter.” His jaw tightened. “You’d only use them against Mum and me in whatever twisted way suits you.” The room felt too small. Too tight.

This wasn’t the outcome I’d prepared for. I’d steeled myself to tolerate Glen’s existence—for Rowan’s sake. I’d told myself I could endure almost anything if it meant protecting my son. Some things, it turned out, were unforgivable, even to him.

“You should leave, Glen,” I suggested quietly. Glen’s gaze flicked from Rowan to me, his voice dropping to a whisper.

“But… I’m your dad.” Rowan let out a short, humorless huff. Any remaining sympathy evaporated.

“As far as I’m concerned,” he retorted, “my dad died four years ago.” Shock, anger, and confusion tore across Glen’s face before his eyes locked onto mine.

My stomach dropped. That look—I knew that look.

Memories surged up uninvited, years of fear crashing into my chest so hard my body froze. Before I could move, Glen lunged. Rowan shouted as he was knocked aside, then Glen’s hands were on my throat, dragging me down with him. We hit the floor hard. My back slammed against it, pain flaring white-hot as his fingers tightened around my neck.

For all my years of training, all my power and preparation, I still couldn’t react the way I wanted to. Not against him. Not without fear.

Rowan shouted as he rushed toward us, only to be flung aside with brutal ease. The sight slammed into me—bared teeth, eyes burning with hate, a mouth twisted into a familiar snarl. Everything I had sworn I would never see again.

I should have left him to die.

“You turned him against me, you b***h!” Glen roared, his fingers tightening around my throat. “I’ll make you pay—” I drove my palm upward, hard, catching his nose with a sickening crunch. He reeled back with a howl, blood already pouring as pain claimed him. I sucked in a ragged breath and scrambled to my feet, the room tilting, vision blurring, but instinct carried me where thought could not. Between him and my son. The woman I had been—the one who endured years of pain, who flinched at his name, his voice, who learned how to disappear to survive—she was gone. Broken. Buried. Beaten into submission once, a lifetime ago.

She had been weak.

And I had killed her.

“Leave,” I demanded coldly, my voice steady despite the roar in my ears. “Leave now, Glen. Before you do something you regret.” He staggered upright, clutching his bleeding nose, eyes wild with fury. The air around him crackled with it—rage tipping into something feral. “You have no control here,” I added, watching the truth land and curdle.

His snarl deepened. “You ungrateful, spiteful b***h!”

“There’s nothing to be grateful for,” I shot back. “Not from what we had in our relationship—if you can even call it that. I owe you nothing, and I will give you nothing. Rowan’s decision is his alone.” I didn’t want to hurt Rowan by hurting his father. But I would do whatever it took to protect my child.

“Just leave, Glen!” Rowan shouted. It only fueled the man further. My power surged in answer to the threat, a low hum vibrating through my bones. I felt my canines brush my lower lip as my body prepared for violence, every sense sharpening, every instinct locking into place.

I would not break again.

Not for this man.

Glen lunged as the front door exploded open at the same instant, wood slamming into the wall as chaos tore through the room. Shouts overlapped, boots thundered, and then—sudden, brutal stillness. Glen hit the floor hard, the sound of his skull cracking against tile turning my stomach. Braydon had him pinned, knee between his shoulders, forearm locked across his spine with lethal efficiency.

I blinked, disoriented, my body still braced for a blow that never came. Liam was suddenly there, his hand closing around mine. Power flooded my veins as he opened the pack link fully, strength and grounding pouring into me until my knees steadied and my breath came easier.

“Are you alright?” he asked Rowan. I followed his gaze. My son stood pale and rigid, eyes wide—not sure if he was processing his father’s attack or the violent rescue that followed. Maybe both. Liam turned back to me. His hands came up, rough and warm, gripping my face and forcing my eyes to his. He didn’t ask me the same question. He didn’t need to. His blue eyes churned, fury coiled tight beneath his skin, barely contained. I could feel it—his instinct to tear Glen apart, to end the threat permanently. And for one horrifying fraction, my walls slipped. A memory bled through before I could stop it.

Glen, years ago. His face warped with rage. His hand raised, ready to strike again. Me curled inward, small, shaking, trying to disappear.

My fear leaked into the bond. I watched as Liam’s expression darkened instantly, Braydon’s head whipped, mouth twisting in a snarl. Xavier appeared in the doorway, his gaze sweeping the room—Glen restrained and bleeding on the floor, Rowan frozen behind me, Liam holding my face like an anchor. Xavier felt it too. Witnessed the memory. The truth. His colour drained as understanding hit, his eyes snapping back to Glen as his own beast begged to surface, furious and hungry. Through the pack link, I felt them all react.

Rage. Protection. Bloodlust.

Every member present—and those connected through the bond—went deathly still, waiting. Waiting for the Alpha’s command. Waiting for permission. Every eye in the room was flicking between me and the man pinned. If I didn’t act, Glen would die here, and Rowan would witness it.

“Xavier,” I barked, my voice rough, throat still stinging where Glen’s fingers had dug in. Xavier’s eyes were locked on Glen, who thrashed uselessly against Braydon’s iron grip. “Xavier!” I growled again, this time using a command voice that resonated through every corner of the room. The vibration carried authority, rippling through the pack and demanding obedience. Every head snapped toward me, Xavier included. “Get him back to his room. No one touches this man—or his family. Do you understand?” A tense hush fell over everyone. I felt the subtle submissions in the link, the wave of acknowledgment washing over me. At the end of the day, my power here—my authority—surpassed even Liam’s.

Xavier’s jaw tensed, fists rigid at his sides. I pulled my walls higher, letting nothing show but the cold steel in my stare.

“Is that understood?” I repeated, voice sharp as a blade. His nostrils flared, veins standing out on his forehead, but he nodded, teeth gritted.

“Understood,” he muttered. Without another word, Xavier hauled Glen to his feet with Braydon, shoving him roughly toward the door, silencing his protests with sharp warnings.