The Alpha's Unclaimed Mate

Chapter 8: Confrontation

Laila POV

"Hi, I'm Jason. I don't mean to disturb you, but I think you lost this at the restaurant."

Jason approached me slowly, holding out my wallet. I snatched it from his hands, immediately checking to see if it had been opened. The clasp was still secure, my identification still safely hidden inside. Relief flooded through me.

His expression was unreadable as he watched me, as if he was reading every single detail on my face.

"Thank you, and sorry about what Ava just said though. She mistook you for someone else," I said quickly, my voice sharper than I'd intended. " Children just say things sometimes. They don't know what they mean."

As I spoke, I glanced at Ava, frowning, when I noticed she hadn't looked away once. Her big green eyes locked on Jason like she'd found some long-lost treasure.

"It's fine," Jason replied with a smile, shifting his eyes to Ava too.

"You're really handsome," Ava blurted, blunt the way only a six-year-old can be. "I like you. Mama likes you too, but she gets sad when she looks at people with pretty eyes like yours."

"Ava!" My face burned, heat rushing up my neck. "That's enough."

Jason crouched down so he was eye level with her. His voice came soft, too soft, the kind that pulled at things in my chest I'd buried years ago.

"Thank you for the compliment," he told her. "You're very beautiful yourself."

Ava giggled, little hand covering her mouth. "Mama says my eyes are special. That they're the color of forests."

"Your mama's right," Jason said. His gaze flicked back to me, and I swear something unguarded slipped through his expression. "Exactly the color of forests."

I had to stop this before it spiraled into places I couldn't control. Before Ava said one more thing I wasn't ready to hear.

"Thanks for bringing my wallet back," I said, clipped. "You can go now."

He rose to his full height, and suddenly the room felt too small. He was all sharp lines and presence, filling every corner like he always used to.

"Of course," he said, quiet, almost gentle. "I hope everything goes well for you both."

And then he left, just like that.

After he left, I turned to find Ava watching me with those perceptive eyes that saw far too much.

"Why were you mean to the nice man, Mama?"

I sank down on the edge of her bed, running my fingers through her dark hair. "I wasn't mean, baby. Just… careful."

"He seemed nice though. His eyes looked like mine." She touched her cheek like she was trying to memorize something. "Do you think my daddy has eyes like that too?"

My chest clenched so hard it almost knocked the breath from me. "I don't know, sweetheart. Maybe."

The day dragged after that. I tried to make it normal, even though nothing about hospital walls and antiseptic smells is normal.

I read her stories about brave princesses who fought dragons with nothing but kindness. My voice wavered a little, but Ava didn't notice—she was too caught up in the adventure.

The thought of her going under anesthesia and surgery soon in the future wouldn't let me go. Routine, the doctors kept saying. Just routine. But nothing about your six-year-old lying unconscious on an operating table feels routine.

By evening, I tucked her into the thin sheets, pulling the blanket to her chin.

"Mama," she whispered, eyes big in the dim light, "when my surgery's done… can I get a present?"

"Of course, baby. What do you want?"

She hesitated, picking at the blanket edge, the way she always did when her mind was chewing on something bigger than her words.

"I want a dad," she said finally, barely above a whisper. "I get jealous. The other kids have dads. And that man earlier—Jason—he was nice. He felt like... like he could be a good daddy."

The words landed like a punch. I'd always known she'd ask one day, that questions about her father would come. But I wasn't ready for it to be here, in a sterile hospital room, right after running into the one man I'd spent six years trying to erase from my memory.

"Oh, sweetheart," I murmured, pulling her close. "I know it's hard sometimes, seeing other families. But it's you and me. We're a team. We take care of each other."

She leaned into my shoulder, voice muffled. "But wouldn't it be nice to have someone strong, like Jason, to take care of us too?"

I closed my eyes, swallowing the tears that burned hot. How could I explain?

How could I tell a six-year-old that her father was more than strong, he was untouchable. That his world was built on rules and power, and I'd never fit in it. That he'd chosen that world over me.

"Maybe someday," I lied, the words bitter. "But for now, let's get you better first. And when you do, I'll get you that toy rabbit you wanted."

"The one with the floppy ears?" she asked, face serious.

"The one with the floppy ears," I promised.

She nodded, satisfied, and her little body relaxed into the pillows. Minutes later, she was asleep, her breathing steady, peaceful.

I sat there in the growing dark, watching her chest rise and fall, and tried not to think about pine and leather, or the way green eyes had always undone me.

Jason POV

As I made my way to the hospital a few days later, I thought about what happened at that pediatric ward again.

That woman, the little girl—it rattled me in a way I hadn't been rattled in years. I had been thinking about Laila a lot after seeing the stranger mother and daughter, more frequently than I had already been.

I wondered if my daughter would be this age if she was still alive.

The emergency call had come just right after dinner today.

What I thought was just my father still being upset with the prospect of me finding my child was actually his heart condition acting up, requiring immediate intervention.

When I walked in, he was awake, looking stronger than he should've, considering the wires and machines surrounding him.

"There you are," he said, voice dry but steady.

"How're you feeling?," I muttered, dropping into the chair beside his bed.

"Like I'm about to have someone cut into my chest," he shot back. "But that's not what I want to talk about."

My Mother glanced up from her knitting. That knowing look on her face always put me on edge. "Your father's been thinking," she said.

Which meant trouble.

He leaned forward, expression hard. "The pack elders are restless. They want to see you settled. Brittany's been waiting long enough."

"I know," I said, rubbing the spot between my brows. The headache had been there since I heard about Laila and the child. "I'm thinking about it."

"You've been thinking about it' for six years," he snapped. "She's your fated mate. The goddess herself chose her."

"The goddess also gave me free will," I bit out.

"Jason, you're more distracted than usual," Father observed, his voice sharp.

"It's nothing," I said quickly. "Just pack business. The northern negotiations aren't smooth."

"Don't lie," Father said, voice sharp as a blade. "I know when you're hiding something. This isn't about politics."

The room went quiet except for the monitors beeping steady. Both of them watching me, waiting.

Finally, I let out a breath. "Brittany's not right for Luna. She's impulsive. Vindictive. She's already stirring up trouble with her attitude."

Father waved that off like it was nothing. "Those things can be managed."

"Can they?" I snapped. "She's driven wedges among the pack wives, treats young members like servants. You want that to represent us?"

Mother and Father exchanged a look I couldn't read.

"There are other factors," he said carefully. "Her bloodline. The alliances we'd secure. Expectations. And most importantly, she is your fated mate, and you know you cannot simply reject her without any consequences."

"Politics," I muttered bitterly. "Always politics."

"That's leadership, son. You've known since you were a boy."

I had known. I'd accepted it long ago. So why now did it feel like chains around my throat?

His eyes narrowed, voice dropping lower. "Is this because of the news about Laila and her child?"