The Woman He Mocked Is An Alpha Heiress

Hurt them back

HAILEY

“What are you doing here?” I ask.

Eamon glances at me over his shoulder, not fully turning at first, and then he does.

“I should be asking you what you are doing here instead,” he says, and his voice is low and steady, but there’s something under it I can’t quite name. “You should be resting. You… you look like you need it.”

I don’t answer that because I don’t even know how to.

So instead, I take a step forward, and then another, until I’m standing beside him, close enough to feel the quiet around him, but not close enough to touch.

And I look ahead at the water and the petals floating on its surface.

And I ask,

“How many times have you come here after I left?”

Silence.

For a second, I wonder if I asked the wrong question.

Or maybe the right one at the wrong time.

My lips part to say something else, to take it back maybe, but he speaks before I can.

“Twice,” he says. “This is the second time.”

I blink.

Because that’s not what I expected.

I thought—

I don’t know what I thought.

No, I just lied.

I thought his answer would be more.

A hundred times? Five hundred? Everyday since I left?

Not… this.

My heart clenches.

“Only twice?” I ask softly, and I don’t know why that bothers me the way it does.

Maybe I'm just too selfish.

He lets out a quiet breath, and his shoulders rise slightly before they fall as he turns to where I’m facing and leans against the railing.

“I don’t come here to remember things that aren’t mine anymore,” he says, his words are calm, but they land heavier than they should.

My chest tightens as I look down at my hands, my fingers brushing lightly against each other.

“They were yours too,” I whisper before I can stop myself.

He turns his head slowly, and I feel his eyes on me even before I meet them.

“Were they?” he asks.

A second passes.

Then another.

And I feel it sitting in my chest, heavy and overdue.

“I’m sorry, Eamon,” I finally say, my voice quieter than I expect, and my hand lifts slowly until it rests over his on the railing.

I feel him still under my touch for a moment.

“You know I don’t like it when you call me that,” he says, his voice low but there’s no real bite to it.

I swallow.

“I’m sorry… Eamie,” I say again, softer this time, the nickname slipping out the way it used to when I was five and free and didn’t know anything about bonds or choices or consequences. “I really am.”

For a second, nothing happens. And then, he moves fast like something in him finally snaps loose.

His hand leaves the railing, and the next thing I know, I’m pulled into him, his arms wrapping around me tight, so tight it knocks the breath out of me.

I don’t resist.

I can’t.

Because the moment I’m in his strong big arms—

Something in me gives completely.

His hand comes up to the back of my head, pressing me closer into him, and I feel it, the way his body tenses, the way his grip tightens like he’s afraid I might disappear again if he lets go.

“Hell…” he breathes out against my hair. “I’ve missed you, Hails.”

My fingers clutch the back of his shirt without thinking.

“I missed you so damn much I thought I was going insane.”

My throat tightens, and I close my eyes, because hearing that hurts in a way I didn’t prepare for.

And I just stay there.

In his arms.

Letting it sink in.

Letting it break something open again.

He pulls back slightly after a moment, but not enough to let go completely, his hands still holding onto my arms like he needs to make sure I’m real.

“I looked for you,” he says, his voice rough now, his eyes not leaving mine. “For months after you left.”

I don’t speak.

I just listen.

Because I owe him that much.

“At first, I didn’t even know where to start,” he continues, and there’s a quiet frustration in his tone now. “You didn’t say anything. You didn’t even leave anything. You just… left.”

My chest tightens, and I look down briefly before forcing myself to meet his eyes again.

“You said you found your mate,” he adds. “That he was an Alpha from a neighboring pack.”

I nod slowly.

“I did.”

He exhales, running a hand through his hair before letting it fall back to his side.

“And when I finally found you…” he continues, his voice dropping slightly, “I couldn’t get close.”

I frown slightly.

“What do you mean?”

“I mean,” he says, his jaw tightening, “you were quite good at making sure no one found you.”

I flinch because he’s right.

And because a part of me had wanted it that way.

I made sure of it.

I used everything I had, everything I was born into, everything I knew how to control, and I made myself disappear.

Not just from him.

From all of them.

And even if they found traces of me, even if they tried—

It would only ever be the surface.

Like watching someone through a window and not being able to enter.

I swallow but I don’t say any of that out loud.

He studies me for a second, his gaze moving over my face again, slower this time.

And then he says it.

“What happened though?” his voice lowers. “You look… broken.” His eyes rakes over me. “And you’ve lost weight.”

The word sits between us.

Broken.

I don’t deny it though.

“It’s a lot,” I say quietly, stepping out of his arms because I need space to say this without falling apart too soon.

I walk to the bench and sit, my hands resting in my lap as I stare ahead.

He doesn’t follow and just stays where he is.

And somehow, that makes it harder because he’s giving me the choice to tell him everything, to let him understand me.

But I don't know if I should take it.

I shouldn't.

I know I shouldn't.

But I’m tired.

So tired of carrying everything alone.

So tired of holding it in like if I say it out loud, it will destroy what little is left of me.

My fingers curl slightly and I speak anyway.

“I had two miscarriages.”

The words come out in a shaky whisper.

And the moment they leave my lips, everything stills.

Saying the words out loud is like poking at a fresh wound.

I continue anyway, my voice trembling. “I was neglected… and mistreated, Eamie. And I don’t like giving up on people, you know that… but I did yesterday.”

My throat tightens.

“I broke the bond.”

Tears blur my vision, and I blink, but they fall anyway.

“And when I look in the mirror…” I whisper, my voice breaking, “I can’t even recognize myself.”

My hands shake slightly in my lap.

“The miscarriages were my fault, Eamie,” I add, the guilt pressing harder now, heavier. “If I hadn’t suppressed myself for so long… if I hadn’t used that pendant from the vault… I wouldn’t have lost them.”

My breath stutters.

“I wouldn’t…”

The words don’t finish.

They can’t.

That's when he moves.

He knees beside the bench and pulls me into him again.

“...have.” I whisper against his chest, the rest of the word lost in a sob.

His arms tighten around me, and I feel him pull me closer like he’s trying to hold me together when I can’t do it myself.

And I don’t fight it or hold back

I don’t have the strength to anymore.

“I helped him for years,” I say into his shirt, my voice shaking, uneven, and barely holding together. “I stood beside him and I built with him and I made decisions from the shadows while he took the credit, and still—”

My breath breaks.

“And still, he and his mother called me useless.”

The word tastes bitter and ugly.

I squeeze my eyes shut, because saying it out loud makes it real in a way I can’t hide from.

“They kicked me out, Eamie,” I whisper. “Like I was nothing. Like I didn’t matter.”

My fingers clutch his shirt tighter.

“I’ve never felt that humiliated in my entire life.”

And that hurts more than I expected it to.

More than the bond breaking.

More than the silence after.

Because humiliation stays and lingers.

It won't let go even if you want to. You will have random flashbacks at the randomest of places.

I pull back slightly, just enough to breathe, but not enough to leave his arms, my face wet and my eyes heavy as I look at him.

“All I have left is this…” I say, my hand moving to my chest, pressing lightly like I can feel it physically. “This hole that won’t go away no matter how much I cry.”

My voice drops.

“And this anger.”

“I want to hurt them back,” I admit, quieter, but more certain. “I want them to feel even half of what I felt.”

The words don’t scare me.

That’s the problem.

I meet his green eyes, searching for something I don’t even understand.

“Does that make me a bad person, Eamie?” I ask softly.

There’s a pause.

And then, he shakes his head.

“No it doesn't. And I think you should.”