CHAPTER TEN
1503 Words
Seraphine’s POV
Nobody moved for several seconds after Marcus finished speaking. Three days. Seventy-two hours. The number hung in the middle of Kevin’s kitchen like a bomb with a lit fuse that no one wanted to touch.
Outside, the wind kept rattling the windows. Inside, the silence stretched on, because here was just too much on the line.
Just when I thought the worst was over, now this?
Upstairs, the twins were safe for now, laughing and bickering about something that I could swear was about dinosaurs. Their faint noises drifted down through the ceiling and made everything feel worse. Every adult at that table was picturing the same awful thing: what if they weren’t upstairs laughing in three days?
Marcus broke the silence first. He reached into his satchel and pulled out a thick folder. My stomach twisted at the sight of it. In it, were official pack documents that could quietly ruin lives. And it was here for mine.
He dropped it onto the table like it might bite someone.
I didn’t want to touch it. Just staring at it was already bad enough.
“Section Fourteen,” he said. The words sounded as cold and bureaucratic as they felt.
Then he looked straight at me, then at Caden. “Wilful obstruction of Alpha bloodline rights.”
The room went dead quiet. Not out of confusion, no. It was mostly because we all knew the danger looming ahead. We all knew exactly how bad this was.
Kevin’s face hardened. Caden looked like he was calculating which wall to punch first. I felt strangely calm on the surface, but the fear had just sunk deeper, turning cold and sharp.
Marcus kept going. “The complaint is already active with the Millhaven Registry.”
Dani blinked. “What does that mean?”
Marcus chose his words carefully. “It means this isn’t a threat or a warning. It’s not something she might do. It’s already happening.”
Dani looked around the table. “What exactly happens if this thing goes through?”
Marcus’s voice stayed flat. “If it’s upheld, the tribunal can temporarily remove the children from their mother’s custody pending investigation.”
The word removed sounded like a slap across my face. It was a literal insult to the years I’d spent taking care of Luna and Emery. I hated every bit of this whole conversation, talking about Luna and Emery like they were some items on a cart.
My wolf stayed dangerously still inside me, watching everything. But she wasn’t calm, she was barely holding it together.
Dani looked horrified. “Can she actually do that?”
Marcus nodded. “The complaint being filed activates the legal review. Normally there are safeguards…” His tone made it clear this wasn’t normal. “And normally, people don’t spend months planning the attack.”
Caden leaned forward, his expression was sharp and focused. “When was it filed?”
“This morning.”
Caden nodded slowly, already thinking ten steps ahead like the Alpha he was. “That means that photograph wasn’t the real attack.”
Marcus met his eyes. “No. It wasn’t”
It clicked for me then—the coffee incident, the corridor whispers, the online rumours. All of it was just noise. All pure distraction. While I was busy trying to stay away from Caden, Isolde had been filing paperwork in the background.
“Oh God,” I muttered.
“Exactly,” Marcus said. “She wanted all eyes on us so nobody noticed the real move.”
Caden leaned back, his expression turning frighteningly calm. “The complaint was filed first, and then came the photograph.”
She’d played us perfectly. While we panicked over rumours, the legal trap had already snapped shut.
Three days, and the time kept shrinking the longer we stood here.
I looked at Marcus. “How long do we actually have?”
“Seventy-two hours. The tribunal has to convene within three days.”
I tried not to picture strangers deciding whether I deserved my own kids. Then I turned to Caden.
“Withdraw it.”
Every head swivelled toward me.
“You’re the Alpha,” I said, voice steady. “Withdraw the complaint.”
Caden sighed, tired. “Sera—”
“I know you didn’t file it. But it’s your bloodline.”
Marcus stepped in. “He technically has the authority.” Hope flickered for half a second before he killed it. “But Isolde planned for that too.”
He pulled out another folded document. The paper looked worn, like it’d been handled too many times.
I unfolded it and felt my stomach drop. “Parental abandonment?”
Marcus’s voice was quiet. “If Section Fourteen fails, she activates Twenty-Two. And there are more after that.”
The silence that followed was heavy. This wasn’t one complaint. It was a whole damn system, every defence already countered, every move anticipated months in advance.
But why?
What did Isolde want?
She had Caden, she had Ironmoor to herself. What more could she possibly want?
Kevin stood up abruptly and braced his hands on the counter. The sight was unfamiliar because Kevin didn’t scare easily, and seeing him rattled made my chest ache.
Dani’s hand found mine under the table. I squeezed back. Neither of us had any idea what to do, but at least we were holding on.
Finally I asked the only question that mattered. “What do we do?”
Caden answered immediately, like he’d already been turning it over. “There is one option.”
His gaze locked on mine. For some reason, I knew I wasn’t going to like it.
“There’s a legal mechanism that invalidates all three complaints.” He didn’t look away. “A joint declaration of active mate recognition.”
Dani blinked. “A what?”
Caden explained it calmly. Under pack law, formally recognizing the mate bond would kill the bloodline dispute, nullify the abandonment claim, and torpedo the custody challenge.
I stared at him for a beat, then laughed, a short, sharp sound that wasn’t amused at all. “No.”
“Sera—”
“No.” I stood up, chair scraping loudly. “We are not doing that.”
The room went very still. Everyone knew we’d reached dangerous territory.
Caden stayed seated. “It would protect them.”
“You think I don’t know that?” My voice rose just a fraction. “You think I haven’t run through every nightmare scenario since Marcus walked in?”
His expression softened, which only irritated me more.
“This isn’t about us,” I said.
“It *is* about us.”
I folded my arms. “You don’t get to turn our bond into some legal loophole. I spent four years rebuilding my life without you. I rebuilt *myself*. I’m not standing in front of a tribunal pretending we magically found our way back to each other just because Isolde forced our hand.”
The words hurt because they were true. This was exactly what she wanted—forcing us into desperate decisions. I refused to hand her that victory.
Marcus nodded. “She’s right.”
Caden looked away for a second, then sighed. “Alright.”
Dani looked shocked. “That’s it? You’re just giving up?”
Caden’s mouth twitched into something almost like a dry smile. “No. I’m choosing not to argue with a woman who’s clearly two seconds away from throwing furniture.”
I sat back down. He wasn’t entirely wrong.
Marcus rubbed his face, looking deeply reluctant. “There is… another option.”
We all focused on him. He didn’t sound hopeful.
“The complaint relies on anonymity,” he said. “But every complaint needs a witness to corroborate it. If the witness disappears, the whole case collapses.”
Kevin frowned. “So we find the witness.”
Marcus looked miserable. “We already know who it is.”
He hesitated, then met my eyes. “Isolde identified someone close enough to know about the twins. Someone from Millhaven.”
The pieces clicked together, each one landing like broken glass. The circle of people who knew the full truth was tiny. Deliberately so.
Dani went pale. “Who?”
Nobody spoke. We were all doing the same terrible math.
Kevin put his hands up. “Not me.”
Marcus nodded. “I know.”
Dani swallowed. “It’s not me.”
Marcus’s expression softened. “I know.”
That left only a few names. My heart started hammering.
I shook my head. “Not Raven. He wouldn’t.”
Marcus stayed quiet. For the first time, I wasn’t completely sure.
The silence stretched, thick and terrifying.
Marcus finally spoke, almost gently. “Seraphine…”
I looked at him and wished I hadn’t. His face said it all: Raven was the most likely suspect. And for the first time since Isolde showed up in Millhaven, fear took a backseat to something even worse.
Doubt.
- Writer
