I stiffened at the sound of her voice and turned my head, narrowing my eyes on her. The female who gave birth to me.
“My wife is not weak. Stubborn, yes. But not weak.” I retorted in a flat tone.
Nazia Owaib frowned, her face frosting in displeasure. “Idris, I’m your mother. Watch yourself when you talk to me.” She ordered.
“Heh.” I sneered coldly and ignored her, turning my focus back to my wife.
She called herself my mother, but I never felt any motherly affection from her. This woman focused all her attention and energy on competing with the mistress of her husband, Eira Haris.
There was a time when I once pitied her, hated Einas’s mother as much as she did. I blamed the mother and son for the rift in my parents’ relationship, the coldness and indifference with which the Lycan Lead
