Ronan stepped toward me, his hand twitching as if he meant to help.
Then he stopped.
In the next heartbeat, he turned away and scooped Delilah into his arms instead, rushing her toward the exit.
“Think about what you’ve done, Aria!” he barked over his shoulder.
I lay on the freezing tiles, curled around my belly as agony surged through me in relentless waves.
Around me, voices rose and fell. Wolves whispered. Some shouted. Others recoiled as if I were contagious. I could see flashes of light—phones lifted, recording my collapse, my humiliation.
That was all I could perceive.
Whispers. Noise. And the unbearable pain tearing me apart from the inside.
It wasn’t until much later that someone finally realized something was seriously wrong and called for medical help.
At the hospital, chaos erupted as doctors rushed me down a hallway toward the operating room.
“Where’s her family?!” one of them shouted. “Her vitals are crashing—do we prioritize the mother or the pup?!”
A nurse grabbed my phone with trembling hands. “Ma’am, do you have the father’s contact?”
My lips trembled as I gave her Ronan’s number.
He answered.
Not with concern.
Not with panic.
With rage.