My Mate Tore Up Our Baby’s Ultrasound Before Rejecting Me

I woke to the sound of boots on tile.

Not Evelyn's soft-soled shoes. Not the quiet shuffle of Omega attendants. Heavy. Purposeful. The kind of footsteps that announced authority before the wolf even entered the room.

I didn't open my eyes. My body felt distant, like it belonged to someone else. The bandages around my ribs pulled tight when I breathed. My wrist throbbed in its splint. The IV in my arm tugged at the crook of my elbow.

The footsteps stopped beside the bed.

"Get out," Cruz said.

A pause. Then Evelyn's voice, low and careful. "Alpha, she needs rest—"

"I said get out."

The door opened. Closed. Silence.

I opened my eyes.

Cruz stood at the foot of the bed, arms crossed, his face carved from stone. He wasn't looking at me. He was looking at the ultrasound images Evelyn had left on the bedside table. Three glossy prints, each one showing a tiny blur of white against the black.

Four weeks along, the notes said. Strong aura.

Had said.

Cruz picked up the top image. Held it up to the light like he was inspecting currency. His jaw worked. His eyes narrowed.

"When were you going to tell me?" His voice was flat. No anger yet. Just cold, clinical curiosity.

I didn't answer. My throat was too dry. My tongue felt thick.

He set the image down. Picked up the second one. Studied it the same way.

"Four weeks," he said. "That's convenient timing. Right after you called Marcellus. Right after you made yourself untouchable." He looked at me now. His eyes were winter storms. "Did you think I wouldn't figure it out?"

I stared at him. My pulse was steady. My breathing even. Cinder wasn't there to snarl or rage or tell me to run. There was just silence where she used to be.

"You faked this," Cruz said. Not a question. A statement. He tapped the ultrasound with one finger. "You got Evelyn to forge these. Probably paid her off. Or threatened her. Whatever it took to make me look like the villain when Marcellus shows up."

I tried to speak. My lips moved but no sound came out.

Cruz picked up the third image. Turned it over. Checked the back like he expected to find evidence of tampering.

"You're smart," he continued. "I'll give you that. Calling the Lycan King. Claiming I abused you. Now this." He held up the ultrasound. "A convenient miscarriage to seal the deal. Make sure everyone thinks I'm a monster."

He was still talking. I watched his mouth move. Watched the way his hands gripped the glossy paper, knuckles white.

Then he tore it in half.

The sound was soft. Almost gentle. Like fabric ripping.

He tore it again. And again. The pieces fluttered down onto the bed, onto my lap, onto the white hospital blanket that was still stained with my blood.

He picked up the second image. Tore it apart the same way. Methodical. Thorough.

The third image joined the others. Shredded into confetti. The pieces scattered across the blanket, across my hands, across the IV line taped to my arm.

Cruz brushed his palms together, clearing away invisible dust.

"You're a broken-eared she-wolf," he said. His voice was steady now. Calm. Like he was explaining something simple to a child. "You clung to a title you never deserved. You saved my life once, and you've been holding it over my head ever since. Like I owe you something. Like that one moment of usefulness makes up for five years of inadequacy."

I looked down at the shredded images. At the tiny fragments of white and black scattered across my lap.

"You manufactured this drama," Cruz continued, "because you have nothing else. No family. No rank. No wolf worth mentioning. Just a savior complex and a desperate need for attention."

He stepped back from the bed. Adjusted his jacket.

"When Marcellus gets here," he said, "I'll explain everything. He's Lycan royalty. He'll see through this pathetic performance. And when he does, you'll have nothing. No pack. No title. No mate."

He turned toward the door. Reached for the handle.

It didn't move.

He pulled again. Harder this time. The handle stayed locked.

A shadow fell across the frosted glass window in the door. Tall. Broad. Completely still.

The temperature in the room dropped.

Cruz's hand fell away from the handle. He took a step back. His Alpha aura flickered, trying to assert dominance, then collapsed under the weight of something infinitely heavier pressing against the other side of the door.

I felt it even through the IV drugs and the blood loss and the hollow space where Cinder used to be. A presence. Ancient and absolute. The kind of power that didn't need to announce itself because every wolf within a mile could feel it in their bones.

Lycan.

The door opened.

Marcellus Woods stepped into the room, and the air itself seemed to bow.