Chapter 2: Could My Husband’s Uncle Be My Mate?

Before I could finish my sentence, Serena Jordan’s sudden cry interrupted me.

“Ah…”

Her face turned pale as she swayed unsteadily, collapsing directly into Grant Whitaker’s arms.

“Serena!” Grant’s expression changed drastically. He quickly reached out, holding her firmly.

It felt like a hammer had struck my heart.

Serena clung to him, her delicate fingers gripping the front of his shirt as she weakly murmured, “Grant, I… I don’t feel well… My head feels so dizzy…”

“It's been such a long day for you. You must have been exhausted.” Grant’s voice was filled with worry. He gently patted her back, his eyes brimming with tenderness. His entire focus was on Serena Jordan, as if the pregnancy report lying on the floor didn’t even exist.

I suddenly felt completely out of place, standing there like some pathetic clown.

“I’m not sure…” Serena leaned into him, her voice feeble.

Grant frowned, his concern deepening. “Then stop talking for now. I’ll take you to my room to get some rest.”

His room? That was supposed to be our room!

But in the next moment, Grant effortlessly scooped Serena up into his arms and carried her inside.

Not once did he spare me another glance, treating me as though I were invisible.

My heart felt as though it had been torn apart. I stood there frozen, watching their figures disappear into the distance.

And I… I was nothing but a joke.

The wind brushed past me, snapping me out of my daze. I looked down at the pregnancy report lying on the floor.

With trembling hands, I picked it up, crumpled it into a tight ball, and threw it into the nearby trash can.

If he cared so much about Serena Jordan, what was the point in telling him about my pregnancy?

If he and Serena were rekindling their old flame, what good would it do for me to hold onto this marriage?

Perhaps I never should have stayed here in the first place, in this cold and indifferent Pack, pretending to be his Luna in name only.

A heavy weight pressed against my chest, suffocating me.

I stumbled out of the Pack house, feeling utterly lost.

At that moment, I felt homeless, no better than a rogue.

I wandered aimlessly, not knowing where to go. It seemed like there was no place in the world that could hold me.

Eventually, I found myself standing in front of a bar. Perhaps this was the only place where I could let out the storm of emotions raging inside me.

The bar was dimly lit, its neon lights flickering in chaotic patterns. The loud, pounding music reverberated in the air.

I leaned against the bar counter, my voice hoarse as I said, “Give me a drink…”

I was about to order alcohol, but then I remembered my pregnancy. I quickly changed my mind. “A soda, please.”

The bartender hesitated for a moment, probably thinking he’d misheard me, but he soon handed me a glass of ice-cold soda.

I took a small sip. The bubbles exploded in my stomach, their sharpness mirroring the pain stabbing at my heart.

I pulled out my phone, hoping to distract myself with something, anything.

But the first notification on my screen was a post from Serena Jordan.

“An Alpha’s cooking! So delicious.”

Beneath the caption was a photo of several exquisite dishes. The plates and utensils in the image were ones I had carefully chosen myself.

And now, Serena Jordan was living in my house, indulging in my husband’s tenderness as though it were her right.

I let out a bitter laugh and scrolled down to the comments section.

“Wow, did Alpha Grant Whitaker cook that himself?”

“So sweet! He’s totally spoiling her!”

“Serena is so lucky. I’m so jealous!”

Each comment was like an arrow piercing my heart.

I laughed until tears flowed, my vision blurring as they fell uncontrollably, splashing into the glass of soda and mingling with the bubbles.

“Ma’am, are you alright?” The bartender must have noticed something was wrong and asked softly.

Realizing my loss of composure, I quickly put away my phone. “I’m fine.”

I didn’t want anyone to see me like this, so pitiful and broken. I stumbled toward the restroom, my steps unsteady.

But before I could take a few steps, someone bumped into my shoulder amidst the wild, dancing crowd.

I lost my balance, stumbling uncontrollably to the side.

“Ah—!”

I gasped, instinctively shielding my stomach. I was terrified. My child!

Just as I was about to fall, a strong arm reached out from the side, catching me securely.

“Careful,” a deep, magnetic voice murmured near my ear.

I froze, too stunned to react. Before I could even look up, a wave of gasps rippled through the bar.

“It’s the King! The Alpha King is here!”

In an instant, the once noisy bar fell silent. Every werewolf present scrambled to their feet, bowing their heads in respect.

I instinctively looked up at the man who had caught me.

He was tall and strikingly handsome, his features so flawless they seemed as though they were carved by the gods themselves. An aura of authority and dominance surrounded him, making it impossible for anyone to approach him lightly.

Everyone had their heads lowered, too afraid to meet his gaze.

But he… he was looking right at me.

His piercing gray-blue eyes locked onto mine, holding me captive in their intensity.

My heart skipped a beat, not just because he was the ruler of the Ironmaw Kingdom, the Alpha King whom everyone revered, but because…

He was also someone else.

Grant Whitaker’s uncle—Spencer Whitaker.

As my mind reeled from the realization, a faint, tantalizing scent wafted to my nose. It was clean, fiery, and carried a familiar pull that made my blood rush.

That scent… Could it be the scent of a mate?!