Chapter 137

Richard's POV

I woke with a splitting headache, disoriented.

"Where am I?" I muttered, then recognized my surroundings.

The door opened, and my father entered, leaning on his cane. "Have you calmed down?"

Memory flooded back—Elena driving away, the confrontation with my father. My eyes hardened. I sat up, ready to leave.

"Don't worry," he said quietly. "I've sent people to find Elena."

I paused, watching him warily.

"I didn't order Mandy's killing, Richard." His voice was firm. "Whatever I've done in my life, I've always taken responsibility for it."

He held out a folder. "These are the activity logs of every pack member last night. Brad retrieved them."

I didn't take it. "If not you, then who?"

"I don't know, but I'm investigating." He met my gaze directly. "This enemy... they're trying to destroy the trust between us, to weaken the pack."

I laughed bitterly. "Business competitors? Or Betas wanting my Alpha position?"

"I'll handle this personally," he said. "You don't need to worry about it."

I stood up, ready to find Elena myself.

"Don't go after Elena," my father said. "My people will find her."

I glared at him, but he continued, "Anna called this morning. Max is sick. He's at Sunrise Medical Center."

"What?" My heart skipped a beat. Without another word, I was out the door.

Half an hour later I arrived at the hospital, led to the room by a nurse. Max lay on a bed, his small face pale, his body covered in angry red hives.

"Mr. Blackwood," Anna greeted me, her face lined with guilt. "I'm so sorry. I didn't know he was allergic."

I approached the bed, gently touching the boy's forehead. He looked so vulnerable, so much like Kathy when she was ill.

"What happened?" I demanded. "What caused the allergy? Did Elena never mention any allergies?"

Anna shook her head. "Never. He ate some oysters, and the doctor said he's severely allergic to seafood, particularly shellfish."

The word "oysters" hit me like lightning. I froze.

Oysters.

I couldn't breathe. Memories crashed over me—my own childhood, age six, accidentally eating oysters at a business dinner. It caused a severe allergic reaction, making it impossible to breathe, and I was rushed to the hospital.

After that, oysters were banned from any meal I attended.

I stared at the sleeping boy, seeing him with new eyes. The same allergy. The exact same reaction.

"Excuse me, sir. Are you family?" A middle-aged doctor entered, clipboard in hand.

"I'm his guardian," I said firmly. "How is he?"

"His condition has stabilized. The allergic reaction was severe, but we've managed to get it under control."

He handed me a folder of test results. "During his blood work, we found his blood type is quite rare."

My fingers stilled on the papers. "What do you mean?"

"It's an RH-negative blood type, relatively uncommon." The doctor adjusted his glasses. "Does either parent have RH-negative blood?"

A jolt ran through my body. Both Elena and I had RH-negative blood. Kathy had the same blood type too.

"Yes," I said, my mouth suddenly dry. "His mother and I both do."

The thought came unbidden, shocking in its clarity: What if he really is mine?

I shook my head slightly. Max could have inherited it from Elena, or his father might also have RH-negative blood. This wasn't conclusive proof of anything.

"I see," the doctor continued, oblivious to my internal turmoil. "He'll need to stay overnight for observation."

After the doctor left, I checked my watch. It was nearly midnight.

"Anna," I said to the anxious servant hovering nearby. "Go home and take care of Kathy and Lily. I'll stay with Max."

"But sir—"

"Go," I said, my tone leaving no room for argument. "Call me if anything happens."

Once alone with the boy, I settled into the chair beside his bed. Max slept fitfully, his eyelids swollen, lips pressed together in discomfort.

"Mommy," he whimpered in his sleep.

"Calling for her won't help," I muttered. "She abandoned you."

Suddenly I felt irritated again, like something was blocking my chest, making it hard to breathe.

This time was really terrible.

Before, she would go crazy for the children, but now she had left them behind.

I studied Max's features—the shape of his nose, the curve of his jaw, the arch of his eyebrows. His resemblance to me was undeniable.

"Look at that devoted father," I heard a woman whisper from the adjacent curtained area. "Still at the hospital this late, watching over his son."

"Maybe he's just a relative," someone else said.

"Don't be silly," the woman replied. "Look how similar their faces are—the eyebrows, the nose, that strong jawline. He's definitely the boy's father."

Their words made me question the child's identity once more. But I pushed the thought aside.

Half an hour later, Max stirred. When his eyes fluttered open, disoriented and confused, I leaned forward.

"Where's Mommy?" he asked immediately, voice scratchy.

My chest tightened. After considering my response, I carefully helped him sit up.

"Your mother had to take care of something," I kept my voice gentle. "She can't be here right now, but I promise she'll come see you soon."

Max's eyes narrowed with a child's intuition. "Did you fight with her again?"

The question caught me off guard. "Why would you think that?"

"Because Mommy only leaves when she's upset," he said matter-of-factly. "If you did something wrong, you should say sorry."

"It's not that simple, kid."

"It is," Max insisted. "When I break something or make Mommy sad, I say sorry and give her a hug. She always forgives me."

I couldn't help the small smile that tugged at my lips. "I'll keep that in mind."

---

The next morning, I took Max to the hospital cafeteria for breakfast. He'd been cleared to eat normal food.

"What would you like?" I asked, scanning the menu.

Instead of answering, Max fixed me with an intense stare. "If I eat, can I see Mommy afterward?"

My temple throbbed with frustration, but I controlled it. "You need to eat to regain your strength. If you're sick when you see your mother, she'll worry."

His eyes lit up with understanding. "You're right! I don't want Mommy to know I was sick."

I ordered him a nutritious breakfast, including a side of blueberries. When the food arrived, Max ate everything except the blueberries, which he ignored completely.

"Why aren't you eating your blueberries?" I asked, suddenly alert. "Don't you like them?"

Max wrinkled his nose. "No, they taste weird. Mommy says they're healthy and makes me eat them, but I don't like how they taste."

My hands trembled slightly. I hated blueberries too. Always had, since childhood. The same distinctive taste that others enjoyed had always seemed strange and unpleasant to me.

Another coincidence? There were too many now to ignore.

After Max finished his breakfast, I took him to a paternity testing facility.