Chapter 260

Chapter 260

Eileen's POV

The cemetery was quiet at dawn. Just me, the white lilies in my hands, and the sound of my own breathing.

I knelt in front of Mom's headstone. The marble was cold under my fingers. Someone had cleaned it recently—probably Grandfather Marcus. The letters of her name were sharp and clear.

Serena Goode

Beloved Daughter, Mother, Healer

I set the lilies down carefully. White. Her favorite.

"Mom," I said. My voice came out rough. "I finally did it."

The words stuck in my throat. I had to stop. Breathe.

"Malcolm Keaton—he's been stripped of his family name. The Council is investigating everyone who was involved."

My hands were shaking. I pressed them flat against the cold grass.

"All those councilmen who promised Emilia things if she got your formula... they're being held accountable. Samuel, Harold, Victor—all of them."

I could feel the tears coming. I didn't try to stop them.

"Your death isn't an 'accident' anymore. Everyone knows the truth now."

Moby slid down from my shoulder. His little body crawled across the base of the headstone, tentacles moving slowly. Like he was paying his respects.

I watched him for a moment. Then I reached into my bag.

The genetic test results felt heavy in my hands. The paper crinkled as I unfolded it.

"Mom, there's something else." I had to force the words out. "Something I've been scared to tell you."

My fingers traced the lines of text. Negative for premature aging syndrome genetic markers.

"Alastair... he was your lover, wasn't he? The one you never talked about."

The wind picked up. It felt like she was listening.

"I went to see him. He told me everything. About the disease. About why you had to leave him."

I pressed my palm against the headstone. The stone was warming under the morning sun.

"I got tested. For the gene." My voice broke. "I don't have it, Mom. I'm not a carrier."

The tears were coming faster now. I couldn't see the letters on the headstone anymore.

"Your child with him... she doesn't have that terrible curse."

I wiped my eyes with the back of my hand. It didn't help.

"Maybe... maybe this is heaven's way of making it up to you."

Moby crawled back onto my lap. His tentacles wrapped around my wrist. Gentle. Comforting.

We sat there for a long time. Me and Moby and Mom's grave.

Finally, I took a deep breath.

"Evelyn is gone," I said quietly. "She helped me at the end. Exposed Emilia."

I picked at the grass beside the headstone.

"Emilia is under house arrest at the Goode estate. Grandfather said she'll spend the rest of her life reflecting on what she did."

The words tasted bitter.

"Silas made Grace leave New Haven. Kara took her and Ethan back to their original pack."

I looked up at the sky. Clear blue. No clouds.

"Everyone who hurt us... they all got what they deserved."

---

Three months later, I was standing on the balcony of the east wing bedroom, sorting through fresh herbs.

The afternoon sun was warm on my face. Lavender, mint, chamomile—all the plants Mom used to grow. I'd replanted her entire greenhouse collection out here.

Arms wrapped around my waist from behind.

I didn't jump. I knew that cedar and leather scent anywhere.

"What are you thinking about?" Silas's voice was low against my ear.

I leaned back into his chest. "Just... wondering if Mom would be happy. If she could see us now."

His arms tightened. "She would be."

He turned me around to face him. His gray-blue eyes were soft.

"You've become the most talented healer in the Goode family," he said. "You have a mate who loves you."

He kissed my forehead. The gesture was so gentle it made my chest ache.

"She would be so proud of you."

I looked past him at the garden below. Moby was crawling between the flower pots, his little mouth full of fresh mint leaves. He looked ridiculously pleased with himself.

"Moby, stop stealing my herbs!" I called down.

The little guy froze. Then slowly—very slowly—he put the mint leaf back in the pot.

I couldn't help laughing.

Silas pulled me closer. "Our life is good now," he murmured. "Isn't it?"

I wrapped my arms around his neck. "Yeah. It really is."

---

One year later.

I pushed open the nursery door as quietly as I could.

Moby was lying on the edge of the cradle, his tentacles gently rocking it back and forth. Inside, our son was giggling—that pure, delighted baby laugh that made my heart feel too big for my chest.

"Moby," I whispered. "You're supposed to be his big brother, not his babysitter."

Moby immediately puffed up his little chest. His tiny claws tapped against his body—a solemn promise. I'll be the best big brother ever.

I walked over and looked down at the cradle. My son—ours—was staring up at Moby with wide, fascinated eyes. His tiny hand reached up, trying to grab one of Moby's tentacles.

Silas appeared in the doorway. He moved silently across the room and wrapped his arms around my waist from behind.

"Our family is complete now," he said softly.

I leaned back against him. Looked down at our baby. At Moby standing guard like a tiny, devoted sentinel.

"Yeah," I whispered. "It is."

---

Late afternoon. Golden hour.

Silas and I stood on the main balcony, looking out over the gardens. Below us, Eleanor and Marcus were walking together, deep in conversation. Oliver was pushing the baby carriage, making silly faces that had our son squealing with laughter.

Moby was perched on top of the carriage like a tiny guardian statue. Every few seconds, he'd lean down to check on the baby. Then he'd sneak a leaf from the nearby tree when he thought no one was looking.

"Do you regret it?" Silas asked suddenly.

I turned to look at him. "Regret what?"

"Choosing to stay. To treat me. Everything that came after."

I reached up and touched his face. His skin was warm under my palm.

"If I could do it all over again," I said, "I'd make the same choice."

His eyes searched mine. Then he pulled me close, burying his face in my hair.

"Me too," he murmured. "Meeting you was the best thing that ever happened to me."

I looked down at the garden. At our family. At the life we'd built.

Mom's injustice had been corrected. I had a mate who loved me fiercely. A son. A future.

The Goode family's healing legacy would continue through me. Through our children.

This was what I'd fought for. What I'd clawed my way back from death to protect.

This happiness. This home. This love.

I closed my eyes and let myself feel it. All of it.

The warmth of Silas's arms. The sound of my son's laughter floating up from below. Moby's determined little chirps as he "protected" the baby.

This was my second chance. And I'd used it to build something beautiful.

Something worth living for.

Something worth dying for, if it came to that.

But it wouldn't. Not this time.

This time, we all got our happy ending.

---

THE END