Chapter 255: Side Story Two

Shelly's POV

The moment I spotted Marcus running in from outside, I knew it was game over.

"Mommy! Mommy!" He barreled toward me, tear tracks glistening on his cheeks, tiny wolf ears flattened against his head. Around us, the crowd began to gather, their whispers growing louder by the second.

My first instinct was to open my arms wide—that maternal impulse nearly overwhelming everything else. But fear doused me like ice water, reminding me that doing so would expose our relationship. If these people discovered a human had given birth to a werewolf child, we'd both be marked for death.

Fighting against heartbreak, I quickly stepped back and pushed him away.

"Get away from me! I don't know you!" I forced my voice to sound cold and unfamiliar.

Seeing Marcus freeze in place, his eyes wide with shock, felt like knives slicing through my heart, unbearable in its intensity.

"Mommy?" he whispered, his voice trembling.

"I'm not your mother! Back off!" I shoved him harder this time, tears threatening to spill. Every eye around us burned with suspicion and hostility.

Marcus's little face crumpled as fresh tears welled up. "But... but..." he stammered, unable to comprehend why I was treating him this way.

My heart was bleeding. I wanted nothing more than to rush forward, hold him tight, tell him mommy would always love him. But I knew this was the only way to protect him. If I claimed him as mine, not only would I be executed, but he would suffer an even worse fate for being mixed-blood. Better he hate me than face that horror.

"Whose brat is this?" a man barked from the crowd.

"How should I know!" I snapped back, my voice sharp with suppressed pain. "Probably some werewolf's half-breed mistake!"

The words made my very soul tremble as I spoke them.

Back when things were different, I'd worked in the werewolf district. Just a barista, but one of the few decent jobs available to humans there. Every day I'd weathered contemptuous glances from high-and-mighty werewolves, perfecting the art of invisibility through downcast eyes and practiced silence.

"Another coffee, human," a werewolf customer once said, deliberately shoving his mug to the floor. "Make it again."

I silently knelt to gather the shards, a piece slicing my finger. Blood beaded along the cut, but I didn't dare show any reaction. That's when a warm voice cut through the tension: "That's not how you request service."

Looking up, I found myself staring at a male werewolf I'd never seen before, his eyes deep as oceans. Suddenly the entire café fell silent. The troublemaker actually lowered his head and left without a word of protest. I was too stunned to speak.

"You okay?" He offered me a napkin, his long fingers extending toward mine.

"I'm... fine, thank you," I mumbled, heat rising to my cheeks. I couldn't even look him in the eye, hardly believing a werewolf would stand up for a human.

That was my first encounter with Victor. He seemed blind to our status difference, treating me with consideration that felt alien after years of degradation. He took me shopping in upscale malls, even defended me from other werewolves' discrimination. His presence made me believe, for the first time, that maybe the chasm between humans and werewolves wasn't unbridgeable.

"Why are you so nice to me?" I finally worked up the courage to ask one evening.

His fingers brushed my cheek as he smiled. "Because to me, you're not just some human. You're Shelly—one of a kind." My heart melted in that moment, like the first ray of spring sunshine breaking through years of winter ice.

Before I knew it, I'd fallen for him despite the vast gulf between werewolves and humans. Those months were pure magic—a fairy tale come to life. Each morning, waking to his peaceful sleeping face, I'd feel a happiness so surreal it took my breath away.

"I love you, Shelly," he whispered one moonlit night by the lake. "No matter what happens, I'll protect you."

I believed his promise completely. Thought love could bridge the gap between our kinds. How naive I was.

I had no idea he was the Morgan family heir about to hold his Moon Ceremony. Not until I spotted his photo in the newspaper, the headline boldly declaring "Morgan Family Heir Victor to Hold Moon Ceremony." In the picture, he stood in an impeccable suit beside an elegant female werewolf. They looked perfect together.

In that moment, my world collapsed, and I felt buried under countless lies, struggling to breathe.

That night I lingered outside his mansion like some pathetic stalker. Through the iron gates, I watched the brightly lit hall where Victor laughed with that woman, their glasses clinking, their smiles radiant.

Tears blurred my vision, but the pain inside cut deeper than the night's chill.

After that, he started disappearing frequently, growing distant, until I discovered I was pregnant! Joy and terror collided inside me, leaving me paralyzed with indecision.

"Victor, I need to tell you something," I said nervously over the phone. "Can we meet?"

"I'm busy, Shelly," his voice cold and distant. "Just tell me now."

I bit my lip, courage deserting me: "Nothing, just missed you." My throat felt raw, like it had been scraped with sandpaper.

An impatient sigh came through the line: "I'm really busy right now. I'll contact you later." The click of disconnection sounded like the final period on our story.

I never dared tell him about my pregnancy, or even show my face again.

Everything I'd believed was just a fantasy that had shattered against reality. If anyone discovered my child and me, the Morgan family—the entire werewolf society—would destroy us. I remembered all those horrifying stories about mixed-blood children, how they were viewed as stains on both worlds, destined for discrimination and persecution.

Every time these thoughts came, cold sweat would break out all over my body.

I quietly returned to the run-down human district, working desperately while I could still hide my pregnancy, racing against time. Each night in my shabby apartment, I'd stand before the mirror, stroking my growing belly, whispering: "Baby, Mommy will protect you, no matter what."

But reality proved brutal. After Marcus was born, I lived in constant fear and hunger. Even a knock at the door would send me into panic, terrified someone had come for us.

"Mommy, I'm hungry..." little Marcus would often say, and I could only give him half a slice of bread.

"Mommy should eat more," he'd sometimes insist, pushing his portion toward me. "I'm not that hungry."

Each time he did this, I'd turn away to hide my tears, then face him with a bright smile: "Mommy already ate. This is all for my brave little one."

I thought about finding work to support us, but with Marcus's unmistakable werewolf features—those ears and tail—I couldn't take him outside. If discovered, even the human district wouldn't tolerate us.

"Why can't I go outside to play?" Marcus would often ask, leaning against the window.

"There are bad people out there," I'd always answer. "When you're older and can hide your ears and tail, we'll go out together."

Each time I said this, I'd feel a wave of deep guilt, as if I were his jailer rather than his protector.

"Really?" His eyes would light up with hope. "When will I be big enough?"

I could only hug him tight, burying my face in his soft hair: "Soon, baby. Really soon."