chapter 150
Fiona's POV:
The afternoon sunlight streamed through Grayson Manor's floor-to-ceiling windows.
I adjusted my position on the cream-colored sofa, cradling my newborn son against my chest with practiced tenderness.
The weight of him felt both precious and strategic, a living shield I'd carefully cultivated over nine months.
Elizabeth Grayson swept into the room with her characteristic grace, and I straightened instinctively. Even after giving birth to a Grayson heir, her approval still mattered. Still controlled everything.
"Tori, Morgan—how wonderful you could make it." Elizabeth's warm greeting made my stomach clench.
I kept my expression serene, maternal, unthreatening. But inside, my wolf stirred with something darker.
Through my lashes, I watched Tori Sullivan enter beside that enthusiastic friend of hers.
The baby squirmed in my arms, and I made a show of soothing him, cooing softly.
I watched Lucas excuse himself toward the study, his broad shoulders disappearing down the corridor. Morgan's mother called her away to help with something in the kitchen. And just like that, the stage was set.
Tori remained in the sitting area, examining a silver picture frame on the side table. Alone. Vulnerable.
Finally.
I rose slowly, careful to appear slightly unsteady—the exhausted new mother.
"Tori," I called softly, my voice honey-sweet. "Would you mind keeping me company? Everyone's so busy, and I'd love to chat."
She turned, wariness flickering across her features before she masked it with politeness. "Of course."
I settled back onto the sofa, arranging the baby's blanket with deliberate care. Tori took the armchair across from me, maintaining distance.
"It's strange, isn't it?" I began, letting my fingers drift to my engagement ring, stroking the band with obvious satisfaction. "After everything, all the twists and turns... we've ended up as family anyway."
Tori's expression remained neutral, but I caught the slight tightening around her eyes.
I continued, my voice dropping to something more intimate, almost conspiratorial, "I should thank you. Really."
"You know," I mused, adjusting the baby's position, "I was sentenced too. But here I am—free, with a beautiful son."
I paused, letting the knife twist. "And you? You spent four years in Silver Fang, lost everything, everyone. While I..." I gestured around the opulent room. "I gained everything I wanted."
Silence stretched between us. Then, unexpectedly, Tori smiled.
It started small. Then she laughed, the sound bright and genuine, like ice breaking in spring thaw.
My triumphant smile froze. The satisfaction curdled in my chest.
"What—" I frowned, glancing instinctively toward the second-floor study. I knew the soundproofing was excellent, that nothing we said down here would reach Lucas's ears.
Still, years of ingrained wariness made me lower my voice further. "What are you laughing at?"
She kept laughing, and something hot and ugly twisted in my gut.
"Stop it," I snapped. "Are you insane? Stop laughing!"
Tori's laughter faded, but that maddening smile remained, edged with something that looked almost like pity. "I'm just happy for you, Fiona. Isn't that what you wanted? You told me all this to make me acknowledge your victory, didn't you?"
Her head tilted slightly. "So now I'm happy for you. Why does that make you unhappy?"
The casual dismissal in her tone—as if my words had slid right off her without leaving a mark—made my blood boil.
Before I could respond, she stood. "Actually, I should check on Morgan."
"Wait." I shifted forward, making my voice gentler, more inviting. "Would you like to hold him? The baby?"
Tori's gaze dropped to the bundle in my arms, and for a moment, something flickered across her face.
"No, thank you," she said quietly.
The rejection stung more than it should have. "Are you sure? Most women can't resist." I lifted the baby slightly, his tiny face peaceful in sleep. "He's really quite—"
"I'm sure."
Morgan appeared in the doorway. "Everything okay here?"
"Of course," I said quickly, my voice taking on a wounded quality. "I was just offering to let Tori hold the baby, but..." I let the sentence trail off, injecting just enough hurt into my tone.
Morgan's eyes narrowed. "Tori doesn't need to do anything she doesn't want to."
"Oh, I understand." I looked down at my son, stroking his soft hair. "I suppose some people just... aren't comfortable around babies. Especially when they belong to their used to love."
The temperature in the room seemed to drop.
"What's that supposed to mean?" Morgan demanded.
I widened my eyes, the picture of innocent confusion. "Nothing, dear. Just that Tori and Ethan were so close once. It must be difficult, seeing him move on, start a family..."
Tori's jaw tightened, but she said nothing. That infuriating calm held.
Elizabeth's voice cut through the tension like a blade. "That's quite enough."
We all turned. Elizabeth stood in the doorway, her expression thunderous. How long had she been there?
"Fiona," Elizabeth said, her voice cold enough to frost glass. "I think you need rest. You're clearly overtired."
"I was just—"
"Overtired," Elizabeth repeated, each syllable precise. "And confused. Because surely you weren't suggesting that my future daughter-in-law harbors inappropriate feelings for your mate."
The emphasis on "future daughter-in-law" made my blood run cold.
"Of course not," I managed. "I would never—"
"Good." Elizabeth moved into the room with predatory grace, her eyes sweeping over me and the baby with cool assessment. "Because I've been meaning to discuss something with you, Fiona. About the child's upbringing."
The words hit like a physical blow. "What? No—he's my son. He needs his mother."
"Does he?" Elizabeth's eyebrow arched delicately. "Or does he need an environment free from... questionable influences? We wouldn't want him learning the wrong lessons, would we?"
She's taking him. She's taking my only leverage.
"You can't do this," I said, my voice rising despite myself. "A child belongs with his mother. That's—that's pack law."
The baby whimpered, sensing my distress.
The front door opened. Ethan appeared in the doorway, travel bag still in hand.
Elizabeth noticed Ethan first. "Darling, you're back. Come, I want your opinion on something."
Ethan didn't move. His eyes were locked on Tori with an intensity that made my stomach churn.
No. No, no, no.
"Ethan," Elizabeth said again, her tone sharpening. "I asked you a question about the baby."
That broke his trance. He blinked, turning to his grandmother. "What?"
"The baby's care. Your son." Elizabeth's expression was carefully neutral, but I caught the steel beneath. "We need to discuss his upbringing. Fiona seems to think she'll be his primary caregiver, but I have concerns."
My arms tightened around the baby instinctively. "What concerns?"
Elizabeth's gaze swept over me with cool assessment. "A child needs stability, proper guidance. Not a mother who—" she paused delicately, "—with ill intentions."
"I'm his mother," I said, my voice rising despite myself.
"Yes," Elizabeth agreed. "But that doesn't mean you're fit to raise him. "
Ethan's eyes flickered to Tori again, then back to me and the baby.
"He should be with his mother," Ethan said finally.
Relief flooded through me. "Thank you—"
I couldn't help myself. I shifted the baby to one arm and threw the other around Ethan, pressing close. Over his shoulder, my eyes found Elizabeth's disapproving face, then swept to where Tori stood with Morgan in the garden doorway.
See? I wanted to shout. He chose me. He's choosing us.
Ethan's hand came up, settling on my head with what might have been tenderness. His fingers threaded through my hair, and for one perfect moment, I felt like I'd finally won.
"Don't worry," he said softly, his voice carrying just enough to reach the others. "No one's going to take your child away from you."
Something in his tone made me pause. The words were right, reassuring, but there was an edge beneath them—something cold and sharp that didn't match the gentle touch of his hand.