Chapter 38 All The Ways To Protect Him

Chapter 38 All The Ways To Protect Him
Mia lowered her eyes. “She slapped Seb,” she whispered. “So I slapped her.”

Ezra’s head turned toward Clara slowly, deliberately, like every vertebra in his neck had to be convinced.

“Did you hit him?” he asked, voice quiet, almost disbelieving. Too gentle to be safe.

Clara’s jaw tightened. “She poured cold tea on me,” she snapped. “That little brat—”

“She made you tea,” Sebastian cut in, sharply. “You called her a stupid brat. An orphan. You said Ezra would sell her cos she's an omega.”

Ezra’s entire body locked up. His stance didn’t shift, but something in the room did—like all the air had gone still and heavy.

The twins whimpered softly, like they could feel it too.

“She’s a pup,” Sebastian added, voice calmer now, but no less sharp. “My pup.”

Clara scoffed, arms crossing. “You’re not her father.”

“I am in every way that matters.”

Ezra moved then. Just a step forward—but it felt like the ground itself responded. His voice was steady, deadly calm.

“Clara, in your whole damn life—your whole entire miserable life—don’t you ever insult my pups again,” he said, his finger pointing at her like a loaded gun.

Clara recoiled, her expression twisted in disbelief, then rage.

“You’re taking his side?” she asked, incredulous.

Ezra stared at her, like he could burn through the excuses and manipulation with a look. “Are you stupid? You insulted my daughter, told her I would sell her off and you’re asking if I’m taking Sebastian’s side?”

His voice thundered. "Clara, are you mad or something? Do you think the leverage you have in this house allows you to give my children psychological trauma?"

Clara faltered under the heat of it, but her mouth kept moving, fueled by wounded pride.

Mia wiped her sleeve across her face, eyes shining but dry. “You can insult me,” she said, voice steady. “I don’t care. But don’t touch him.”

Clara turned to her, lip curling. “Oh please. You think he’s going to stay? He’s just—”

“Mia,” Sebastian interrupted, quiet but firm. “Upstairs. Take your brothers.”

She didn’t move at first, gaze locked on Clara like she didn’t trust her to be left alone in the room.

Sebastian’s voice softened. “I’ll be right behind you.”

Mia gave Clara one last look—cold, adult, tired—and turned. She took Camden’s hand, gentle but firm. Caleb clung to her other side, his fingers still curled around his thumb. The three of them left together, a silent cluster of loyalty and anger.

Their footsteps were soft on the stairs. Like the storm had passed—but not far.

Clara watched them go, her lips pressed in a tight line. Her hands shook at her sides, and for a moment, it looked like she might just storm out.

But instead, her mouth wobbled—and the tears came.

“You’re all treating me like I’m the villain,” she said, her voice cracking into a sob. “I came here because I care. And you—you’re letting him turn the children against me. All of you. Ganging up.”

Sebastian let out the driest, most unimpressed exhale of air humanly possible. He didn’t bother hiding the eye roll.

“Ez,” he said, without looking at Clara. “Deal with your problem.”

And then he turned, not sparing her another word, and walked upstairs after the kids—his steps calm, certain, sure.

Clara sobbed harder, the sound wet and theatrical, like grief trying on a costume.

Ezra didn’t move.

He stood there, jaw tight, breath slow—his eyes fixed on her like she was a ticking thing he was choosing not to disarm.

“You’re seriously going to let him talk to me like that?” she snapped, voice shrill. “After everything we’ve been through?”

Ezra’s lip curled—not in a smile, not quite. Something colder. Something that said you have no idea who you’re talking to.

He stepped toward her, just once.

One step.

But it felt like the earth leaned with him.

“I’m going to say this once,” Ezra said, voice low, level, and as final as a closing door. “You don’t ever—ever—lay a hand on him again. You don’t raise your voice to my pups. You don't call my pups names, You don’t come into my house swinging your grief like a goddamn trophy, looking for someone else to bleed.”

Clara opened her mouth to interrupt, but he held up a hand. Just one. And it stopped her cold.

“You think you can use your pregnancy to play the victim?” Ezra said, voice quieter now—but sharper for it.

“You walked into this house like it owed you something. Like your pregnancy covers all your stupidity. But all you did was remind a grieving girl she lost her mother.”

He took a step forward, deliberate. His chest rose and fell slow, but there was nothing calm about the storm behind his eyes.

“I may have liked you. Hell, I may have loved you once, fuck, I almost marked you.” Ezra said. “But you hit the Omega who’s raising these pups better than either of us know how. And you’re surprised you’re standing here alone?”

Clara didn’t speak. Her breath came in short, shallow hiccups. Tears clung to her lashes, but Ezra barely glanced at them.

He took another step—close enough now that his voice didn’t have to rise. His jaw was tight, his words sharp as broken glass.

“I’ve buried better women than you with more grace than you deserve,” he said, voice almost gentle, but lethal underneath.

“So if you ever—and I mean ever—speak to my pups like that again, or lay a finger on Sebastian, I’ll show you just how ugly I can be when I stop trying to be decent.”

Clara went pale.

Still.

Her tears didn’t stop, but they lost all their power—crumpling into something cold, something useless. She blinked like she didn’t understand how she got here. How she lost.

Ezra gave her nothing.

“Remember that the only reason you’re standing in this house is because you’re pregnant,” he added, his tone like velvet over a blade. “So be very careful.”

He turned then, his shoulders tight, and walked upstairs.

Not once did he look back.

Mia’s door was cracked open.

Ezra found all four of them inside—Mia curled against the headboard, arms wrapped tight around her knees. The twins were huddled together in a pile of blankets at the foot of her bed. And Sebastian stood by the dresser, arms folded, face turned slightly toward the window like he needed the dark.

Ezra hesitated at the doorway, but it was Mia who looked up first.

Sebastian finally turned around.

Their eyes met.

Ezra swallowed. “Hey,” he said, voice uneven. “You okay?”

Sebastian didn’t answer at first. He looked away. “They’re shaken. But they’ll be fine.”

Ezra nodded, stepping into the room slowly. He brushed Caleb’s hair back from his forehead, then kissed Camden’s temple. His movements were tender, reverent. As if tonight had broken something sacred, and he was trying to glue it back together with touch alone.

Then Sebastian’s voice came, quiet from the corner. “They should get some real sleep.”

Ezra nodded. “I’ll take the twins to their beds.”

He did—carefully, one by one, tucking them in with the practiced ease of a man who’d done it hundreds of times before. When he returned, Mia was half-asleep, Sebastian crouched beside her.

Ezra hovered at the doorway.

“Let me talk to him,” he said gently, just for Mia.

She nodded, murmured something sleepily into her pillow.

Ezra tilted his head toward the hallway. “Come here a minute, Seb.”

Sebastian hesitated.

But he stood.

They moved in silence down the hall, past the boys’ room, toward Sebastian’s. When Ezra pushed the door open, the scent of lavender hit him—warm, soft, familiar.

Sebastian stepped inside without a word. He didn’t look back.

Ezra closed the door behind them.

And for a long second, said nothing.

“I’m sorry,” he said at last.

Sebastian didn’t turn around.

“Seb…”

Sebastian shook his head, stepping away. “It’s fine. I just—I don’t want to talk about this anymore tonight.”

Ezra watched him walk across the room. He watched the way Sebastian curled his arms around himself, his back so small, too small, like he was bracing for the next wave of pain.

And something inside Ezra cracked wide open.

“Don’t do that,” Ezra said softly.

Sebastian looked at him, wary.

Ezra crossed the room in three steps, caught Sebastian by the waist—gentl
y, like Sebastian was something fragile. Something precious.

He tugged him close.

“Don’t shut me out, baby,” Ezra whispered, voice almost lost in the rain. “Please.”