My Alpha Mate Stole Our Daughter’s Heart for His Mistress’s Son Chapter 02

My Alpha Mate Stole Our Daughter’s Heart for His Mistress’s Son Chapter 02

I was six years old when I stumbled upon that helpless little boy. Back then, he was weak, fragile, and hadn’t even unlocked his inner wolf yet.

His clothes were in tatters, and a vicious pack of older boys had him pinned to the dirt, kicking him mercilessly.

I didn’t think twice. I threw my tiny body over his, taking the blows myself until I somehow managed to chase the bullies away.

To thank me, the boy had flushed a bright, blazing crimson. He shoved that crude, braided bracelet strung with cheap, multicolored plastic beads into my hand and bolted.

That boy was Andrew. The moment I ran into him years later in college, I recognized him instantly.

His eyes had never changed—that striking shade of grayish-blue, deep and clear like a mountain pool.

But throughout our dating years and eventual marriage, I never once brought up that day in the dirt.

I was terrified of ripping open old wounds and triggering his childhood trauma. I loved him too fiercely; I wanted him to heal, not to be haunted by the ghosts of his past.

Now, staring down at that pathetic little token, all I could muster was a hollow, bitter laugh.

I carelessly shoved the bracelet into my coat pocket and began ripping our lives off the shelves, tossing everything into a heavy cardboard box.

Before long, every single memory tied to Andrew Walsh was packed away, the box bursting at the seams. It was only then that I glanced out the window and realized the sun was coming up.

I hadn’t slept a single wink.

“Mama? What are you doing?”

Mia stood in the doorway, rub-faced and blinking in confusion, her tiny torso tightening at the sight of the completely stripped, barren bedroom.

“Mama is just packing some bags, sweetie,” I said, forcing my voice to sound light. “I was thinking, to celebrate your upcoming seventh birthday, how would you like Mama to take you on a big trip abroad?”

Mia’s eyes lit up instantly. Shaking off her confusion, she began bouncing on her heels with pure excitement before running off to eat breakfast and head to school with the nanny.

My plan was set: the moment Mia blew out her seventh birthday candles in seven days, I would take her across the ocean and never look back.

Over the next few days, I threw myself into a whirlwind of paperwork—arranging our immigration visas, settling the dissolution of our mating bond, and canceling our pack identification metrics.

But my countdown was violently derailed. I was just pulling away from the immigration office when my phone rang. It was Mia’s teacher, her voice pitchy with sheer panic.

“Mrs. Walsh, please come quickly! Mia was pushed into the lake by one of the boys in her class. She’s running a high fever, and they’ve rushed her to the pack hospital!”

My organ seized into a tight, agonizing knot. I flew out of the car, hailed a cab, and practically broke the speed limit getting to the hospital.

But before I could even burst through the door of her ward, a woman’s shrill, grating voice echoed down the corridor.

“How dare you accuse my son of pushing that weak little runt?!”

“You’re the teacher, yet you’re taking the word of a broken freak over my boy? Do you have any idea how unfair you’re being?”

“Believe me, I will be in the principal’s office tomorrow morning, and I will personally see to it that you are fired!”

Hearing her spit such vile insults at my sick daughter lit a blind, roaring fire in my torso. I threw the door open and stormed in.

Standing by the bed was a strange woman, her hands possessively wrapped around Andrew’s arm, her mouth twisted in an unpleasant sneer.

Seeing me burst in, both of them froze. Yet, Andrew made no move to pull away. He just stood there, letting her hold him.

I stared at the woman’s face, and a memory from two years ago slammed into me like a freight train.

I had taken a five-year-old Mia to the amusement park, and through the crowds, I had spotted a man who looked exactly like Andrew.

At the time, I had blindly swallowed his excuses about a corporate merger in the city.

Now, the veil was ripped away. That man was Andrew. And the woman clinging to him back then was the exact same woman standing in front of me now!

They had been screwing around behind my back for years. And Dylan… Dylan was her son.

“What did you just call my daughter?!”

I marched straight past Andrew, completely ignoring his existence, and locked my predatory gaze onto the woman.

My voice tore from my throat, dripping with pure venom. “Say it again. Say one more word about my child, and I swear to God I will make sure your son grows up without a mother!”

“Claire! That is enough!” Andrew’s voice boomed, a harsh, reprimanding bark as his brows furrowed in deep annoyance.

“Julia is a single mother. Do you have any idea how exhausting it is to raise a boy alone? Both of the children fell into the water, Claire. Can you not show a single ounce of empathy or understanding?”

“Mia is already so conniving at her age, boldly slandering Dylan and claiming he pushed her. So what if Julia lost her temper and said a few words?”

I stared at the man before me, utterly paralyzed by disbelief.

I couldn’t map this cold, cruel monster onto the husband who, just months ago, would get tears in his eyes if our daughter so much as scraped her knee.