The Tyrannical Wolf King's Contract Bride-Chapter 32: I Want Revenge

Lila’s POV

Jasper’s words were a searing brand, making my insides twist in agony.

Priest... pregnant... Forbidden Forest... The words buzzed in my head, a chaotic jumble. I opened my mouth, but no sound came out. I could only stare at him, as if trying to burn every minute detail of his expression into my memory.

The air grew still. Even the birdsong outside vanished, leaving only the frantic drumming of my own heart pounding in my ears.

’So that’s what happened.’ My mother’s disappearance all those years ago wasn’t for some "artistic retreat." She had gone back. Back to the world she had desperately tried to escape, all to save a boy she’d never met. And that boy was the man standing before me now.

A sharp pain seized my chest, so intense I nearly doubled over. I was ten years old. The rain was falling so hard it was as if the heavens themselves were weeping. That morning, my mother had smiled as she made me fried eggs, telling me she would take me to the new art museum that weekend. Her hands were a little cold, but her movements were light and quick as she hummed a tuneless song.

But by evening, the call came. Dad had driven her to see an old church in the suburbs, one he said had beautiful stained-glass windows.

Then, a truck lost control... The red flashing lights of the ambulance pierced the curtain of rain, making my eyes ache.

Mom was on the stretcher, her face as pale as paper. Rain plastered her hair to her forehead. But when she saw me running toward her, she still managed a weak smile. Her lips moved, soundless, but I read them—"Don’t be afraid, Lila."

Those were the last words I ever heard from her.

For fifteen years, I’ve had countless nightmares about that scene. In my dreams, I could never run fast enough to grab her hand. I always woke up to a damp pillow. ’How could I have ever forgotten?’

She used to read me poetry before bed, her voice as gentle as a moonlit stream. She loved growing mint on the balcony, saying the scent helped clear your head. When she painted, she would get dabs of color on her nose and make a funny face at me. She wasn’t some distant, unreachable Priest. She was my mom, an ordinary woman who laughed, got tired, and worried about me. But that "ordinary" woman, while pregnant with me, had made the most extraordinary choice.

At that thought, the tears I’d been holding back finally broke free, falling in heavy drops. It wasn’t silent weeping, but a choked, gut-wrenching sob that erupted from deep within my chest.

Like a child, I buried my face in my knees, my shoulders shaking violently. Fifteen years of grief, of longing, and the immense shock of the truth—it all poured out in this uncontrollable flood of tears.

Jasper didn’t speak. He just moved closer and gently pulled me into his arms. His embrace was firm, with a steady strength that allowed no refusal, yet it was exceptionally gentle. I could smell the familiar scent of cedar on him, mixed with a comforting, masculine warmth. He didn’t tell me to stop crying or offer any empty platitudes. He just rubbed my back with his palm, again and again, as if soothing a frightened little animal.

His silent comfort was more heart-wrenching than any words could have been. I looked up at him through blurry, tear-filled eyes. I thought I could finally see the wasteland in his gaze—a ten-year-old boy, abandoned by the world, covered in wounds, waiting to die. And my mother, heavily pregnant and barefoot, walking into that cold moonlight for him.

’What was she thinking then? She must have been so scared, right? But she went anyway. For a stranger, and for the responsibility she couldn’t forsake.’

"She... she was so brave," I choked out, my voice so hoarse it didn’t sound like my own.

Jasper nodded, his gaze deep. "She saved me, and in doing so, she saved you too. If she hadn’t come, I would have died, the Wolf Clan would have fallen into civil war, Derek would have taken power... and none of us would be here today."

Derek. The name was a poisoned barb that stabbed deep into my heart. I clenched my fists, my nails digging into my palms. ’It was him! It was this man I’ve never even met who took everything from me! He killed my mother, he killed my father, and he turned my life into a fifteen-year-long lie!’

A cold, pure hatred rose from the depths of my soul, so intense my fingertips went numb. I could even picture his sneering face, though I had never seen him.

"I want to find him," I said through clenched teeth, each word deliberate, my voice trembling with rage. "I’m going to make him pay."

Jasper’s arms tightened around me. His voice was low and firm. "I will find him. But not now, Lila. If you reveal yourself now, you’ll just become his target. Your mother gave her life to protect you, not for you to throw yours away."

His words were like a bucket of cold water, dousing the flames of my anger but doing nothing to quench the bone-deep sorrow.

"Jasper," I said, suddenly remembering something. I looked up at him, a subtle panic in my voice. "We... the last few times, we didn’t..."

He froze for a second before he understood what I was trying to say. His expression became intensely focused, even a little tense. He cupped my face, his thumb gently wiping away my tears. His voice was low and solemn. "The chances of a Werewolf conceiving are very high. Especially... with the union of a Royal Descendant and a Priest."

My heart leaped. I didn’t dare ask the question that followed. I just lowered my head, my cheeks burning. He seemed to read my mind, pulling me closer and whispering in my ear, "Don’t be afraid. No matter what happens, I’ll be here."

His promise was a balm to my soul, calming my chaotic heart. I leaned back into his embrace and closed my eyes. An image from my childhood surfaced in my mind—my mother sitting at her easel, sunlight pouring through the window and bathing her in its glow, her profile gentle and focused. She would turn, smile at me, and call me her "Little Moon," because she said I was born on the night of a full moon.

"Little Moon..." I murmured unconsciously.

"What?" Jasper asked.

"Nothing," I said, shaking my head. A bitter smile touched my lips despite myself. "It was a nickname my mom used to call me."

We stayed like that, nestled together in silence. Outside, the sky slowly darkened, until the only sounds in the room were our breathing. The sorrow was still heavy, and the hatred had not faded, but in this man’s arms, for the first time, I didn’t feel so alone. The boy my mother had saved all those years ago was now my guardian. Perhaps this was fate’s strange and wondrous design.

After a long while, I spoke softly, as if to myself, but also for him to hear. "She must have really trusted you, Jasper. To have chosen to walk toward you in a moment like that."

His body tensed slightly. He didn’t speak, just rested his chin gently on the top of my head. His breath was warm, carrying a silent promise.

KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK. A rap sounded at the door.