Genevieve's POV
Ice spread through my veins the instant he mentioned the sanctuary again.
He knew precisely where to wound me. That place wasn’t just some charitable front funded by pack politics and blood-soaked deals. It was my father’s final untouched legacy in a world ruled by dominance and violence. He had built it long before alliances with the Virelli pack, before power carved the softness out of him. The orphaned wolf pups there were the last innocent thing left tied to my name.
“You wouldn’t,” I said under my breath, though the tremor in my voice betrayed the doubt I felt.
Nikolai stepped closer until the heat of his anger brushed against my skin. There was no uncertainty in his expression—only a challenge. “Try me.”
For several seconds, I could only look at him. This was the male I had once trusted with every vulnerable part of myself. The Alpha who had sworn to protect what I loved. Now he was threatening to destroy it without hesitation.
My palm drifted instinctively to my stomach. Tears slipped down my cheeks in silence.
When he seized my wrist and began pulling me toward Sabrina’s private wing of the hospital, I didn’t resist this time. I followed without protest, numb, his threat echoing inside my skull.
He had secured one of the elite suites reserved for high-ranking officials and powerful Alphas. Sabrina lay propped against crisp white pillows, machines humming steadily around her, an IV threaded into her arm. Her complexion looked pale, lips parted slightly as if she were struggling to remain conscious.
Nikolai went to her immediately.
“I’m here,” he murmured, his voice soft in a way I hadn’t heard directed at me in months. He took her hand carefully. “You’ll be fine. I brought Genevieve.”
Sabrina released a weak, trembling breath. “Nikolai… it hurts… everything feels wrong…”
I stood near the doorway, watching my mate lean over her with tenderness that felt like claws dragging across my ribs. He brushed strands of hair from her face and whispered reassurances meant for her alone.
Then he turned to call for the physician.
The moment his back faced her, Sabrina’s eyelids lifted.
One eye opened.
She looked directly at me.
And she winked.
Slowly. Deliberately.
A faint curve tugged at her lips before her expression slipped back into feigned fragility.
The sound of my own pulse thundered in my ears.
Was this entire display a performance? Was I about to endanger my child for a staged spectacle orchestrated by a woman who took pleasure in humiliating me?
Rage tightened my fists.
I stepped forward, ready to expose her, but Nikolai’s grip clamped down on my hand with bruising force. His fingers dug into my skin in silent warning, his gaze sharp and unmistakable.
Don’t.
The memory of his promise to tear down my father’s sanctuary snapped me back into stillness.
The door opened, and a doctor entered briskly. Nikolai moved toward her without hesitation.
“She’s getting worse,” he said. “Begin the transfusion.”
The doctor glanced at the monitors. “Her vitals are stable at the moment. We can wait until we confirm compatibility—”
Sabrina let out another fragile sound.
Nikolai’s patience evaporated. “The donor is here,” he said curtly, gesturing toward me as though I were a tool rather than his Luna.
The doctor’s eyes shifted to me briefly before she nodded and instructed the nurses to prepare.
Cold sweat slid down my spine as they arranged the tray. I had always despised needles. Nikolai knew that. Once, he would have stood beside me, distracting me until it was over.
For a fleeting moment, his hand hovered near mine as though memory tugged at him.
Then Sabrina whimpered again.
He withdrew instantly and returned to her side, wrapping an arm around her shoulders as if I no longer existed.
Something in my chest tightened painfully.
I turned my face away when the nurse approached, my stomach twisting—not from fear of the needle, but from what this could cost.
Please, I begged silently. Please let something interrupt this.
Just as the doctor lifted the needle toward my arm, the door flew open.
“Stop!”
Another physician rushed in, breath uneven, a file clutched tightly in his hand.
The room went still.
He looked directly at Nikolai. “Mrs. Virelli is pregnant.”
The doctor holding the needle froze mid-motion.
Nikolai stared at the newcomer as though he had spoken nonsense. “That’s not possible.”
“She was scheduled for a termination this morning,” the doctor explained quickly, extending the chart. “She canceled. The test results confirm the pregnancy.”
Nikolai took the file, scanning it with narrowed eyes.
Relief surged through me so abruptly my knees nearly buckled. Proof. Tangible proof that I hadn’t fabricated anything. That I wasn’t manipulating the situation to escape responsibility.
For the first time in hours, I exhaled fully.
Then Nikolai closed the file.
When he spoke, his voice was colder than I had ever heard it.
“Continue.”
The word didn’t register immediately.
My eyes widened slowly. “What did you say?”
He didn’t even look at me.
“I said take the blood.”
