CEDRIC POV

I dismounted. My boots hitting the gravel with a dull thud. My heart pounding in my chest like a war drum. 

I rushed toward the manor.

My thoughts—spinning, scattered like leaves in a storm. I needed to get to my mate. 

A servant met me at the entrance, his face pale with worry, eyes wide as if he'd seen a ghost.

"Sir," the servant said, wringing his hands, his voice unsteady. "My lady... she's—"

As I took the stairs two at a time, my heart pounded in my chest, each step a desperate attempt to reach my mate faster.

Cordelia's screams sliced through the walls, jagged and raw. Each one a dagger. Stabbing deep. A knife twisting in my chest. I sprinted down the corridor. Faster. Faster. I could hear Baron Barnaby, our trusted physician, desperately trying to soothe her.

Her scent hit me as I entered: sour, acrid. It rolled over me in a suffocating wave, drowning me in her pain, her terror. 

And rushed to her side. 

My heart shattered at the sight of her. Frail. Broken. A shell of the strong, vibrant omega I married. My Cordelia, reduced to this—this agony. Sweat and tears smeared her face, rendering her almost unrecognizable.

Her body convulsed again, and a guttural scream ripped through the air, through my soul.

Barnaby leaned closer to Cordelia, his voice soft yet steady. "My dear lady, I recall well the day your husband came into this world. A robust child he was, indeed—a true handful for his poor mother, who labored long and hard to bring him forth." His gentle and deliberate words sought to ease her distress, though her glazed eyes and furrowed brow told me she scarcely heard a word.

How could she?

Those brown eyes of hers, once so vibrant and full of life, now appeared dull and vacant, their gaze distant, as if she were looking through him, through everything, even through me.

"You—" her scream rent the air, raw and piercing, freezing my very blood. Barnaby's eyes shut tight, sweat dripping from his forehead, his lips moving in silent prayer.

He was terrified.

I could see it in the unsteady tremor of his hands.

How long had this been going on?

Hours?

Maybe days?

This can't be happening. Not now. Not like this. "Barnaby, it's too soon!" My voice shook with panic.

"The child is coming, Cedric. No stopping it now."

"Can you not see the torment she endures?" I said, my voice a mix of anger and despair. "For God's sake, do something!"

"I'm doing all I can!"

Cordelia's body convulsed again, and her scream snapped Barnaby's focus back to her. He leaned in, trying to hold her steady as she thrashed against the pain.

"She's delirious, Cedric. Help me tie her down!"

"No!" I moved quickly to her side, scooting closer and taking her hand gently. "I'll calm her myself."

I allowed my pheromones to flow, driven by a desperation that gnawed at my very being.

She needed to feel her Alpha's presence, to know I was here.

My scent filled the room, mingling with hers. "Barnaby, hurry." She was at her breaking point. "How long has this been going on?"

"Eight hours," Barnaby said, his face grim. "The midwife called me when she saw the child was turned wrong. We wait now. Pray it turns."

Eight hours. Eight hours of this torment. I grasped Cordelia's hands, trying to anchor her to the present. I'm here, Cordelia. Just hold on, please. This will end soon; it has to.

My heart broke.

My voice trembled.

Her eyes flickered toward me, dull and lifeless.

I kept whispering, words tumbling out, frantic, desperate. Please, Cordelia. Please, hear me. Feel me. I needed to reach her, to pull her back from this abyss, to pierce through this veil of suffering that separated us. I'm here. I'm right here.

I released more pheromones, willing my scent to envelop her, to break through the haze and remind her of my presence, my love.

"Is her suffering due to the child arriving nearly three months before its time?"

Barnaby looked away.

Cordelia's eyes snapped open, wild and unfocused. "Godfrey?" Her voice, a ragged whisper, cut through the haze, sharp as broken glass. Her hand reached out, grasping at empty air, fingers clawing for something—someone—not there. "Help me," she rasped, her breath hitching in pain. "This child—your child—it's tearing me apart from the inside. Kill it if you must. Kill the damned thing. Just... rid me of it before Cedric finds out. He must never know." Her words spilled out, frantic, fevered, teetering on the brink of madness, each syllable a hammer blow to my chest.

Godfrey?

The name punched me in the gut. My breath caught. My lungs refused to expand.

Godfrey? Cedric will never know?! But—I'm Cedric. I'm right here.

My heart, pounding just moments ago, stopped. Suspended in my chest. A chill crept up my spine, spreading through my veins like ice. My stomach dropped, twisting with a sudden, nauseating lurch.

I felt my vision blur, the edges of the room darkening, narrowing, as if the walls were closing in. I blinked, trying to clear the fog from my mind, to push away the weight crushing my chest, but it was like trying to breathe underwater.

Cordelia, my love, my mate. 

My hands trembled, a violent, uncontrollable shake that I couldn't stop. What are you saying?

"She doesn't know what she's saying," Barnaby said quickly, his voice tight with urgency.

Lies.

"Your wife is in a delirious state, Cedric. The pain has overtaken her mind. You must not heed her ravings."

But I had heard enough.

"Cedric, you need to leave," Barnaby said softly. "Go to your study. I'll come for you when it's over."

I nodded, not sure if I was agreeing or just giving in.

My body moved on its own, one foot in front of the other, as I mechanically left the room.

When Barnaby finally found me in the library hours later, his face was pale, and his eyes were haunted, as if he'd seen the devil himself.

"Was the child born three months premature?" I inquired, my voice flat.

Hollow.

Barnaby paused, his silence stretching unbearably before he finally spoke. "No," Barnaby replied, his voice low and firm. "The child was not early. You have endured enough lies, Cedric. I won't add to them."

He sank into a chair, utterly defeated, as I poured him a drink.

A drink for him, but what solace remains for me?

How would I dull the pain? The searing, gut-wrenching pain of knowing that every moment, every memory, every "I love you" was a lie? I thought I knew her. I thought I knew myself.

But……

Was I Cedric, the loyal mate? The fool? The betrayed? 

A world I no longer belonged to.

"You've given me the truth, old friend. That's enough." 

"Take care of yourself, Cedric. I know how much you loved Cordelia."

Love?

What was love now in this twisted mockery of reality?

"I'll recover. I always do, don't I?"

"Yes," Barnaby sighed.

"There is one task I would give you."

"Anything."

"Barnaby, you must deliver the news to Godfrey," I said, looking him in the eye, the weight of my words sinking in. "Let my brother know his mistress and bastard are dead."