Harley’s P.O.V.

Carlos’s question pierced straight through my heart. The way his voice broke—soft, uncertain, and stripped of all alpha authority—frightened me more than any battle ever could.

I squeezed his hand tightly, anchoring him to us.

“I don’t think your mom is angry in the first place.”

Carlos turned to look at me, confusion clouding his crimson eyes.

“How can you say that so confidently, Harley?” he asked. His words carried years of buried guilt.

“I never loved my mom. In fact, I hated her so much that I never visited her. Not once!”

A wounded smile curved my lips as I placed his hand over my belly, pressing...