Bound by Contract to the Alpha Chapter 140

Rebecca's POV

Marianne appeared beside me, her voice low and dangerous. Ronald took an involuntary step back, his composure cracking slightly.

"Marianne, I was merely—"

"Do not forget," she interrupted, her eyes cold, "that your daughter violated pack law. You should be grateful she still breathes."

Ronald's face paled slightly. For all his posturing, Marianne was the mate of the current Alpha and mother to the next. Her power in the pack was considerable.

"The Silver Moon Shadow Pack is not to be trifled with," Marianne continued, her voice barely above a whisper but carrying undeniable authority. "Leave. Now."

Ronald hesitated, then nodded stiffly. "My apologies for any... misunderstanding." He retreated with as much dignity as he could muster, but I could sense his humiliation and rage.

Once he was gone, I turned to Marianne, genuinely surprised by her intervention. "Thank you, Mrs. Sterling."

She studied me for a moment, her eyes assessing. "Don't let such men ruin your wedding night. The pack is watching how you handle challenges."

Despite her practical reasoning, I felt something shift between us. Perhaps there was hope for our relationship after all. As she moved away, I was struck again by thoughts of my own mother. Marianne's protective instinct, however politically motivated, had reminded me sharply of what I was missing.

I scanned the room for my father, suddenly needing his presence. Finding him near the refreshment table, I made my way over, nodding politely to pack members as I passed.

"Dad," I said, touching his arm. My voice sounded strained even to my own ears. "I've been thinking about Mom. I want to see her... tonight."

His expression immediately shifted to one of discomfort. His eyes darted away from mine, and he swallowed hard. "Sweetheart, it's your wedding day. Maybe tomorrow, or next week would be better."

"I don't want to wait until she's ready to forgive me," I insisted, gripping his arm tighter. "Even if she's angry, I want to see her on this special day."

My father's face contorted with pain. He looked around, then guided me to a quieter corner of the room, his hand trembling slightly against my back.

"Rebecca, sweetheart, things aren't what you think..." he began, his voice strained and uneven.

A sense of foreboding settled in my stomach. "What do you mean? What's going on?"

He ran a hand over his face, suddenly looking much older than his years. Deep lines appeared around his eyes that I hadn't noticed before. "I didn't want to tell you today of all days."

"Tell me what?" My voice rose slightly, drawing a few glances our way.

"Let's step outside," he said quietly.

Heart hammering against my ribs, I followed him through the French doors onto a small terrace overlooking the garden. The night air was cool against my skin, a welcome relief from the warmth of the ballroom. Fairy lights twinkled in the surrounding trees, creating a magical atmosphere that now felt wrong against my father's grim expression.

"Dad, you're scaring me. What's happening with Mom?"

He took both my hands in his, his own trembling noticeably. "Rebecca, your mother... she has pancreatic cancer."

The world seemed to stop. I couldn't breathe. "What? No... How long have you known?"

"She was diagnosed three months ago," he said, voice breaking, eyes filling with tears. "She didn't want you to know."

Tears burned in my eyes, blurring my vision. "Three months? Why didn't you tell me sooner?"

"She made me promise," he whispered, his grip on my hands tightening. "You know how stubborn she is. She said you had enough to deal with—the pregnancy, the transformation, becoming Luna. She didn't want to be another burden."

"That wasn't her decision to make!" I cried, anger mixing with grief. My voice shook with emotion. "Or yours! She's my mother!"

My father nodded, accepting my anger. "I know, sweetheart. I'm sorry. I wanted to tell you, but she was so adamant."

I gripped his hands tighter, my nails digging into his skin. "I need to see her. Right now."

"Rebecca, it's your wedding reception—"

"I don't care. She's my mother, and she's dying." The words tore through my throat. "I need to go to her. Tonight."

---

I turned to find Dominic standing in the doorway, his eyes dark with concern. He must have sensed my distress through our bond. Without hesitation, I moved toward him.

"My mother has cancer," I said, the words still not feeling real. "Pancreatic cancer."

Understanding immediately filled his eyes. His hands came up to cup my face, thumbs gently wiping away tears I hadn't realized were falling. "When do you want to leave?" His voice was steady, certain.

His immediate support, without question or hesitation, made my heart swell with love even through my pain.

"Now," I replied, my voice breaking. "I need to see her now."

He nodded, his eyes never leaving mine. "I'll arrange everything. We'll go immediately."

"But the guests—" I began.

"Nothing is more important than your family," he said firmly, his hands warm and steady on my shoulders. "My parents will understand. Raymond will handle the rest of the celebration."

Within twenty minutes, we were in Dominic's car. I sat in the back with my wedding dress billowing around me, still trying to process the news. Dominic reached back occasionally to squeeze my hand, his thumb stroking over my knuckles. He didn't speak, but his presence was a steady comfort, his eyes meeting mine in the rearview mirror with silent support.

When we arrived at my parents' apartment building, I was struck by how much shabbier it seemed than I remembered. Inside, the furnishings were sparse, the living room containing only a worn couch and a simple television stand.

"We sold most of the furniture," my father explained, noticing my surprise. His shoulders slumped with defeat. "The experimental treatments your mother wanted to try... insurance doesn't cover them."

Fresh guilt washed over me. While I'd been living in luxury at Sterling Manor, my parents had been selling their possessions to pay for cancer treatments.

"After Jason died," my father continued, his voice thick with emotion, "your mother took it so hard. She couldn't forgive anyone. Not even herself. She wouldn't let me contact you."

My brother's name sent a fresh wave of pain through me. His death in a car accident two years ago had torn our family apart.

"I've failed you, Rebecca," my father said, tears streaming down his face, his voice breaking. "There's nothing I can say to change that."

I moved forward and embraced him tightly. "I love you, Dad. I forgive you. We don't need to talk about it anymore."

Dominic stood quietly by the door, giving us space. When I met his eyes, he nodded solemnly. "I'll arrange for the best medical team," he said softly, his voice filled with determination. "Whatever treatment options exist, we'll find them."

I nodded gratefully before turning back to my father. "Take me to her."

He led me down a short hallway to a bedroom door, which he pushed open gently. The room was dimly lit, with medical equipment creating an irregular symphony of beeps and hums. And there, in the center of the bed, lay my mother.

She looked so small, so fragile—nothing like the vibrant, strong-willed woman who had raised me. Her skin had a yellowish tint, stretched too tightly over her bones. Her once-thick hair lay thin and lifeless against the pillow. A nasal cannula provided oxygen, and an IV stand next to the bed dripped medication into her arm.

I moved to the bedside chair, my wedding dress rustling loudly in the quiet room. Her breathing was shallow, labored. I reached out and took her hand—so thin I could see every bone—in mine.

"Hi, Mom," I whispered, my heart breaking at the sight of her.