Rejected By My Mate; Claimed By Lycan Quadruplets Chapter 397

Margaret Winters sat in the dimly lit lounge, sipping her evening tea as the fireplace crackled softly in the background.

The mansion was unusually quiet tonight, with most of the staff having retired to their quarters. She exhaled, enjoying the rare moment of peace.

Her phone vibrated on the table beside her, the screen lighting up with Eleanor Harrington’s name. A small frown formed between Margaret’s brows.

It was late. Eleanor never called at this hour unless it was something urgent.

Setting her teacup down, she reached for the phone and answered.

“Eleanor? It’s quite late. Is everything alright?”

There was a pause on the other end. Too long of a pause. Then, a sigh.

“Margaret…” Eleanor’s voice was careful, hesitant. “I— I don’t even know how to say this to you.”

Margaret’s frown deepened, a strange feeling creeping into her chest. “What’s wrong?”

Another silence. Then, Eleanor finally spoke again.

“Have you… seen the news?”

Margaret glanced toward the clock on the wall. “The news? No, I was just about to head to bed. Why?”

Eleanor hesitated. “You should check it. Right now.”

A sharp, uneasy feeling settled in Margaret’s stomach. “Eleanor, what is going on?”

Eleanor sighed again, her voice quieter now. “I don’t want to be the one to tell you, Margaret. Just… check it yourself.”

Margaret felt a flicker of irritation, but that feeling was overshadowed by something worse.

A gnawing, slow-rising dread. Without another word, she pulled the phone from her ear and opened her browser.

The moment she saw the headlines, the breath in her lungs vanished.

Her eyes widened, her heart slamming against her ribs.

She blinked, rereading the words, refusing to believe what she was seeing.

But it was there. On every news outlet. Every media platform.

And then she saw the video.

Her hands trembled violently as she clicked on the article. The screen loaded, and within seconds, the footage began to play.

The first thing she heard was a woman’s breathy moans.

Margaret’s entire body froze.

Then the image shifted, the camera angle revealing two tangled bodies, silk sheets a mess beneath them.

Her chest tightened painfully.

A man. A woman.

And then—

The clarity of the faces.

Her husband.

Thomas Winters.

And the woman underneath him?

Kate Andrews— Her son's fiancé whom she adores.

Margaret gasped so sharply it felt like her lungs had collapsed. Her entire world tipped sideways.

Her heart pounded painfully, her vision swimming, her ears ringing so loudly she could barely hear the explicit sounds coming from her phone.

She staggered backward, one hand gripping the table beside her for support. The air around her felt too thick, too suffocating.

She tried to breathe, but nothing came.

Her fingers tightened around her phone, her nails digging into the case.

No.

No, this wasn’t real.

This had to be some sick, twisted lie.

But the video continued.

Kate’s voice, breathless, dripping with pleasure—

“You’re so much better than him.”

Margaret felt nauseous.

“I love this. I love us.”

Her knees nearly gave out.

“Ryan will never find out.”

A sound left Margaret’s lips—a strangled, broken gasp, a mixture of shock and devastation.

This wasn’t just an affair.

This wasn’t just another typical, meaningless betrayal.

This was her husband.

Sleeping with their son’s fiancée.

Margaret slammed her phone down onto the table, her body trembling with a fury she had never known before.

The disbelief was gone.

Now, there was only rage.

A sharp, blinding, all-consuming rage.

With heavy, determined steps, she stormed toward the study.

—

The moment she reached the heavy wooden door, she threw it open without knocking.

Thomas looked up from his desk, frowning at the sudden intrusion. “Margaret, what the hell—”

She didn’t let him finish.

She marched straight toward his desk, her hands shaking with fury.

Her voice came out low and sharp, trembling with emotion.

“Say something.”

Thomas’s frown deepened. “What?”

Margaret’s chest heaved, her hands clenching at her sides.

“Say something, Thomas,” she hissed, her voice dangerously quiet. “Because if you don’t, I swear to God, I will burn this entire house to the ground.”

Thomas studied her carefully, finally noticing the way her entire body was shaking.

His brows knitted together in confusion. “Margaret, what’s gotten into you?”

Her eyes burned with unshed tears.

“Check your goddamn phone.”

Thomas’s jaw ticked.

He reached for his phone, unlocking it and turning on his internet. The moment he opened his notifications of being tagged by numerous people, his entire body stiffened.

Margaret watched, waiting.

She saw the exact moment he realized what had happened.

His expression shifted—from confusion, to realization, to barely concealed panic.

Margaret let out a hollow, bitter laugh. “Oh, now you understand?”

Thomas exhaled slowly, setting his phone down.

“Margaret, I can explain—”

“EXPLAIN?!”

Her voice rose into a furious scream.

Thomas flinched.

Margaret grabbed the nearest thing—his whiskey glass—and hurled it across the room.

The sound of shattering glass echoed through the study.

“How long?” she demanded, her voice trembling with rage.

Thomas sighed, raking a hand through his hair. “Margaret—”

“How long have you been screwing our son’s fiancée?!”

Silence.

A long, heavy silence.

And then—Thomas said nothing.

Margaret felt something in her snap.

“You son of a bitch,” she whispered.

She stepped closer, shaking with fury.

“I stood by you for years,” she hissed. “I gave you everything. And this is what you do to our family? Disgrace?”

Thomas inhaled, his voice tight. “It’s not what you think—”

“Don’t you dare insult my intelligence!” she shouted, tears of rage brimming in her eyes.

Thomas took a slow breath, his gaze unreadable. “Margaret, you need to calm down—”

Margaret laughed bitterly. “Calm down? CALM DOWN?! My husband’s sex tape is playing on every goddamn news channel, and you want me to CALM DOWN?!”

Her breathing was erratic now. She wanted to hurt him.

She wanted to tear apart everything he valued—just like he had done to her.

Thomas, for the first time in his life, looked defeated. He had never seen her this way before.

Margaret took a shaky step back, her voice now barely above a whisper.

“You disgust me,” she spat.

Thomas opened his mouth—but no words came out.

Margaret straightened, wiping her face.

“You will regret this, Thomas,” she whispered.

And with that, she turned and walked out, leaving him alone with the destruction he created.