Ex-Alpha's Regret: Siren's Comeback novel Chapter 3

POV: Seraphina

I pushed my chair back, the legs scraping harshly against the marble floor, the sound ripping through the suffocating domesticity of the scene. I stood up and walked out of the dining room without a word. My steps were measured, each one a battle to keep my composure from shattering into a thousand pieces right there on the polished floor.-

I made it to the guest room and locked the door behind me. My back slid down the cool wood until I was huddled on the floor, wrapping my arms around myself. The cheerful breakfast chatter—my son's laughter, my husband's low murmur, her musical giggles—filtered faintly from downstairs, a special kind of torture.

My hands shook as I pulled my phone from my pocket. My fingers felt clumsy, numb, as I scrolled through the contacts, my thumb hovering over the one name that meant safety.

Dad.

The phone rang twice before he picked up. "Seraphina? My little moonbeam, is everything alright?"

His voice, so full of warmth and unconditional love, was the thing that finally broke the dam.

A sob tore its way from my throat, raw and ragged, a sound of pure agony. I couldn't speak, couldn't form words. The pain I had been holding back since yesterday erupted, shaking my entire body in violent waves.

"Sera? What is it? What's wrong?" Panic sharpened his tone, the Alpha in him sensing true distress. "Is it Damian? Did that bastard hurt you?"

I choked out his name, my voice a broken whisper. "Dad…"

Through my tears, I stammered out the whole sordid story—the anniversary, the woman, Nico's cruel words, the silk robe at the breakfast table. I told him everything.

The silence on the other end of the line was terrifying. When my father, Marcus Thorne, finally spoke, his voice was a low growl, vibrating with the fury of a slighted Alpha ready to declare war.

"That's it. I'm coming to get you. Now."

"What do you want me to do, little moonbeam?" he finally asked, his voice rough with unshed anger.

"Give me time," I pleaded, my mind racing, an escape plan starting to form in the ruins of my heart. "Give me thirty days. Let me try to… figure this out. If I can't, then I'll come home. But you have to promise me you won't do anything until then. Please, Dad. Promise me."

It was the hardest promise I had ever asked of him. I heard him curse Damian's name, a low, vicious sound.

"Thirty days," he conceded, his voice heavy with reluctance. "But if he causes you one more tear, I will burn his entire territory to the ground. Do you understand?"

"I understand," I whispered. After we hung up, I stayed on the floor, the phone clutched in my hand. Thirty days. Not to fix this. But to plan my escape.

I slid down the rest of the way to the floor, the phone slipping from my numb fingers and clattering on the hardwood.