I watched Julian crumble before my eyes, the mighty Alpha King reduced to a sobbing wreck on his knees. The death certificate trembled in my hands—the official document that had finally shattered his delusions.
"Please, Aurelia," he begged, his voice hoarse. "Tell me where she's buried. Let me see her grave."
A part of me—the vengeful, grieving mother—wanted to deny him this small comfort. Why should he get to mourn the daughter he'd never made time for in life? But something deeper stirred beneath my anger as I looked at his tear-streaked face.
"You didn't care where she was when she was alive," I said, my voice steadier than I felt. "Why should you care now?"
Julian's amber eyes, usually so cold and commanding, were now red-rimmed and hollow. "Because she was my daughter too. Please... I need to say goodbye."
"Goodbye?" I laughed bitterly. "She waited for your goodbye on her deathbed. She waited for you on every birthday you missed. She's not waiting anymore, Julian."
