Alpha's Regret After the Divorce by Christina novel Chapter 47

Chapter 47

“Why?” I finally managed to croak out, my voice rough and strained.

She blinked, clearly caught off guard that I had spoken. “Alpha Blackwood’s orders. He was very adamant that we figure out what’s affecting your health.” Her tone dropped to a whisper, as if sharing a secret. “Between you and me, he seemed genuinely worried about you.”

I turned my gaze away from her. “He’s not worried about me. He’s worried about dragging out my suffering.”

The nurse’s smile faltered, uncertainty flickering across her face. “I… I’m sure that’s not—”

“When am I allowed to leave?” I cut her off sharply.

“Oh, not anytime soon, I’m afraid. They’re still running evaluations on your condition.”

I closed my eyes, shutting her out, desperate to escape the sterile room and the coldness of their concern. Eventually, she left, and I was left alone with the heavy silence and my swirling thoughts.

An hour later, the tests began—blood draws, scans, physical exams checking my reflexes and my ability to transform. I went through the motions mechanically, answering questions when prompted, moving limbs as instructed. None of it seemed to matter, as long as I remained trapped in Rocco’s world.

By afternoon, exhaustion weighed heavily on me. They left me alone to rest before the final round of tests scheduled for moonrise. I lay flat on my back, staring blankly at the ceiling, trying to empty my mind of everything.

The door opened abruptly, without a knock. Rocco stepped inside, impeccably dressed in a tailored charcoal suit. His expression was unreadable as he approached my bedside.

“You look better,” he said, though the casualness in his voice suggested he didn’t truly care.

I studied him carefully, noticing the dark circles shadowing his eyes. Had he even slept? The thought that he might be suffering too sparked a small, spiteful flicker of satisfaction inside me.

“If I had a terminal illness as a werewolf,” I said, my voice deliberately light, “would you consider letting me go?”

His eyes narrowed sharply. “What terminal illness?”

“Just hypothetically,” I clarified, watching his reaction closely. “If I were dying, would your thirst for revenge still matter? Or would you let me have peace in my final days?”

A flicker of uncertainty crossed his eyes, something I hadn’t expected. Before he could respond, the door opened again and Chris entered, holding a tablet in his hands.

“I have the test results,” he announced.

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