Alpha's Regret, Begging My Convict Luna Back novel Chapter 50

Chapter 50

Aria’s POV

I tilted my head, yearning for the warmth of her touch to ease the ache, to make everything right again. But no touch came, the air was empty and silent.

I woke up with a start, my stomach growling angrily as the cold draft of air from the cracked window hit my skin. The chill cut through me, but I couldn’t quite bring myself to close it. The fever had overwhelmed me, and I’d passed out in a haze of exhaustion and aching muscles.

I reached up to touch my forehead, feeling the searing heat that radiated from my skin. It was burning hot. My body felt heavy, like I was trapped in a shell that refused to move. I lay there, staring blankly at the ceiling, my thoughts swirling in a fog I couldn’t clear.

For a brief moment, I wished I could have stayed in that dream, that warm, comforting dream where nothing mattered and everything was still okay.

I longed to return to a time before all these, the hardship, the constant cold shoulders, the endless slights. I wanted to go back to a time when I was just a child, basking in my grandmother’s love, feeling

safe.

A tear slipped down my cheek, but I didn’t even notice it. I hadn’t realized I’d been crying. My wolf was too numb to feel much of anything, but still… the pain, the longing-it never really went away.

Then, through the haze, a thought broke through. The thought of Lana.

I had her, my daughter. I couldn’t afford to stay lost in these memories. If I gave up now, what would become of her? Without a mother, Lana would face the same cruelty that I had endured. She would be alone, unprotected, and a target for those who thrived on pain. I couldn’t let that happen, not to her.

Gritting my teeth, I propped myself up on trembling arms, fighting against the exhaustion that threatened to pull me under. I can’t give in, I won’t.

With fierce determination, I dragged myself to the bathroom, my body protesting every movement. I soaked a towel in hot water and pressed it to my forehead, desperate for some relief.

I made several trips through the night, the fever breaking little by little, but the pain didn’t leave. I could feel it gnawing at me, like a beast inside that wouldn’t stop prowling.

By the early hours of the morning, the fever began to break. I was still exhausted, my body weak and aching, but at least the heat had lessened.

Just as I started to fall asleep, a loud knock shattered the silence. The door rattled, and I flinched. My body felt like waterlogged cotton, weak, yet oppressively heavy. I dragged myself to my feet, every step a struggle, and stumbled toward the door.

When I opened it, I was met with Margaret’s wide eyes, her gaze flicking over me with obvious disgust.

“What? Are you trying to die here?” she blurted out, her shock quickly turning into scolding. “What’s

1/3

+15 Bonus

wrong with you?”

I shot her a cold glance, the words sticking in my throat, too heavy to form into anything sharp. I turned, too drained to deal with her, and tried to shut the door.

But Margaret wasn’t done. She barged in, furious. “What, you’re mute now? Can’t you hear me talking to you?”

I didn’t respond. My throat burned with every word, but I finally rasped, “What do you want?”

Margaret eyed me suspiciously, the concern in her voice barely masking her irritation. “What’s wrong with you?” she asked, like I was some problem to be solved.

I didn’t answer. I just stared at her, my gaze flat, my expression emotionless. I didn’t need to speak. My silence was enough to make her uneasy. I could feel it.

For a moment, Margaret’s face faltered, but she quickly steeled herself. “Today’s your grandmother’s memorial,” she said, her tone flat. Then, without another word, she stormed off.

The weight of her words hit me like a slap. The grief that I’d buried so deep inside me began to rise, forcing its way to the surface, choking me. I swallowed hard, the metallic taste of blood in my mouth, realizing I’d bitten my tongue.

I bowed my head, my heart tightening as the grief flooded in. It was all too much, too raw, too soon. I’d known my grandmother had passed, but hearing it like that…. like she was nothing more than an event to Margaret, a scheduling conflict, made it all too real.

VERIFYCAPTCHA_LABELVerify