Ex-Mate Wants Me Back (Seraphina and Mortimer) novel Chapter 116

Chapter 116

Third Person’s PQV

Mortimer, for the first time in a decade, looked genuinely rattled. He cleared his throat, rubbing the bridge of his nose in a rare show of nervous energy. “Garfield, Thomasina… it’s been a while.”

In the beginning, Garfield Hale had been perfectly satisfied with his daughter’s choice.

Setting aside the “mate” title, Mortimer was the apex of his generation-educated, lethal, and brilliant.

But the moment news reached the lab that Mortimer had abandoned Seraphina in a sub-zero wilderness for half a month to tend to an omega, that satisfaction had turned into a slow-burning rage.

The two elder scholars had tried to respect Seraphina’s silence. But the moment they stepped out of their research facility and saw their flesh and blood being branded a “mistress” and dragged through the digital mud, the wolf in their souls stopped being

academic. It wanted blood.

“It has been a while,” Garfield said, his voice as hard as a slab of granite. He didn’t blink as he locked onto Mortimer’s eyes. “If we saw you more often, perhaps we wouldn’t have to find out our daughter was being treated like a doormat from a news feed.”

Mortimer’s jaw tightened, but for once, he didn’t snap back.

He had enough primal awareness to know when he was standing in front of a firing squad he deserved.

Seraphina, watching this, felt a spike of anxiety. She knew the contract was a lie, and she didn’t want her father to waste his

breath on a man who didn’t care.

She expected Mortimer to bark back, to pull rank, to say something that would humiliate her parents.

Instead, he just stood there, wearing a polite, strained smile like a cub being scolded.

“Grandfather,” Seraphina said, turning to Edwin to break the tension.

Edwin, who had been busy glaring at his grandson, transformed instantly. He beamed at her, his old face softening into pure, unadulterated affection. “Ah, Sera! You’ve been through too much, sweetheart.”

Seraphina moved to her parents’ side, her voice a low, steady murmur. “Dad, Mom, please. I have this under control.”

Garfield patted her hand, his expression softening for a fraction of a second before turning into a lethal frost as he looked at the Davis. He fixed his gaze on Vivian.

“Miss Davis,” he began, his voice dropping into a register that made the air in the room turn cold. “Whoexactly were you calling ‘ungrateful’ just now?”

Vivian flinched. The pheromones she’d been trying to use as a weapon evaporated.

“Did you think because Seraphina is composed, she is a target?”

Garfield asked, each word deliberate and sharp. “Her mother and I may be simple scholars, but we are not so simple that we allow people to ride roughshod over our daughter.”

Garfield calling himself “simple” was the ultimate academic threat.

The Silver Moon Pack didn’t have the Craig bank account, but their roots in the intellectual and medical elite ran deep.

Connor, unlike his wife, knew when he was outclassed.

He saw Mortimer retracting his protection and realized he was standing on a collapsing pier.

He forced a greasy, placating smile onto his face. “Professor Hale, please, let’s keep our heads. This is all a big misunderstanding. It’s just a minor situation-nothing as serious as you’re making it.”

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Thomasina, who had been silent until now, let out a sharp, mocking laugh. “A minor situation?” she asked, her eyes tracing Connor with clinical disgust. “In your world, Mr. Davis, is the attempted murder of kin and the systemic character assassination of a surgeon considered ‘mine? I see.”

She paused, her gaze turning into a scalpel. “I suppose that explains why Miss Davis feels so comfortable occupying another woman’s mate for weeks on end. It must be a family tradition to ignore basic boundaries. I used to wonder what kind of upbringing produced an omega with such a profound lack of self-respect. Now that I’ve met the parents, it makes perfect sense.”

Thomasina didn’t raise her voice, but she didn’t need to

The academic refinement made the insult feel like a slow-acting poison.

Connor’s face went through three shades of purple.

He hadn’t expected the “quiet professor’s wife” to be a shark.

Mortimer felt the blood rush to his face.

Hearing the Alaska trip framed that way-by a woman of Thomasina’s standing-made the shame hit him in a way no corporate loss ever could.

He’d told himself he was being “loyal” to a friend.

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