Ex-Mate Wants Me Back (Seraphina and Mortimer) novel Chapter 67

Chapter 67

Seraphina’s POV

I didn’t give him an answer. It wasn’t that he wasn’t “Luna-standard”—it was that he was too damn bright.

I could already see the headlines. By tomorrow morning, the entire medical center would be buzzing with the news that I was the secret wife of the Craig Group’s CEO, the hidden Luna of the Blade pack.

Even without his insane pedigree, Mortimer’s face was a magnet for trouble. My quiet life was officially over.

“You’re making my life complicated,” I said, giving it to him straight.

Mortimer’s brow hit a hard knot. He stared at the look of pure annoyance on my face, and for a second, I thought he was going to

snap.

Instead, he let out a sharp, dry laugh. “What’s that supposed to mean, Seraphina? Am I a ‘nuisance’ to you now?”

The injection suite was packed, and I wasn’t about to have a mid-life crisis in public. I shoved my anger down and dropped a flat, “Forget it.”

I didn’t sit. I turned for the exit.

“Where are you going?” he barked, his voice tracking me, sharp and desperate.

“Getting you water for your meds. Stay put.” I didn’t look back.

Standing at the water cooler, watching the cup fill, my mind started to drift.

I used to fantasize about this-about him telling the world who I was.

Back when I thought he was the sun, I wanted everyone to know.

I knew being the Blade Luna would put a target on my back, but I didn’t care. I just wanted to be his one.

Eventually, I killed those dreams. I told myself being a secret was better.

And now, just as I’m halfway out the door, he decides to broadcast our business when it doesn’t mean a damn thing.

It was exhausting.

The jagged, ugly rage started bubbling up again, peaking the second I pictured his face.

My grip tightened without me realizing it until the paper cup collapsed, lukewarm water soaking my sleeve.

I snapped out of it, staring at the wet fabric. I could feel the violence vibrating under my skin.

I pulled out my phone with shaking hands and dialed my therapist. “Hey, Dr. Hartley. You got a minute?”

Twenty minutes of professional de-escalation later, the red mist finally cleared.

“Miss Hale?”

I turned. It was Dr. Smith from the pet hospital, the guy looking after Dash. He was cradling a fat, white fluffball of a Bichon.

“Dr. Smith,” I said, a polite smile finally reaching my face. I couldn’t help it; the little dog was adorable.

I reached out and squeezed one of its chubby paws. “Yours?”

“My girlfriend’s. She’s in the next bay with a stomach bug and a fever. She was stressing about Opal, so I brought the little guy in for some moral support.” When he talked about her, his whole face softened. 1

“That,” I thought. “That’s what a real mate looks like.”

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“Opal, say hi to the nice lady.”

The dog gave my arm a friendly nuzzle.

The contact was like an instant mood-fix. I actually felt the weight lift, and a genuine laugh escaped me.

A few yards away, Mortimer’s IV-stabbed hand was dangling at his side.

He was clutching his own fluid bag like a pathetic trophy, staring at me in total silence.

I ignored him and kept talking to the vet.

Hearing that Dash was almost ready to come home made my smile actually reach my eyes for the first time in weeks.

“We better get inside. Opal has a mission,” Dr. Smith said.

“See ya, Opal.” I patted the pup’s head.

The dog gave my cheek a quick, wet lick, and I laughed again.

I watched them go, then refilled the water and walked back to the injection bay.

“There you are, Seraphina,” the nurse said, giving me a knowing look. “Your man went looking for you.”

I paused. “Is he done with the bag?”

The nurse covered her mouth, her eyes full of tease. “He’s pretty clingy, isn’t he? You were gone two minutes and he’s out in the hall chasing you down with his IV pole.”

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