The Breaking Point of Mate: Giving Up on My Alpha novel Chapter 114

Chapter 114

Third Person’s POV

Once upon a time, Trista used to cling to her just like this.

Back then, a little woven basket or a simple paper airplane was enough to keep her excited for an entire day.

But those days of total, unspoken trust had been buried under last year’s snow in Los Angeles, right alongside that “Mommy”

title.

That night, Myra insisted on sleeping in Melanie’s tent.

Dwight looked at Melanie, his deep eyes silently asking for permission.

Melanie looked down at Myra’s pleading face and finally gave a small nod.

The werewolf pup scrambled into her arms, bringing a wave of warm, milky scent with her.

Even though they shared a tent, they had their own sleeping bags.

Myra’s plan to burrow into Melanie’s bag for a cuddle was shot down, so she had to settle for grabbing Melanie’s hand through the thick down layers before finally drifting off.

Myra’s constitution was definitely on the weaker side for a werewolf.

The mountain wind managed to find every crack in the tent, and despite the space heaters, she caught a chill by midnight

Early the next morning, Melanie was jolted awake by a raspy cough.

She hadn’t slept well either; there were faint shadows under her eyes, and her face was tight with exhaustion.

Dwight made the call immediately: they were taking the kid to the healing center in the city.

Melanie originally planned to drive herself back to her apartment, but Myra–flushed with fever and looking pathetic–clutched Melanie’s sleeve and wouldn’t let go, whispering for her to stay.

Looking into those watery, dependent eyes, Melanie couldn’t bring herself to be heartless.

She opened the door and climbed into the back of Dwight’s black SUV with Myra.

The heater was blasting, cutting off the view of the melting snow outside.

Within minutes, Myra was out cold in Melanie’s lap.

Melanie, who had barely closed her eyes all night, felt the steady cedarwood scent of Dwight’s pheromones filling the car. A wave of fatigue finally hit her, and she leaned her head against the window, falling into a deep sleep.

Dwight gripped the steering wheel, stealing a glance whenever he hit a red light.

Melanie’s long hair had fallen forward, shielding most of her pale face, her breath hitching slightly as she slept.

In that moment, it felt like something had tugged at the wolf inside Dwight.

His male instincts flared, and his fingers twitched. He started to reach out, wanting to brush the stray hairs away from her face.

But just as his fingertips were about to touch her cool skin, Melanie’s eyelashes fluttered.

Her werewolf reflexes, sharp even in sleep, picked up the movement. Her breathing changed before her eyes even opened

Dwight yanked his hand back, his palm still burning with the heat of the missed connection.

“Are we there?” Melanie asked, her voice raspy and thick with sleep. Her amber eyes were still slightly glazed over,

Chapter M

“Almost,” Dwight said, staring straight ahead at the road. His voice sounded tighter than usual.

Two minutes later, they pulled up to the healing center.

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Dwight scooped up a feverish Myra and turned to Melanie. “I’ll have my driver take you home?”

Melanie shook her head, her “distance” fully restored now that she was awake. “No thanks. I’ll just grab a cab to go get my car. I don’t want to be a bother.”

Dwight watched her walk away without looking back. He didn’t turn around until her slight figure vanished around the corner, then he carried Myra inside.

Melanie had just made it back to her place and was ready to crash when her phone buzzed.

It was a text from Archer. “Moira is going to visit your grandmother. She wants the three of us to head back to Red Rose together.

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She couldn’t ignore this one. She called Archer directly.

The second he picked up, she skipped the small talk. “I’ll pick up Trista myself.”

The subtext was loud and clear: she had zero intention of going with him.

After all, in the years they were mated, Archer’s visits to Red Rose were always cold and formal.

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