The Breaking Point of Mate: Giving Up on My Alpha novel Chapter 70

Chapter 70

Melanie’s POV

I looked at Moira, totally confused. In the pack, staying disciplined and keeping a steady internal clock was usually considered a

virtue.

Since when did waking up early become a reason for her to sigh and frown?

As I stood there puzzled, Archer spoke up. His voice carried that signature Alpha chill, dry and detached. “I took pharmacology back at the academy. Those heat–inducing catalysts you slipped into the soup last night? They don’t work on me.”

With that, he turned and headed back upstairs, cold as ever.

I froze. It took two full seconds for the weight of his words to sink in–Moira had spiked the tonic last night.

It wasn’t just a supplement; it was a catalyst designed to trigger a werewolf’s mating heat.

But Archer, as a high–tier Alpha, had mastered his pheromones and biochemical reactions years ago.

Not only had he seen right through it, but he had probably spent the entire night watching my reactions with cold indifference.

Thinking about that, the scent gland at the back of my neck constricted. It was a visceral reaction, a mix of burning shame and a lingering sense of “what if.”

“Sometimes, having a grandson who’s too smart is a curse,” Moira muttered, clearly annoyed.

Her eyes landed on me, filled with an unabashed hope. “I… I was really hoping for a new addition to the pack. Melanie, dear, you need to put more effort into your relationship with Archer. A mating bond needs to be deepened. Let’s hear some good news soon, alright?”

I stayed silent. 1

Archer might have tossed me a bone by helping me yesterday, but it was just charity. It didn’t mean our shattered mating bond had even a ghost of a chance at being repaired.

If something had actually happened last night under the influence of that drug, it would have just made the whole situation feel cheap and messy.

As for another child? That was a fantasy. My wolf, Frost, was currently curled up in the corner of my mind, letting out a low, defiant growl.

Just then, Trista carne downstairs.

Seeing my daughter, I couldn’t help but think of her blind, borderline obsessive devotion to Camille. The warmth in my chest died instantly.

At breakfast, Archer sat naturally by my side.

Even without saying a word, his suffocating cedar scent wrapped around me, invading every inch of my space.

Trista was acting out of character today, insisting that Archer drive her to school

He agreed immediately. “No problem.”

Moira saw her opening and tried to play matchmaker again. “Then Archer, you might as well take Melanie too. You’re both heading to the same area for work anyway-

”

“That’s not necessary, Grandmother,” I interjected quickly, trying to guard my boundaries before her aura could swallow me. He has pack business and meetings; his schedule is unpredictable. If I don’t have my own car, I’ll be stranded.”

But Moira wasn’t having it. With the Immovable authority of a pack elder, she shut me down. “He’ll do his thing, and if you’re

Chapter 70

+30 Bonus

done with work and have no car, just call a pack driver to pick you up. It’s settled.”

I was powerless to argue. I looked instinctively at Archer.

He remained silent, giving his silent consent to Moira’s plan.

After breakfast, I followed Trista toward the black Bentley.

Trista hopped in with practiced ease, clearly thrilled by the illusion of a “happy family” outing.

I honestly couldn’t remember the last time I’d been in his car.

Just as I habitually moved to sit in the back next to him, Archer spoke. His voice was like a cold iron gate, “Sit on the other side.”

I stopped dead. A wave of humiliation crawled up my spine.

I didn’t say a word as I walked around the car, waiting for the driver to open the other door before I slid in.

Trista was between Archer and me–a distance that felt like an entire forest.

Archer seemed to be handling something urgent, his fingers flying across his phone screen.

Trista scrambled into his lap, peeking at the screen from within that thick cloud of Alpha pheromones. “Oh!” she chirped. “It’s a message from Camille!”

Archer’s eyes never left the screen. A tiny “Mhm” vibrated in his throat.

He didn’t even have the decency to hide it from me.

Trista, on the other hand, stole a couple of glances at me. Her eyes held a level of scrutiny that shouldn’t belong to a child.

Then, she turned back, settling comfortably into Archer’s arms to watch the glowing screen.

She didn’t read the words out loud.

After a bit, Trista got bored. She wiggled out of Archer’s arms–away from that cold pine scent–and absentmindedly pulled open the storage compartment next to the seat.

I swear, I wasn’t trying to pry.

But as a werewolf, my vision was sharper than any human’s, and my nose caught that sickening sweet orange scent–Camille’s pheromones–in a heartbeat.

Lying in the compartment were a few items: a bright, bold lipstick and a delicate satin clutch.

I didn’t need to be a detective to know they screamed “Camille.”

Seeing that, I finally understood why Archer used that icy tone to tell me to sit on the other side.

That seat had already become Camille’s exclusive territory.

In the werewolf world, allowing another she wolf to leave such strong pheromones and personal belongings in your private vehicle for a long time is a silent admission of possession.

He wouldn’t let me sit there because he was afraid the tiny, broken scraps of my Lama scent would soil the sanctuary he was keeping for Camille.