The Breaking Point of Mate: Giving Up on My Alpha novel Chapter 92

Third Person’s POV

There was a moment of silence on the other end of the line.

“Ah…”

Trista clearly froze.

Her small wolf spirit radiated a flicker of resistance in that instant–an emotion almost palpable through the communication

link.

She had already missed spending time with Camille last week.

She’d thought she could make up for it this week.

Now that anticipation was being cut short so casually.

She didn’t refuse, but her hesitation was obvious.

How could Melanie not notice?

Her grip on the communicator tightened slightly, her knuckles turning white.

She asked softly, “Is your dad there?”

“Yeah.” Trista turned to glance at the man across from her. “Does Mom want to talk to Dad?”

“Mhm.”

The communicator was quickly handed over.

Archer’s voice came through, deep and composed as ever. “What is it?”

Melanie paused, taking a steady breath before speaking.

“The day after tomorrow is my grandmother’s birthday. I need you to explain to Trista that she has to come with me to the Willis family that day and stay there all day.”

Archer didn’t hesitate.

“Understood.”

He paused, his tone steady and completely devoid of emotion.

“Anything else?”

“I’ll pick her up Friday evening.”

“Alright.”

The conversation had reached its end.

Melanie lingered for a second before murmuring, “Thank you ”

“Mm.”

The line disconnected.

Brief. Clinical. Like a cold, impersonal custody handover.

Neither now, nor when she’d handed him the invitation earlier, had Melanie asked whether he would attend Saturday’s event.

Chapter 92

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Besides, when Melanie received the gift from his auction that day, she already understood.

It meant –

He wouldn’t be coming.

And Archer clearly hadn’t noticed-

Every year on Monica’s birthday, Melanie would ask if he’d accompany her back to the Willis family home.

This year, she hadn’t said a single word about it.

Inside the restaurant,

Archer seemed oblivious to any change.

He handed the communicator back to Trista, his tone flat. “Mom will pick you up tomorrow night. On Saturday, you’ll listen to her. You’re not to go anywhere else.”

Trista pressed her lips together. “But-”

Archer didn’t interrupt.

He simply lifted his gaze to meet hers.

There was no anger in that look, yet it carried the innate, commanding pressure of a top–tier Alpha.

The air seemed to freeze.

Trista’s wolf–cub instincts visibly tensed. She lowered her head and whispered, “Okay…”

Archer nodded, his tone unusually gentle. “Good girl.”

Trista puffed out her cheeks, dragging out her final syllable. “But on Sunday, I’m going to play with Camille. You have to come

with me.”

Archer smiled faintly.

The smile was shallow, yet undeniably genuine.

“Alright”

By Friday evening, when Melanie pulled into the driveway of the Razor Pack’s villa, the sky was already drenched in the orange- red hues of twilight.

The moment she pushed open the door, a familiar, sharp scent of patchouli struck her unexpectedly.

Melanie paused.

Archer was home.

At this hour, that was almost unheard of for the Alpha of the Razor Pack

He stood by the floor–to–ceiling windows, speaking on the phone. When he heard footsteps in the foyer, he glanced toward

Melanie.

The look was brief and cool–like confirming an intruder’s identity during a territorial patrol

Then his gaze shifted away.

The patchouli scent carried no overt intimidation, yet it settled like an invisible wall, filling the living room with a steady, inescapable weight.

Chapter 92

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Deep within Melanie’s mind, her wolf, Frost, shifted uneasily.

It didn’t whimper. It merely tucked its tail tighter, lying silent at the edge of her consciousness.

Melanie said nothing and walked straight inside.

Omega Shannon had already prepared the dinner ingredients.

“Luna, would you like to eat before we leave?”

Melanie shook her head. “No, thank you.”

Shannon hesitated slightly, her gaze instinctively flicking toward Archer.

Archer was still on the call.

He seemed to catch the exchange. Shifting his communication device slightly, he spoke toward them in a low voice.

“Do as Luna said.”

Then he returned to his conversation.

His tone carried the effortless certainty of unspoken hierarchy.

Melanie didn’t look at him again. Instead, she turned to Trista.

“Let’s go.”

Trista waved at her father. “Bye, Dad.”

Archer gave a small wave in return.

His gaze, however, remained fixed on the communication terminal.

Melanie didn’t exchange a single extra word with him.

Nor did she look back.

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