A Broken Kitten Figurine, A Broken Unborn Pup Chapter 13

A Broken Kitten Figurine, A Broken Unborn Pup Chapter 13

On the drive back to the city the following afternoon, my eyes caught a figure in a high-visibility vest sweeping the curb.

I tapped the driver’s shoulder. “Pull over, please.”

Stepping out of the vehicle, I turned to Blake. “Go on ahead. I have some personal business to handle.”

The sweeper was Mrs. Clark, a sanitation worker I had bonded with during my stay at the clinic.

“Mrs. Clark? Why are you sweeping streets?” I asked, rushing over to her. “Did you leave your job at the hospital?”

She looked up, appearing significantly more gaunt and exhausted than she had two months ago. “Oh, it’s you! The poor girl who suffered that horrific secondary hemorrhage.”

I hadn’t realized Blake had followed me down the sidewalk until his voice cut in, tight with sudden panic. “What secondary hemorrhage?”

Mrs. Clark glanced at him, her brows furrowing. “Are you her mate?”

“If you don’t mind me saying, you are incredibly irresponsible. How could you leave her entirely unattended at the facility?”

During that horrific week, Mrs. Dawn had visited daily, but her hours were severely split to accommodate Zoe’s schedule.

After the initial procedure, I had foolishly assumed my werewolf biology would handle the recovery seamlessly. One afternoon, desperately needing fresh air, I had dragged myself down to the secluded benches in the facility’s back garden.

It had been the coldest day of that month.

The freezing wind had pierced straight through my thin clothes, sending sharp, blinding spikes of agony through my lower abdomen. I had tried to stand, but within three steps, a torrent of blood stained my clothes.

The pain had been paralyzing, dragging me down to my knees on the frozen gravel. By the time my consciousness began to fail, Mrs. Clark had appeared
with a trash bin, instantly hoisting my limp body onto her back and sprinting
toward the emergency ward. That single incident had extended my
hospitalization by a full week.

Mrs. Clark let out a heavy sigh, her eyes fixed on Blake. “You have no idea how
horrific it was. Her face was as white as paper, and her clothes were completely
soaked through with blood. If I had walked out with that trash five minutes
later, she would have bled to death on that dirt.”

Blake’s hands shook violently at his sides, the veins along his knuckles bulging
against his suddenly bloodless skin.

Desperate to cut the topic short, I turned back to the older woman. “Why did
you leave the clinic, Mrs. Clark?”

She offered a bitter, broken smile. “My son fell desperately ill. His surgery
requires two hundred thousand dollars, and the hospital wage simply couldn’t
cover the interest on the medical loans. I had to take on a second shift with the
city.”

I reached into my bag for my phone to initiate a bank transfer, but Blake was
already holding out a black titanium card.

“There is half a million dollars on this account,” Blake stated, his voice raspy.
He hesitated for a fraction of a second, as if realizing his display of raw wealth
might offend her, before adding softly, “Please accept it. It is a fraction of the
debt I owe you for saving my wife’s life.”

Mrs. Clark refused vehemently for several minutes before finally agreeing to
accept exactly two hundred thousand dollars, forcing Blake to wait while she
penned a formal promissory note on a scrap of paper.

When we climbed back into the vehicle, the silence between us was heavy.

As the car neared the boundary gate, Blake finally spoke, his voice cracking
slightly. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“When you sprained your ankle last year, you complained to me for an entire
week.”

I shook my head slowly. “I forgot.”

He let out a hollow, self-deprecating laugh. “You didn’t forget, Tessa. You simply realized there was no longer any purpose in telling me.”

He turned his eyes to mine, a raw, naked vulnerability bleeding through his features. “I have failed you completely, haven’t I?”

I looked back out the window at the passing concrete walls, offering no reply.

The car glided into the garage, and I instantly popped the door, stepping out onto the concrete.

Blake remained seated in the leather interior. “Tessa,” he called out.

I paused, turning my head. Half of his face was swallowed by the dark shadows of the cabin, masking whatever expression he held.

“Send the dissolution contract to my lawyer,” he whispered flatly. “I will review it.”

My breath hitched slightly. “Alright.”

Two days later, the paperwork was fully approved by his legal counsel without a single amendment. We scheduled a formal meeting at the Elder Council Hall to sign the decree.

That was the essence of Blake. Once a logical decision was reached, he executed it with clinical precision, entirely devoid of messy sentimentality.

Our appointment was set for ten in the morning.

However, as I sat in the grand marble lobby of the Council Hall, my phone chimed with a text from him: “Apologies, an unexpected incident occurred on the road. Can we reschedule for two this afternoon?” His tone was entirely casual, leading me to assume it was a minor traffic delay.

When he finally walked through the double doors at two o’clock, a thick white bandage was wrapped tightly around his forehead.

Only then did Jack inform me that Blake had insisted on driving himself today. His vehicle had violently careened off the highway barrier at high speed.

I felt a sudden, strange flicker of shock. Blake was a flawless driver, a man whose absolute focus was borderline terrifying. He was not a person who succumbed to distraction.

According to territorial law, a signed mate dissolution contract triggered a mandatory thirty-day cooling-off period. During those four weeks, either party could unilaterally shred the document, rendering the decree void.

Throughout that month, Blake maintained his grueling schedule without a single hiccup—running administrative meetings, solving territorial trade disputes, and governing the pack with his usual sharp intellect.

The only physical change was the map of broken red veins slowly consuming the whites of his eyes.

Finally, the final twenty-four hours of the cooling-off period arrived.