The Alpha's Dark Solstice Claim

Chapter 12 - Doubt ...

Rowan

I did not discover the hearing because Marybeth told me. I discovered it because one of my own junior coordinators asked whether additional security coverage was needed for “the Calloway custody review.” Custody. The word stopped me cold.

“What review?” I asked. The young man hesitated, immediately aware he had stepped into something above his clearance.

“The parental fitness panel scheduled Friday morning. Under Luna oversight,” he looked panicked. Under Luna oversight. I felt something in my chest go very still.

“I didn’t authorize that,” I softly growled.

“It was filed through administrative channels.” His face drained slightly. Of course, it was. Seraphina never moved without paperwork, and that way she could hide it from me. What else has she hidden from me this way?

I dismissed him calmly. Then I went straight to her office. She was seated behind her desk, posture immaculate, reviewing contracts as if nothing in the world had shifted.

“You scheduled a parental review,” I said. She didn’t look up immediately.

“It was a precautionary assessment,” she replied.

“Without informing me.” I growled. Only then did she look up.

“You’ve been … occupied,” she said evenly. The phrasing was deliberate.

“With what?” I asked.

“With her,” she hissed. The room narrowed.

“You went around my authority,” I closed the space between us a little more.

“I exercised my own,” she corrected.

“You targeted a six-year-old.” I threw my arms in the air.

“I targeted instability,” she said calmly.

“You don’t believe he’s mine.” My jaw tightened.

“I believe you want him to be,” she said. We had already been over this, but she still refused to believe it. There it was again … Her reference to my feelings. Hopeful. Blind. “You ran confirmation,” she continued. “You made it official. You made it permanent.”

“He is my son,” I said.

“And I am your mate,” she replied. The two statements collided in the air between us. “You think I’m trying to erase you,” she said quietly. “But I’m trying to preserve what we built.”

“What we built?” I repeated.

“Yes,” she said. “Stability. Continuity. Respect.”

“At the cost of a child?” I asked. I was getting tired of having to have the same conversation over and over with Seraphina.

“At the cost of one woman who left you,” she shot back. The words were sharp now. “You’ve never looked at me the way you look at her,” she said.

“This isn’t about that.” I growled.

“It’s always been about that,” she spat, losing control for the first time. I saw it then … clearly. Not just jealousy. Fear. Raw. Years old. Carefully hidden.

“I chose you,” I replied.

“You endured me,” she corrected. The truth hit harder now than it had the night before. She stood slowly, hands braced on the desk. “For years, I stood beside you while elders whispered about heirs,” she said. “While doctors failed us. While you pretended it didn’t matter.”

“It didn’t,” I said automatically.

“It did,” she snapped, the crack in her composure fully visible. “You just wouldn’t say it.” Silence. Thick. Heavy. “And now,” she continued, voice unsteady for the first time, “She returns with what I could not give you.” My son. The reality of it was undeniable.

“And you expect me to welcome that without question?” She growled.

“I expected you not to undermine him,” I said.

“I questioned optics,” she insisted.

“You scheduled a custody review.” I lost it.

“It was leverage,” she said. There it was. Not denial. Admission. Leverage.

“You were going to stand in that room and let them dissect her parenting,” I said quietly.

“And you were going to defend her,” she shot back.

“Yes,” I said. The word surprised even me. She saw it.

“You see?” she whispered. “You choose her.”

“I choose my son.” I sighed. Why couldn’t she see that I wasn’t trying to replace her, but she was making it incredibly difficult.

“You choose what ties you to her,” she replied. The argument wasn’t about politics anymore. It wasn’t even about legitimacy. It was about love. And we both knew it.

“The hearing is cancelled,” I said.

“You can’t unilaterally …” Her eyes sharpened.

“I can,” I interrupted. “And I just did.”

“You’re humiliating me,” she said.

“I’m protecting him.” I growled.

“And her,” she added. I didn’t answer. Because I couldn’t deny it. She stepped back as if something physical had struck her. “You’re dismantling the only thing I had,” she said.

“That’s not what this is,” I replied.

“It is,” she whispered. And for the first time since our bond ceremony, I didn't see a Luna. Not a political partner. Just a woman who had built her identity around a role that was slipping from her grasp.

“I won’t allow you to weaponize a child,” I said.

“And I won’t allow you to rewrite history,” she replied. History. The truce night. The choice I made. The line I drew. And the son who proved that line never held. I left her office without another word. I didn’t slam the door.

I didn’t raise my voice. But something between us had fractured beyond repair. When I reached the lobby, Marybeth was already there. She looked prepared for war. And when I told her the hearing was cancelled, I saw something shift in her expression. Not gratitude. Recognition.

“You cancelled it,” she said.

“Yes.” I nodded, still trying to wrap my mind around the fact that Seraphina had done this.

“You didn’t know about it.” Marybeth didn’t look surprised.

“No.” I pulled my fingers through my hair. Seraphina hadn’t just humiliated me with her decision. She had caused a hell of a lot of strain between me and Marybeth that could have a huge impact on my relationship with my son.

“And now you do.” Marybeth smiled.

“Yes.” We stood too close. Too aware. “You should have told me,” I said.

“You should have seen,” she challenged me. It was, however, a truth that stung.

“You don’t get to test me,” I added.

“Then don’t fail,” she said. I almost smiled. Almost. Because the fire in her had always been the thing I admired most.

“I won’t let them touch either of you,” I sighed. The words came out before I filtered them. Her breath shifted. So did mine. For a reckless second, I wanted to close the distance. To feel whether the seven years between us had dulled anything.

They hadn’t. She stepped back first. Control. She was in control in a way I had never seen before.

“This isn’t over,” I sighed.

“I know,” she replied. And as she walked out of the building, shoulders straight, Calloway spine fully visible, I understood something I had avoided naming for years. This wasn’t just about protecting my son.

It was about protecting the woman I had never truly stopped loving. Upstairs, behind glass and polished steel, my mate stood alone in her office. And for the first time since our bond ceremony, I felt the weight of what breaking that bond would cost.

But I also felt something else. Clarity. And clarity is more dangerous than doubt.