Third Person's POV Freya had never expected to hear a question like that from Silas. His voice was quiet but edged with a desperation that betrayed the Alpha's usual composure. "Freya," he asked, hesitant for once, "when you told Caelum you would marry me, bear my children… was that only to wound him? Or did you mean it?" She met his gaze steadily, the silver of his eyes flickering in the dim light of the vehicle. "He isn't worth a single false word from me. I meant what I said." For the first time since the confrontation, Silas's expression broke-his eyes lit as though dawn itself had touched them. The implication sank into him with the force of a battle horn. She truly envisioned a future with him: marriage, children, permanence. "When?" His question slipped out too fast, almost breathless. Freya blinked, caught off guard. "What?" "When do you intend for us to marry? To have children?" Silas repeated, urgency sharpening every syllable. Her lips parted in surprise. "Shouldn't we let things settle first? Give our bond time to root?" She shook her head. "Besides, I need to travel to the border soon, to find my brother Eric." "Then we wait until you return," Silas said instantly, his grip on the wheel tightening. "Once you're back, whether you've found him or not, we'll hold the ceremony. Promise me that." Her brows furrowed. "Silas, this is… too fast. We've known each other only a short while. If we counted only the days since we first called each other lovers, the number is pitiful." But his conviction did not waver. His voice softened, low and raw. "Time doesn't decide when a wolf knows his mate. I know. Freya, you are the only one I will ever want." He reached for her hand, lifted it, and pressed her palm against his chest. The steady thrum of his heart pounded against her skin, faster than it should have been. His eyes searched hers. "And me? Am I the one you want?" Freya stared at him, speechless for a long moment. His lips kept moving, confessions spilling from him in a rare unguarded flood. "I want to marry you. I want our den full of our children. I want a life tethered to yours." His words trembled with an intensity few had ever heard from Silas Whitmor. "More than power, more than territory, I want you." And perhaps, she thought, he meant every word as shackles as much as vows. The way he spoke-yearning to bind her with rings and children-wasn't just desire. It was fear. He was terrified she would vanish, just as his father's Luna once had, leaving the Whitmor Alpha line scarred. For Freya, it stirred something deeper than she wished to admit. It reminded her of her parents, Arthur and Myra, before the Stormveil Pack split them apart-love sharp enough to risk everything for, trust deep enough to lay down one's life. Her fingers trembled faintly against his chest, feeling each accelerated beat. He was nervous. Silas Whitmor, commander of the Ironclad Coalition, an Alpha who had broken armies-was trembling at her silence. Logic told her to wait. She had survived one disastrous bond already. She had endured the Lunar Severance Phase with Caelum Grafton, the humiliation, the collapse of trust. Caution demanded she tread carefully now, weigh every word, protect her heart. But her heart was louder than reason tonight. And something in the depth of Silas's plea made her want to leap, consequences be damned. Her breath caught, and finally she answered. "Alright. When I return from the border, we'll marry." The relief in Silas's eyes was like storm clouds parting. He drew her hand to his lips, kissing her knuckles reverently. His voice was hoarse when he spoke. "You won't regret it, Freya." Far across the Capital, in a lavish but dimly lit villa, Caelum sat slumped on a leather chair, his right arm wrapped tightly in bandages. The scent of blood and antiseptic clung to him. His head throbbed, not only from injury but from the relentless keening of his mother Eleanor and his sister Giselle. "Brother, the trial's soon," Giselle whined, pacing like a caged wolf. "The lawyer you found isn't strong enough. We need one of the Capital's undefeated counsel packs. Otherwise, Mother and I will-" Eleanor interrupted, her tone shrill. "I will not rot in a cell! The shame alone would kill me. Caelum, you must sell more, borrow more-anything. Find us a real lawyer!" Caelum squeezed his temples until his skull ached. "Money, money, money. Do either of you understand? I'm nearly bankrupt. I've mortgaged every asset, even this villa. There's nothing left." "What?" Eleanor's face blanched. Giselle froze mid-step, disbelief etched into her features. "Bankrupt? Impossible! Your company dominates the forgeworks industry. You own SilverTech! You hold stock worth-" "Stock is worthless if no one will buy it," Caelum snapped, his Alpha edge cracking through. His voice thundered in the hall, silencing them both. "Do you think projects fall from the sky just because you demand them? Do you know how many Alphas watched their packs crumble after their chains broke? If SilverTech collapses, every share I hold will turn to ash." Eleanor's eyes watered. Giselle's lower lip quivered. "I found the best lawyers who would still take you," Caelum bit out, his tone icy. "None of the Capital's top four firms will touch your case. Kade Blackridge warned me as much-no one dares defend what you've done." "What if we're sentenced?" Eleanor wailed. Giselle echoed her with fresh sobs. "Then you serve your time." His voice was flat, final. Their wailing rose again, echoing through the house like the cries of widowed wolves. Caelum closed his eyes, exhaustion gnawing at him. The truth was undeniable: it was their schemes against Freya that had sparked the legal inferno now threatening to consume them. And a bitter part of him whispered that if not for them, he might never have lost Freya at all. Hatred twisted in his gut-hatred for his mother and sister, hatred for himself. Later, in the sanctuary of Silas's apartment, the storm of the day softened into quiet. Freya lay against Silas, their bodies tangled beneath the dim glow of the bedroom's single lamp. Fresh marks marred her skin, reminders of their earlier passion. Her fingers trailed absently along the line of his nose, tracing the strong ridge. "Your birthday's soon," she murmured. "What gift do you want?" He shifted slightly, his expression hardening with a shadow she hadn't expected. "Nothing." "Nothing?" She tilted her head, puzzled. "You don't like celebrating?" Silas's lips pressed into a thin line. His chest rose and fell once before he answered. "Because the day I was born… is also the day my mother died. There's nothing to celebrate." The weight of his words settled over the room like a heavy pelt. Freya stilled, her heart aching for him. She understood now: the strength he wrapped around himself was armor, forged long ago from grief and loss. And though she did not speak it aloud, she resolved silently that when that cursed day arrived, she would be his shield. For him, she would make the darkness bearable.