Alpha's Regret the Luna is Secret Heiress (by Sylvia) novel Chapter 147

Chanter Roureide 2

Chapter 80: Suicide–2

Noah’s eyes widened at the implication – Connor was essentially offering them pack status, something they’d lived without for years.

Connor’s phone buzzed again. After checking the message, he turned to me apologetically. “I need to handle some pack business, Will you be alright here for a while?”

I nodded, squeezing his hand. “Of course, I promised Leah Id help with her makeup today anyway

After Connor left, I texted Jade Mitchell, who arrived twenty minutes later carrying a small cosmetics bag.

1 brought everything you asked for,” she said, slightly breathless from rushing. “How’s Leah doing today?”

“Better than ever,” I replied, leading her to Leah’s room. “They found a donor match.”

ng news!”

Jade’s face lit up with genuine happiness. “That’s amazing

When we entered Leah’s room, the young girl was sitting up in bed, her cream woolen hat- my gift to her – pulled snugly over her head. Her eyes brightened when she saw us.

“Sister Olivia! Sister Jade!” she exclaimed, her voice stronger than I’d heard it before. “You came!”

“Of course we did,” I replied, sitting on the edge of her bed. “I promised to show you how to do makeup,

remember?”

For the next hour, Jade and I carefully applied light makeup to Leah’s pale face – a touch of blush to bring color to her cheeks, subtle eyeshadow to brighten her eyes, and a tinted lip balm to add a healthy glow to her

lips.

When we finished, I handed her a small mirror. Leah gasped as she saw her reflection, tears welling in her

eyes.

“Sister Olivia, Sister Jade, this is the first time I’ve seen myself look so beautiful,” she whispered, touching her

face gently.

The cream woolen hat I’d given her complemented her made–up face perfectly, giving the sickly girl a moment of normalcy and joy that made my heart swell with emotion.

(Ethan’s POV)

The hospital room was quiet except for the steady beeping of monitors and the occasional footsteps passing in the hallway outside.

I stared at the ceiling, counting the tiles for what must have been the hundredth time today. Twenty–four across, sixteen down. Three hundred and eighty–four tiles total.

The door opened, and my heart leapt with hope before immediately crashing back down when I saw it was just another pack member coming to check on me.

“Alpha Heir Grey,” the beta said respectfully, placing a fruit basket on the side table. “The pack sends their wishes for your swift recovery.”

I nodded mechanically, not bothering to respond verbally. What was the point? The only voice I wanted to hear wouldn’t be coming through that door.

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1/3

Throughout the day, the pattern repeated. The door would open, my hope would fare, and then de ure someone other than Olivia entered.

Jason Mitchell come by around noon, looking uncomfortable as he stood at the foot of my bed.

“The doctors say you can be discharged tomorrow,” he said, trying to sound upbeat. “That’s good news Hight?”

I turned my face toward the window, watching snowflakes drift past the glass. “Has she called?” I asked, my voice rough from disuse.

Jason’s silence was answer enough.

As afternoon faded into evening and the hospital lights dimmed for the night, despair settled over me like a physical weight. The darkness outside my window matched the emptiness growing inside me

My wolf, once proud and dominant, now whimpered pathetically, convinced that Olivia would never return to us. The pain was unbearable – not the physical discomfort of recovering from hypothermia, but the soul–crushing agony of knowing she was with another.

I reached under my pillow, fingers closing around the cold metal I’d managed to hide there earlier when a distracted nurse had left a surgical tray unattended.

The silver scalpel gleamed dully in the dim light. My wolf recoiled at the sight of it, instinctively recognizing

the danger.

But what was the point of continuing without her? What was the point of anything?

Liv, what’s the point of living without you?

The thought echoed in my mind as I pressed the silver blade against my wrist, feeling its burn even before breaking skin.

(Margaret’s POV)

I hurried down the hospital corridor, thermal container in hand. The nurses had told me Ethan hadn’t eaten all day, refusing the hospital food they’d brought him.

“Such a stubborn boy,” I muttered to myself, though worry gnawed at my insides. The nurses‘ concerned expressions had only heightened my anxiety,

I’d prepared his favorite dishes myself – something I hadn’t done in years. Perhaps the comfort of home–cooked food would help lift his spirits,

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