Lyra hadn't slept. She was sitting in her office chair, reviewing the drone footage of the failed assault. The Shadowclaw Elders were now completely exposed; their attempt to seize power had only affirmed Lyra's superior strategy and Ronan's necessary, if subordinate, position.
A soft knock came at her office door.
"Lyra?"
It was Ronan. She stiffened, the name a painful reminder of a past self she had worked five years to incinerate.
"Enter," she commanded, keeping her gaze on the screen.
Ronan stepped in, his shirt collar open, looking exhausted but sober. He carried a mug of steaming chamomile tea and a small, worn children's book.
"The Pack cleanup is underway. Malek and the Elders are secured," he reported formally, placing the mug silently on her desk. "I handled the media spin. They now believe the attack was a coordinated foreign assault, and that I led the counter-offensive, with Aura Dynamics providing expert logistical support."
"Smart," Lyra conceded, taking a slow sip of the tea. It was perfect—a small, familiar gesture that made her chest ache. He remembered.
"I need to ask you something, Lyra," Ronan said, his voice dropping to a low, intimate frequency that scraped against her carefully constructed walls.
"Make it quick, Alpha Kaelen. I have a global acquisition call in twenty minutes."
"It's about Leo." He held up the book. The Little Bear Who Couldn't Roar. "He woke up and asked for a story. He won't let Damon read it to him."
Lyra pinched the bridge of her nose. "Then read it yourself."
"He won't let me," Ronan admitted, the shame evident in his eyes. "He still sees me as the 'Mister' who melted his fortress. I tried to apologize again, to explain the wolf thing, but he just got quiet. I don't know how to reach him, Lyra. I don't know anything about him."
His genuine despair was far more effective than his Alpha command. Lyra finally looked at him, seeing not the arrogant CEO, but the desperate father.
"Leo is scared of your size, scared of your volume, and terrified of the Alpha power you constantly suppress," Lyra explained, her tone clinical. "You are an intruder in his safe world. To him, you are just a threat that makes his Shadow Fire pulse."
She paused, then sighed, a concession to the man's obvious suffering. "The solution is simple, Ronan. You stop being the Alpha, and you become the quiet listener. Sit. Read. Do not make noise. Do not make demands."
Ronan nodded, gratitude flooding his face, but Lyra wasn't finished.
"And I want something in return. I want to know why. Why did you really betray me? The Elders didn't just tell you to marry a more powerful wolf; they told you I was a thief and cursed. Why did you believe them over your own mate bond?"
Ronan sat down heavily in the chair across from her desk. He looked at the floor, the raw regret in his eyes almost painful to witness.
"Because they showed me proof," he confessed, the memory clearly tormenting him. "The night before the divorce, my father—the former Alpha—showed me ancient texts. They detailed the Crimson Bloodline, calling it the 'Blood of the Destroyer,' saying it was dormant for centuries but would awaken with a mate bond to a Kaelen Alpha, then consume the Pack's magic."
Lyra's breath hitched. "You were afraid of my power."
"I was afraid of losing everything," Ronan corrected, his voice thick. "My father convinced me that by rejecting you and claiming you stole the relic, I would break the 'curse' before it activated. I didn't hate you, Lyra. I was a coward who traded my heart for what I thought was my Pack's survival."
He looked up, his eyes wet with genuine misery. "The truth is, I chose the Pack over you and Leo, believing the rejection would save us all. It was the deepest act of arrogance a mate can commit, and I was wrong on every single count. I've lost five years of my son's life because I was too proud to trust the woman who carried his heart."
Lyra felt the crushing weight of the revelation. It wasn't simple indifference; it was a devastating political move rooted in fear, making his betrayal slightly less malicious, but infinitely more tragic.
She stood abruptly, needing space from his honesty. "Get out, Ronan. Go read your story to Leo. You have ten minutes before I check in on you. I have to decide if that pathetic excuse for an apology is even worth a minute of my time."
Ronan didn't argue. He picked up the children's book and left the room quietly.
Lyra walked to the panoramic window, her hand pressed against the cold glass. She had wanted him to suffer, to grovel, to admit he was wrong. He had done all of it. Yet, the honest admission had unsettled her more than any fight.
He didn't hate me. He just feared me.
As she watched Ronan crouch by Leo's bedside, his massive body quieted and humble, she knew the fight was no longer just about power. It was about whether the powerful woman she had become could ever forgive the naive girl he had destroyed. The silent, determined grovel was slowly, painfully, eroding her resolve.