<h4>Chapter 24: Chapter 24: BASTARD SON</h4>


    <strong>IVAN’S POV</strong>


    "You’ve got to be kidding me?" Serena yelled, widening her eyes to the size of saucers.


    It was apparent that the results of the DNA test had shocked her all the way down to her marrows.


    Already, she had been having a hard time dealing with the possibility of Asha being mine. And now, that it was no longer a spection, she had to be losing her marbles.


    As much as I wanted to diffuse some of her fears, I couldn’t overlook the fact that I had an heir.


    "There’s no way that DNA result is true," she spat fiercely. "It was definitely forged! Maeve must have found a way to alter it."


    "And how could she have managed that?" I inquired, raising my eyebrows curiously. "The test was carried out in secret. There’s no way anyone could have found a way to mess with it."


    "I refuse to believe that," she was trembling in rage, barely refraining herself fromshing out at me.


    She turned to Francis and Barty, addressing them with an air of condescending anger.


    "I demand a redo of the DNA test."


    "What?" Barty pursed his lips, looking floored. "B-but, his highness approved the test himself. He ensured that it was carried out with the utmost care. Doubting the authenticity of something that has been proven true is an insult to the crown."


    "There’s nothing authentic about any of this!" Serena shrilled. There were visible veins sticking out on her neck. That was how angry she was.


    "Serena. You need to calm down," Francis butt in, trying to reason with her.


    "Don’t tell me to calm down," she red at him and issued a swiftmand. "You will conduct another DNA test. There’s no way in hell I’m going to ept Maeve’s bastard boy as the next heir of Ash Creek."


    The second the word left her lips—bastard—something inside me snapped.


    I might have let her rant. I might have tolerated her tantrum. But not that. Not that word.


    That single word cut through my restraint like a de, gutting whatever little patience I still had left. My wolf fired inside me, growling violently.


    Five years.


    Five fucking years my son had lived separated from me. Hidden. Lied to. Robbed of his birthright.


    And now, this woman — this insecure, desperate leech — dared to stand here and throw that word around like he was nothing.


    My vision darkened.


    Without thinking, I mmed my fists across my desk, sending everything crashing to the floor.


    The sharp sound of breaking ss echoed as ink sttered across the wooden floorboards. The decanter hit the ground and shattered. Scrolls scattered on the grounds.


    And even then, it wasn’t enough.


    Before anyone could react, I lunged. In seconds, I was across the room, standing inches from Serena before she could even register my movement.


    She gasped, her breath hitching as she instinctively stumbled backward. But I didn’t let her escape.


    I grabbed her arms, pulling her firmly into ce, my grip biting into her flesh, not enough to break it, but just enough to ensure she felt every ounce of my warning.


    From the corner of my eye, I caught Barty turning his focus toward the wall, pretending to admire the painting like it was the most fascinating thing he’d ever seen.


    On the other side of the room, Francis remained perched next to the window. He had a stoic expression on his face.


    It was the look of a man that was hardly fazed. It probably had something to do with the years spent fighting pack enemy threats, all in the name of the Ash Creek crown.


    Now, it had made him detached. Cynical.


    I couldn’t help wondering about the words I would use in describing my son once I got to know him.


    Certainly not bastard.


    My son. Not bastard. Never again. No one would call him that, not under my roof. Not while I still drew breath.


    I lowered my voice to a lethal whisper, leaning into her space, letting the cold fury roll off me.


    "Listen carefully, because I will only say this once." I stepped closer, my grip tightening slightly. "Do. Not. Call. My. Son. A. Bastard. Ever. Again."


    Her lips trembled. She tried to speak, but I wasn’t done.


    My hand shifted from her arm to her throat, wrapping around her neck with slow, deliberate force.


    My fingers tightened just enough to cut off her air for a breath, enough to make her feel the threat of my actions.


    She gasped, eyes wide, tears pooling as she wed lightly at my wrist, struggling against my hold.


    Her tears meant nothing to me. They were like rain against stone.


    "Ivan—" she sobbed, her voice shaky under the pressure.


    I stared into her panicked eyes, my voice dropping even lower.


    "Remember this moment, Serena. Let it burn itself into your mind. Because this—" I squeezed just a little more, watching her face flush with desperation. "—is exactly what will happen if you ever speak about my son like that again. Do you understand me?"


    I choked her some more. I didn’t relent until she finally nodded her head, agreeing to my warning. Only then did I release her.


    She stumbled backward, grabbing onto the edge of my desk for support, wheezing, her hands immediately flying up to cover her neck—hiding it from my gaze like that would somehow shield her from what just happened.


    She was crying, trembling, but I could still see it in her eyes—there was more she wanted to say. More venom she was holding back.


    But in the end, she turned sharply on her heels and fled from my study.


    The door mmed shut behind her. My rage, however, remained trapped inside these walls.


    I rammed my fist into the desk. The burst of pain shot straight up my arm, but it wasn’t enough. It didn’t even make a dent in my fury.


    I mmed my fist down again. And again. The polished mahogany shattered under the repeated blows, but still—it wasn’t enough to settle me.


    "Your Highness!" Barty’s voice broke in, panicked as he stared at my bleeding knuckles. "Please—you must calm yourself—"


    Before he could even finish, I watched the flesh of my hand begin to knit itself back together, the pain dulling as my wolf’s healing took over.


    The sight of the rapid healing only irritated me further.


    My lip curled back, fangs bared as I snarled directly at him, sending him staggering back a step in fear. His eyes darted down, avoiding my gaze altogether.


    Francis, as always, stayed nted by the window. Stoic. Sensible enough not to approach me when I was in this state. After years of surviving battles and my rage, he knew when not to interfere.


    The next moment, I shifted, wolf bursting forth with no warning. My bones cracked under the force of the transformation.


    With a feral growl, Iunched my wolf’s body into the double doors. They exploded off their hinges under my full strength, mming into the hallway with a deafening crash.


    "Great," Francis muttered behind me, his tone a mixture of exhaustion and irritation.


    I ignored him entirely, bolting into a full sprint. My paws pounded against the ground as I tore through the corridors, straight toward the woods.


    The moment my paws hit the forest floor, I ran harder.