Grant's intrusion was a boulder hurled into still waters—the ripples refused to settle.

Phoebe felt Thomas's cold wall rebuild itself, his pheromone once again distant and wary.


All her hard-won progress had evaporated.

Phoebe knew words meant nothing on trust's ruins.

Thomas's weakness was Leo; she needed to start there.


Over the next days, Phoebe channeled her Alpha determination into "winning" her son. Expensive toys, rare books, collector's models... they flooded Leo's room in towering piles.

But she quickly realized these things earned only polite "thank yous" without genuine connection. Leo would play quietly with the gifts, but his eyes always drifted toward Thomas preparing snacks in the kitchen.


A needle pricked Phoebe's heart. She was walking her parents' path—substituting gifts for genuine presence.

What Leo needed wasn't things but her—her time, her warmth, herself.

So Phoebe began truly being present with her son.

One afternoon while playing in the garden, she asked casually: "What's your absolute favorite food, sweetheart?"

Leo's innocent face scrunched in thought before answering softly: "I love mangoes best—the bright yellow ones that smell so good. But... Dad never lets me have them."

Mangoes.

Phoebe tucked this knowledge away.

Soon, premium air-shipped mangoes arrived at the estate. Phoebe personally cut the golden fruit into bite-sized pieces, arranged them on silver forks, and proudly brought them to Leo as he watched cartoons.

"Leo, look! Your favorite mangoes!" She knelt beside him, eager for his delighted reaction.

Leo's eyes widened with joy. "Wow!" he gasped, reaching for the treat.

Before the fruit reached his mouth, a terrified, furious growl erupted behind them.

"WHAT ARE YOU DOING?!"

Thomas stood there, face ghost-white, his usually gentle eyes blazing with panic and rage.

He lunged forward and slapped the plate from her hand before she could even process what was happening.

CLANG—

The silver plate hit the floor with a piercing ring. Golden mango pieces scattered across the hardwood.

Phoebe froze in shock at his unprecedented outburst.

Thomas's chest heaved as he jabbed a finger at the scattered fruit. "You don't even know your own son is DEATHLY ALLERGIC to mangoes?! Are you trying to kill him?!"

Never had he lost control like this before her.

Allergic? Phoebe stood paralyzed, mind blank with horror.

That word unlocked a deliberately forgotten memory from her past life.

She remembered now.

In her previous life, Leo had suffered a severe reaction after accidentally eating mango cake. Hives erupted across his skin, his breathing faltered, his little face turned blue-purple. Thomas had called her in hysterical panic, voice broken with tears, begging desperately for help.

And where had she been?

At a high-end gallery with Grant, helping him select artwork to celebrate his latest success. She'd found Thomas's panic excessive and hung up impatiently.

She'd never even asked afterward if her son had survived the night.

Crushing guilt washed over her like ice water, chilling her to the marrow. Facing Thomas's fear-reddened eyes, she began to shake uncontrollably.

She had nearly killed her own child through sheer indifference.

The day's confrontation burned like a brand on her soul, leaving her without courage to even approach Thomas's door that night.

Yet longing proved stronger than fear.

In the dead of night, the mighty Alpha suppressed her presence and slipped like a thief into her Omega's territory.

Moonlight spilled through the tall windows, painting silver frost across the darkened floor.

Thomas slept fitfully, curled tight in one corner of the vast bed like a wounded animal. The lack of Alpha pheromone comfort had clearly taken its toll.

Phoebe's heart constricted painfully.

She didn't dare join him but sat quietly on the cold floor beside the bed. With infinite care, she reached out and gently took his hand where it rested near the edge.

She released her cedar pheromone in its gentlest form—awkward and hesitant at first, then flowing thread by thread to envelop the sleeping Omega.

After some time, Thomas stirred from his sleep.

He'd been lost in a strange dream—first suffocating in endless fog, then suddenly wrapped in warmth like sinking into a hot spring on a winter's night.

When his eyes opened, the first thing he registered was the impossibly gentle cedar pheromone surrounding him.

He turned his head and saw, by moonlight, a figure slumped beside his bed.

Phoebe.

She'd fallen asleep against the bedframe, one hand still clutching his, her pheromones stubbornly comforting him even in slumber.

Moonlight softened her typically hard Alpha features, her long lashes casting delicate shadows beneath her eyes.

Thomas's breath caught.

He remembered their first meeting.

Old man Paine introducing that proud, fierce girl: "This is Phoebe."

In that moment, he'd discovered the sun could take human form.
What followed had been dreamlike. At school, this radiant Alpha had shielded him completely, never letting harm touch him. They'd been inseparable then.

But dreams always end.

He'd fallen into a trap that landed him in her bed, resulting in pregnancy. No matter how he'd tried to explain, she wouldn't believe his innocence.

Everyone assumed he'd orchestrated everything to claim the Paine fortune and this exceptional Alpha.

Perhaps...

Thomas studied her peaceful sleeping face as a dangerous thought surfaced.

Could she have finally recognized his innocence? Was she genuinely trying to make amends to him and Leo?

Could he risk trusting her one more time?

The thought rippled through his heart like a stone dropped in still water.

Finally, with exquisite slowness, he reached out and brushed a strand of hair from her cheek. His touch was feather-light, as if handling something infinitely precious.

Then he carefully gathered her from the cold floor and, with infinite gentleness, placed her on the bed beside him.