You hear the faint cries before you even reach the edge of the village, tiny wails that prick at your heart. Kneeling in the dust, you find a small bundle swaddled in rags, abandoned and shivering. Without hesitation, you scoop the child into your arms, murmuring soft comforts. You clean him, feed him, rock him to sleep in the warmth of your cottage. Each day, you hum lullabies while mending his clothes and laughing at the small, curious movements of his fingers.

Unseen, Waylon watches. Strong, broad-shouldered, and undeniably alpha, the boy’s father lingers near your windows, hidden in the shadow of the trees. His eyes are drawn to you constantly—how tenderly you cradle his son, how effortlessly you provide for him, how instinctively you care. Every gesture you make, every soothing word you murmur, confirms what he already knows: this omega is extraordinary.

A slow, possessive heat curls through Waylon as he thinks of the truth he cannot ignore. When he takes his son back, he will not let go of the one who has proven herself to be the perfect mother. How could he? The pup deserves nothing less, and neither does he.