Desired By Three Alphas; Fated To One novel Chapter 222

Chapter 222: Going Home

Hailee’s POV

"So," Peter said the moment we stepped out of the room, his tone calm but carrying that quiet authority he never lost. "Are you ready to come home? Mother is so excited to see you."

I stopped walking and looked up at him sharply. "Home?" I repeated, my brow furrowing. "Peter, I don’t think that’s a good idea." The words came out before I could stop them. My heart was already racing at the thought. "You know why I left. I can’t go back there—not now."

Peter turned his head slightly, studying me with that cool, patient look he always had when I resisted him as a child. "Hailee..." he began softly, "Father—"

I froze. The way he said it made my stomach twist. "What about Father?"

Peter let out a slow sigh and walked over to one of the waiting chairs, sitting down with quiet composure. He crossed one leg over the other, leaned back, and said it so casually that it almost didn’t register at first.

"Father is sick."

The words hit me like a slap.

I blinked at him, unable to speak for a second. "What?"

Peter’s expression didn’t change. He just nodded. "It started about a year ago. Out of nowhere, his health began to fail. We brought in healers from the Northern clans, doctors from the witch covens, even a few old sorcerers Father used to trust—but nothing worked."

My lips parted as my mind tried to catch up. "No... no, that’s not possible. He was strong, Peter. Father doesn’t just... fall sick."

Peter looked down briefly, rubbing the bridge of his nose, then met my eyes again. "I thought the same thing at first. But this isn’t any normal illness. It’s... something else. The witches said his spirit is fading faster than his body. Like something is eating him from the inside."

I felt my knees weaken. I gripped the edge of a nearby chair, steadying myself. "What are you saying?" I whispered.

He looked at me with quiet sorrow. "He’s bedridden, Hailee. Can’t move, can barely speak. Some days he doesn’t even recognize anyone. The great lord of the Eastern Lycans is... just a living corpse now."

My breath hitched. "No..." I shook my head slowly. "No, that can’t be true."

Peter’s voice softened. "It is. I wouldn’t lie about this."

For a long moment, I said nothing. The man Peter was describing didn’t sound like the father I remembered — the one who had ruled with fire in his eyes and iron in his heart. The man whose voice once filled every hall, who demanded perfection, who trained his children to be warriors long before they were old enough to fight.

That man couldn’t be weak. He couldn’t be dying.

But Peter’s eyes told me otherwise.

I swallowed hard. "Is Mother okay?"

"She is," Peter said quietly. "She’s been caring for him day and night. She barely sleeps. The moment she heard I found you, she wanted me to bring you back immediately."

I looked away, blinking back tears. A part of me—the little girl who had once adored her parents—felt that pull of longing. But another part, the woman who had been banished ten years ago, remembered all too well the pain of that house.

"Peter," I said softly, "I don’t know if I can face him. After everything I did—after the shame I brought."

He stood and stepped closer, resting a gentle hand on my shoulder. "Hailee," he said firmly, "Father may be many things, but I know he missed you and wished he didn’t make that decision. And whatever happens, you’re not that frightened girl anymore. You’re a mother now. And besides, you need him to release your wolf and abilities to you before he dies."

His words hit deep. My wolf... my abilities... could I really have them back?

I took a shaky breath and nodded slowly, my voice barely above a whisper. "I’ll think about it."

Peter gave a small smile—the kind that didn’t quite reach his eyes. "That’s all I ask."

We sat there in silence for a moment. A comfortable silence hung in the air. Through the glass wall, I could see the boys inside, each conversing with their fathers.

Maybe Peter was right. Maybe it was time to face everything I’d been running from—my father, my past, and the pain I’d buried with it.

"Alright," I said finally, turning back to him. "After the Council hearing... I’ll go home."

Peter’s eyes softened. "Good," he said quietly. "Mother will be happy. And maybe... Father will find peace before he dies."

For a long while, neither of us spoke. The air between us felt heavy—not tense, but filled with too many things left unsaid. I kept staring at Peter, at the calm, composed way he spoke about Father’s illness, and something about it didn’t sit right.

He wasn’t... sad. Not really.

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