Chapter 42 

In the SpringVille Wolf Pack… 

Mrs. Armstrong sits alone in her private chamber, the dim light casting long shadows across the room. The scent of aged wood and the faint aroma of the wine in her glass fills the air. She glares at the painting on the wall, a relic from her father, handed down before his untimely demise. The amber eyes of the figure in the painting seem to mock her, reflecting the deep–seated hatred and annoyance festering within her. 

She swirls the wine in her glass, her gaze unwavering from the painting. The irritation simmering inside her is relentless, gnawing at the edges of her fragile composure. With a heavy sigh, she sinks back into her chair, attempting to find solace in the stillness of the room. 

“Anyone?” she calls out, her voice laced with impatience. 

A servant promptly enters the room, her demeanor submissive and attentive. “Yes, My Luna!” 

“Bring me the file from ten years ago. Under Luna Benedetta’s name!” Mrs. Armstrong orders, her tone sharp as she downs the remaining wine in her glass. Her eyes flick back to the painting, her thoughts dark and bitter. “You shouldn’t have betrayed me in the first place, father. You should have kept your tail under control.” 

She pours herself another glass, her hand trembling slightly as she whispers to the painting, her voice thick with resentment. The veins in her hand bulge, mirroring the turmoil within her. The sight of the painting fuels her rage, each brushstroke a reminder of the betrayal she can’t forgive. 

“Luna! Here is the file!” The servant reenters, carefully placing the file on the table before retreating swiftly at Mrs. Armstrong’s command. 

“Thanks. Leave now,” she says curtly, her focus already shifting to the file in front of her. The servant nods and exits, leaving` Mrs. Armstrong alone once more. 

For a moment, she simply stares at the file, the weight of its contents pressing down on her. After a long pause, she finally opens it, her eyes scanning the familiar pages. Memories flood back as she recalls the time when Luna Benedetta had tried to prove herself as the rightful Luna. Benedetta had handled every task with meticulous care, leaving Mrs. Armstrong with nothing to do for weeks after her departure. 

But the question that haunts her is why. Was Benedetta merely trying to improve Spencer, or was there something more sinister at play? 

As she sifts through the documents, her anger mounts. Jasmine, that foolish girl, doesn’t even know how to manage her own wolf, let alone a pack. The thought of it irritates her further. 

“Before everything happens, I should bring her to my side at least,” Mrs. Armstrong muses, a sly smile curling on her lips. “The hatred she harbors toward my son could be useful to me, right?” She chuckles softly, her eyes gleaming with malicious intent as she contemplates the next step in her plan. 

Meanwhile… 

Spencer and Benedetta stand with Evelyn, whose silence speaks volumes. The tension between them is palpable, especially after Evelyn’s recent confrontation with Diego. Though she wishes to discuss matters with Benedetta, her daughter’s request to visit the amusement park delays their conversation. 

“Mommy! My hair clip!” Dawn’s voice cuts through the tension, drawing Benedetta’s attention. 

Coming, Love!” Benedetta responds, her voice softening as she hurries to help her daughter, picking up the fallen hair clip. 

Spencer’s eyes narrow as he watches Benedetta. “So you were lying about Diego being your fiancé?” he asks, his tone 

accusatory. 

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Chapter 42 

Benedetta scoffs, not bothering to hide her disdain. “What made you draw such a stupid conclusion?” 

“I’m not blind. I can see what’s going on,” Spencer retorts, his voice edged with frustration. 

“Well, whatever,” Benedetta shrugs dismissively. 

“It was pathetic,” Spencer sneers, unable to hide his bitterness. 

3 

“Thank you!” Benedetta responds with a cold smile. “Diego was the best father I could have asked for my kids. So, it doesn’t matter if I’m pathetic. They found a father they needed!” 

Her words cut deep, and Spencer’s jaw tightens in response. “Best father? I am their father!” he growls, the intensity of his emotions flaring up as he watches her walk away, his heart torn between anger and regret. 

She spins around, her eyes blazing as she hears his voice, dripping with anger and bitterness. “Let me make it clear, Spencer,” she seethes, her voice low but charged with venom. “You’re just a jerk who never wanted them in the first place. Have you forgotten what you said to me? ‘I would rather stay childless than let her dirty womb bring my child into this world. So, to me, you’re nothing more than an accidental sperm donor who used this ‘dirty womb‘ for your own desires. Nothing else. Don’t you dare–I’m warning you! Don’t you dare call yourself their father!” Her words are a roar, brimming with the intense bitterness and fury she has carried for years. 

Spencer meets her gaze without flinching, his own anger simmering just beneath the surface. “I don’t care,” he replies, his voice cold and unyielding. “I am their father, and I will be in their lives as their father. Not some bastard who doesn’t even care about his own child but tries to take mine for granted.” 

“Watch your language,” she snaps, her voice rising. “Diego has been there when they were sick, when they needed someone to rely on. You have no right to judge others when you never wanted them!” 

“I want them now! I want my kids,” Spencer shoots back, his frustration mounting. “And it’s you who kept it hidden. You never-” 

“I kept it hidden?” she interrupts, her voice cracking with raw emotion. “You buried me, Spencer–yes, you buried me with those kids inside me. That day, I was hanging on inside that car, with our children inside me. You abandoned us in that car. You left me in a foreign hospital and then announced us dead. You don’t get to talk, Spencer. You failed us. You failed us every single time.” 

His face pales as her words hit him like a freight train. “I never sent you anywhere,” he retorts, his voice trembling slightly. “You died right in front of me. Shut the hell up. How was I supposed to know it wasn’t you? How was I supposed to know you were playing another game?” 

my own 

with 

life and our “Game?” she echoes, her voice dripping with disbelief and scorn. “You think I played a game children’s lives? Fuck you, Spencer.” The words are sharp and final, as she spits them out and turns on her heel, storming away from him. The night, once filled with a fragile hope for enjoyment turns into bitterness. 

“Fuck!!!” Spencer snarls, clenching his jaw so tightly it feels like it might crack. He tries to steady his breathing, forcing the rage down, but just as he begins to calm himself, a piercing scream echoes through the night. 

Both his and Benedetta’s heads snap toward the sound. The scream is unmistakable–Evelyn’s voice, filled with terror. A cold wave of fear crashes over Benedetta as the realization hits her: the kids are with Evelyn. Something is very wrong. 

Without a second thought, both Spencer and Benedetta bolt in the direction of the scream, their hearts pounding wildly in their chests. The once cold anger between them is replaced by a shared, frantic urgency. Every second feels like an eternity as they race to where their children are, driven by a primal fear that tightens their throats and fuels their legs. 

16:44 Mon, Nov 4