Ex-Mate Wants Me Back (Seraphina and Mortimer) novel Chapter 129

Chapter 129-

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Seraphina’s politeness was a shield-dense, seamless, and impossible to pierce.

He could feel it: if they hadn’t agreed to “play nice” for the final month, she wouldn’t have even given him the time of day.

As they pulled up to the Shadowfang Healing Center, Seraphina broke the silence. “Drop me at the gate.”

“Right,” Mortimer muttered, a shadow crossing his face.

He pulled over. Seraphina reached for the handle.

“Sera.”

The name caught her off guard.

It was the first time he’d used the nickname with that specific, raw tone-now that she was completely out of reach.

The irony was a bitter taste in her mouth.

The pack elders always said that getting what you want after you stop wanting it is the most tasteless victory of all.

She looked at him like he was a stranger asking for directions.

“Something else?”

Mortimer opened his mouth, his gaze drifting over her calm face, searching for a crack, a spark, anything familiar.

“The new medical pods… the ones the healing center just ordered. I saw the specs. They look solid.” He was grasping at straws, trying to use business to keep her in the car for ten more seconds.

Seraphina’s brow twitched. “That’s logistics. If you’re interested in hardware, talk to the department head. I’m busy. Goodbye.”

The door started to swing shut.

Mortimer’s jaw set. He finally cut to the chase. “Pack dinner tonight. My parents are back. It’s a family thing. You’re… you’re free, right?”

Seraphina paused. This was a contractual obligation. She’d promised to finish the term with dignity, and that meant showing up for the big events.

She nodded once. “Fine.”

The gloom in Mortimer’s eyes flickered with a sudden, desperate light.

“I’ll pick you up after your shift.”

“Don’t,” she said, her refusal immediate and absolute. “Your office is the opposite way. Don’t waste the gas. I’ll drive myself and meet you at the Blade pack border.”

The light in Mortimer’s face didn’t just dim; it was snuffed out.

In its place, a jagged, lethal Alpha aura began to bleed into the car.

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Chapter 128~

Chapter 129

Third Person’s POV

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“This neighborhood is crawling with wolves who know the Blade pack. Even Craig Group’s rivals have eyes here. If some old fox sees you hopping out of a taxi like a stranger, the rumors will spread like a plague.”

Mortimer’s voice dropped into a low, aggressive rasp. He was talking fast now, reaching for any logic that would stick.” Seraphina, if your ‘avoidance’ causes a hit to the Group’s reputation, I’m not signing that dissolution paper. In fact—”

He locked his eyes onto hers, his gaze turning dangerous. “I’ll just assume you’re staging all this ‘divorce’ drama to get my attention because you’re actually desperate to stay.”

He watched her face, waiting for a hit.

Seraphina’s brow furrowed with pure, unadulterated annoyance. Mortimer’s jaw was set so tight his teeth might have cracked, and his knuckles were white against the steering wheel.

He couldn’t even look her in the eye anymore.

Inside his head, Barton let out a low, mocking snarl. Even his wolf knew this was a pathetic, low-rent move to keep her in his

orbit.

Seraphina knew exactly what he was doing, and it worked-it pissed her off.

Not because she cared what he thought, but because she knew this Alpha was arrogant enough to actually use bureaucratic red tape to block her freedom.

“Fine.” Seraphina let out a sharp, jagged laugh. She stared him down. “If you’re so desperate to be a chauffeur, show up. I don’t

care.”

She slammed the car door without looking back.

Mortimer didn’t drive away.

He sat in the dim interior of the car, watching her silhouette disappear into the healing center.

After a long minute, he let out a dry, self-deprecating chuckle.

“Look at you, Mortimer.”

The man who had entered this marriage just to keep things ‘simple’ was now burning every bridge and using every dirty trick in the book just to get a woman to let him pick her up from work.

ľ

Inside the surgical clinic, the morning chill hadn’t lifted yet.

Trista pushed open the door to Seraphina’s office, a steaming cup of black coffee in her hand. She’d come to crack a joke, but she stopped dead.

Seraphina was sitting at her desk, her eyes downcast, calmly sliding a couple of white pills under her tongue.

“You sick?” Trista asked, her eyes scanning the desk. Then she froze.

Seraphina tried to slide the pill bottle under a folder, but she was a second too slow. Trista snatched it.

“Trista–”

Trista read the label, and her fingers tightened until the plastic groaned.

The wolf in her mind whimpered in vicarious pain. Her scent spiked with a chaotic, protective fury.

“Paroxetine? Alprazolam?” Trista’s voice was a jagged wreck. “Sera… you’re on these? Since when? It was the avalanche in

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Chapter 20

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Alaska, wasn’t it?”

Seraphina was silent for a beat Then, seeing the heartbreak in her friend’s eyes, she gave a tiny, slow nod.

“That goddamn bastard!” Trista exploded.

Sadness was instantly replaced by a white-hot rage. Her pheromones smelled like burnt gunpowder. “You almost died in that frozen hell! And where was he? He wasn’t there then, and he’s so blind he doesn’t even know you’re suffering like this now! I’m going to his office. I’m going to ask that Alpha if he traded his soul for more territory!”

Trista turned for the door.

“Trista!” Seraphina bolted upright, grabbing her friend’s wrist.

Her palm was cold, but her grip was iron. “Stop. Don’t. It’s not worth it. It’s really not.”

“Sera!”

“What are you going to ask him?” Seraphina looked at her, a pale, ghost of a smile on her lips. “Are you going to ask a man who never looked at me why he didn’t notice I was drowning? There’s no point. It’s just another way to humiliate myself.”

Trista stood paralyzed, the clinical coldness in Seraphina’s voice making her own tears spill over.

Just then, Trista’s phone buzzed.

She looked at the ID-it was her mate, Wilmot. She answered it with a voice like a serrated blade.

“What?!”

“Trista, hey… Mortimer said he’s taking Seraphina back to the pack tonight. He wanted to know if we-”

“Go by yourself!” Trista barked, cutting him off. Just knowing Wilmot was still ‘bro-ing’ it up with Mortimer made her want to scream. “Don’t say that man’s name to me again. It makes me sick And if you try to play peacemaker for him one more time, you can go sleep in your own damn territory!”

She slammed the phone down on the desk, her chest heaving.

Seraphina stepped forward and gave her a quiet, grounding hug. “Hey. Don’t take it out on him. I have a deal with Mortimer. I play ‘Mrs. Craig’ for one last month, and then the contract is dead. We both get what we want.”

She hadn’t forced him to love her then; she wasn’t going to let him force her to stay now.

The mating was a failed experiment. It was time to close the file.