Ex-Mate Wants Me Back (Seraphina and Mortimer) novel Chapter 59

Chapter 59

Third Person’s POV

In the next heartbeat, the floodgates opened. The memories he’d buried came roaring back.

Mortimer’s face, already flushed with fever, went a deathly, chalky white.

He remembered.

Last year, when he was bedridden and wrecked, Seraphina had nuked her entire schedule–canceled every meeting, walked away from every surgery-just to stay by his side.

And what did he do? To protect that jagged, high-and-mighty ego of his, to make sure she didn’t see him as some “weakling” who needed a crutch, he’d spat those ice-cold words at her.

To Seraphina, that wasn’t “strength.” It was a slap in the face. It was him telling her she was a nuisance.

A sudden, unanchored panic clawed at Mortimer’s gut.

He opened his mouth to explain, but his throat felt like it was filled with hot sand. Not a single word made it out.

Seraphina clearly wasn’t interested in decoding his facial expressions.

She checked her watch again, her tone professional and final. “I’ve got a full surgical board today. Patients are waiting. I can’t be

late. I’m gone.”

She peeled her hand out of his slackening grip. No hesitation. No lingering looks. She turned on her heel and walked out. 1

This time, Mortimer didn’t try to stop her.

It wasn’t until the heavy front door slammed shut-the dull echo bouncing off the expensive, empty walls-that the light finally

died in his eyes.

He realized, with terrifying clarity, that Seraphina was systematically cutting him out of her life.

“Is it because the contract is almost up?”

He asked himself with a bitter, internal laugh. That contract was his masterpiece-every clinical, frozen clause was a testament

to his “logic.”

So why the hell did he suddenly want to set it on fire?

“You’ve got nobody to blame but yourself, Mortimer,” a low, violent growl erupted in the back of his mind.

It was Barton. His wolf.

Barton was pacing his subconscious, claws scratching at the walls of his mind.

For an Alpha wolf, he sounded pathetic-almost begging. “Her scent is fading… you idiot. You’re driving our only mate away with both hands.”

“I just didn’t want to look weak,” Mortimer argued, his mental voice thin and exhausted.

“To hell with being weak!” Barton roared. The primal need for his mate was redlining, nearly snapping Mortimer’s fever-dream logic. “A wolf never bites the mate that licks its wounds. Only you, Mortimer. You took your ‘civilization’ and your ‘contracts’ and locked the only warmth we had outside the door.”

Mortimer slumped against the sofa, staring at his empty palm. The bone-deep loneliness hurt way worse than the fever.

For the first time, he realized that without Seraphina, this luxury villa was just a very expensive coffin.

Chapter Se

+15 Bonus

Seraphina didn’t care what he was thinking.

She hit the elevator and didn’t breathe until the doors slid shut. The pressure started to lift.

After the weirdness of the last few days-the heat in the bathroom, his “nice guy” act she was more determined than ever to

get out.

She couldn’t stay under the same roof.

She knew his gravity was still strong; she was terrified her defenses would crumble if he kept up this “apology tour” long enough.

She crossed the pack boundary and didn’t look back, heading straight for the subway.

Back at the clinic, she fell into her routine.

When she hit Rolf’s suite, Vivian was MIA. Rolf was eating breakfast while a nurse hovered nearby.

He smiled when she walked in. “Luna Seraphina.”

She gave him a shallow, clinical nod. She did a quick check with the stethoscope over his hospital gown. “Vitals are good. Any pain in the incision?”

Rolf shook his head. “None.”

She jotted it down on her tablet, gave the nurse a few pointers, and headed for the door.

Just as she grabbed the handle, Rolf called out. “Luna Seraphina?”

She stopped and looked back.

Rolf bit his lip, looking at his hands for a long beat before he managed to look up. “V… she’s always been the spoiled brat of the family. If she’s done anything to get under your skin… I’m sorry/Please, just try to ignore her.”

Seraphina’s face froze for a second, then softened into a dry, mocking half-smile. She shook her head. “It’s fine.”

She knew the truth: even without Vivian playing the homewrecker, the chain connecting her to Mortimer was already rusted through. It never had a chance.

She had her own life to lead; she didn’t have the bandwidth for Vivian’s drama.

“Get some rest.” She turned and walked out, her lab coat fluttering behind her with a cold, sharp finality.

She’d barely cleared the corner when she ran right into Vivian.

Their eyes met, and Vivian’s face twisted into a look of pure, feral hatred-like a cornered animal trying to look big.

Then, her eyes darted past Seraphina’s shoulder, frantically checking the room behind her.

Seraphina saw right through it. She let out a soft, bored laugh. “Relax. Mortimer isn’t here.”