Chapter 85: Matriarch’s Memory 

Chapter 85: Matriarch’s Memory 

(Ethan’s POV)‘ 

My eyes darted to Olivia’s sleeping form on the bed. The sedative Dr. Bennett had 

administered ensured she wouldn’t wake until morning, giving me time to repair what I had so 

carelessly destroyed. 

A soft whimper escaped her lips, drawing me to her side. Her forehead felt hot against my 

palm. Fever. 

“Maxwell,” I called softly to my beta waiting in the hallway. “Bring me the moonberry fever reducer from my cabinet.” 

While waiting, I dampened a cloth with cool water and gently pressed it to Olivia’s forehead. 

Her chestnut hair splayed across the pillow, reminding me of how beautiful she’d always been. 

Maxwell returned with the medicine and a small jar. “Dr. Bennett’s rare healing salve as well, 

Alpha.” 

I nodded my thanks and dismissed him. The salve had a distinctive herbal scent, specially 

crafted for the Stone family. I carefully applied it to the cuts on Olivia’s hands–injuries I hadn’t. 

even noticed until now. 

“Ethan Stone…” she murmured, her voice barely audible. 

My heart leaped. “Liv, I’m here…” I whispered, using the nickname I hadn’t spoken in years. 

Her response cut through me like a silver blade. “Go away!” 

Even in her fevered sleep, she rejected me. I deserved nothing less. 

I administered the fever reducer and continued to cool her forehead until her temperature 

normalized. Only then did I return to my task, determined to finish before she woke. 

The night deepened as I worked, my powerful hands surprisingly gentle as they held the 

delicate pieces. Each fragment told a story of my daughter’s love–a love I’d never 

acknowledged. 

As dawn approached, I placed the final piece. The mug would never be perfect again; hairline cracks ran through it like scars. But it was whole, the childish inscription once again readable: 

“IDAD!” 

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Chapter 85 Malnarch’s Mem 

A surge of joy filled me at this small victory. 

Ports 

I traced the wobbly letters with my fingertip, my throat tight with emotion. “I’m sorry, Lily,” I whispered to the empty room. “I’m so sorry I never knew you. I will spend more time with you 

in the future.” 

(Olivia’s POV) 

Consciousness returned slowly, my mind emerging from the deepest sleep I’d had in months. My body felt heavy, rested in a way I’d forgotten was possible. Ten hours had passed 

according to the clock on the nightstand. 

As awareness sharpened, I felt something warm against my hand. Turning my head, I found 

Ethan asleep in a chair beside the bed, his large hand holding mine. 

I withdrew my hand coldly, severing the brief connection. The movement woke him, his amber 

eyes opening to meet mine. 

“You’re awake,” he said, relief evident in his voice. “How do you feel?” 

“Where am I?” I asked, ignoring his question as I took in the unfamiliar surroundings. 

“The recovery chamber in my private quarters,” Ethan explained. “You collapsed last night. Dr. 

Bennett administered a sedative to help you rest.” 

I pushed myself up, noticing I was wearing clothes that weren’t mine–a soft nightgown that 

smelled faintly of moonflowers. The thought of Ethan changing my clothes made my skin 

crawl. 

“Don’t worry,” he said, reading my expression. “The female staff attended to you.” 

He reached out to touch my forehead, but I recoiled. “Don’t touch me.” 

Hurt flashed across his face before his expression became carefully neutral. “Your fever broke 

during the night. That’s good.” 

I swung my legs over the side of the bed, testing my strength. “Where are my clothes?” 

“They’ve been cleaned and pressed,” Ethan replied, gesturing to a neatly folded stack on a 

nearby chair. “I had some fresh items brought for you as well.” 

I ignored the new clothes, deliberately choosing my own. “Turn around,” I commanded. 

Surprisingly, he complied without argument, giving me privacy to change. The simple act of putting on my own clothes restored some sense of control. 

“You can look now,” I said when I finished. 

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Ethan turned, something clutched carefully in his hands. My breath caught when I recognized 

Lily’s mug, painstakingly pieced back together. 

“I spent the night repairing it,” he said, his voice uncharacteristically hesitant. “I know it doesn’t 

make up for what I did, but I wanted to try.” 

He held it out to me, the cracks visible but the mug whole again. The childish drawing of our 

family–a family that never truly existed–made my heart ache. 

“Olivia, about Lily’s birthday…” Ethan began, his amber eyes earnest. “I didn’t intentionally miss it. There was an emergency with Emma at the Silvercrest Pack Medical Den. Dr. Rivers diagnosed a spleen injury requiring immediate blood transfusion.” 

My hands trembled as I took the mug from him. 

“I should have been there for Lily,” he continued. “I know that now. It won’t happen again.” 

His words, meant to appease, only deepened my pain. The authority in his voice–an Alpha 

making a solemn vow–meant nothing. It was too late for promises. 

“Won’t happen again?” I repeated, my voice dangerously quiet. “She’s dead, Ethan. Our daughter is dead.” 

Something snapped inside me. With a sudden movement, I hurled the mug against the wall. 

The sound of breaking ceramic echoed my broken heart as it shattered once more. 

“Ethan Stone, you’re not worthy!” I declared, my voice steady despite the tears threatening to 

fall. 

I walked out, leaving him stunned amidst the shards of Lily’s final gift. 

(Matriarch Evelyn’s POV) 

The morning air carried the scent of moonflowers as my car approached the Sacred 

Moonlight Cemetery. After three months at the ancient temple retreat, I felt refreshed, my 

spirit renewed by the sacred rituals and meditation. 

“We’ve arrived, Matriarch,” Bernard Sheppard announced, opening my door with the dignified 

efficiency that had characterized his decades of service to our family. 

“Thank you, Bernard,” I replied, accepting his arm as I stepped from the vehicle. “I won’t be 

long. Just a brief visit to pay my respects to old friend Matilda.” 

The cemetery was peaceful, bathed in soft morning light. I made my way to Matilda’s grave, my old bones protesting slightly at the exertion. After placing fresh moonflowers on her 

resting place and saying a brief prayer, I turned to leave. 

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That’s when I saw it–a new tombstone gleaming in the soft light. Something about it drew me 

closer. 

Lily’s Moonstone Tombstone was beautifully crafted, the polished granite embedded with small moonstone crystals that seemed to absorb and reflect the light. But it was the photograph that captured my attention–a young girl, perhaps four or five years old, with emerald green eyes so familiar they made my heart ache. 

“Lily Winters,” I read aloud, my fingers tracing the engraved name. “Beloved daughter. Forever 

in our hearts.” 

The dates indicated she had lived just five short years. Such a tragedy for one so young. 

I said a brief prayer for the child’s spirit before continuing toward the cemetery exit. But the name echoed in my mind, stirring something deep within my memory. 

Lily Winters. Why did it sound so familiar? 

A fragmented recollection surfaced–a video call with Olivia, my grandson’s mate. She was holding a newborn baby, her face radiant with new motherhood. 

“We’ve named her Lily,” Olivia had said, her voice filled with pride. “Lily Winters Stone.” 

Another memory flashed–a family gathering at the Stone Estate. A little girl with emerald eyes, perhaps two or three years old, running to me with arms outstretched. 

“Great–Grandmother!” she had called, her laughter like silver bells. 

I stopped walking, my heart pounding painfully in my chest. The face in my memory matched 

the one on the tombstone. 

“Bernard,” I called, my voice shaking. “Bernard, come quickly!” 

My faithful butler was at my side in an instant. “What is it, Matriarch? Are you unwell?” 

“That child,” I said, pointing to the tombstone we had just passed. “That’s Lily. Ethan and 

Olivia’s daughter.” 

Bernard’s face paled. “Matriarch, perhaps we should return to the car. You seem distressed.” 

But I was already turning back, drawn by a terrible certainty. I stumbled toward the grave, my eyes fixed on the innocent face in the photograph. 

The missing pieces of my memory clicked into place with devastating clarity. My great–granddaughter, Ethan and Olivia’s child. Dead. 

“How?” I whispered, sinking to my knees before the tombstone. “How did this happen? And 

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why wasn’t I told?” 

+8 Points 

Bernard knelt beside me, his weathered face grave. “Matriarch, your condition… The doctors advised against upsetting news.” 

My condition. The memory lapses that had plagued me these past five years. The way my family carefully controlled what I was told, what I remembered. 

“How long?” I demanded. “How long has she been gone?” 

Bernard hesitated before answering. “Six months, Matriarch.” 

Six months. My great–granddaughter had been dead for six months, and I hadn’t known. Hadn’t 

been allowed to mourn her. 

“Take me to Ethan,” I commanded, my voice regaining its authority. “Now.” 

As Bernard helped me to my feet, I took one last look at Lily’s innocent face. My 

great–granddaughter. Olivia and Ethan’s daughter. Dead.