The Lycan King's Second Chance Mate: Rise of the Traitor's Daughter
Chapter 249: The Familiar Stranger

Chapter 249: The Familiar Stranger

Easter~

I woke up in a hospital bed, the ceiling blurring above me as I blinked into consciousness. My mind felt like fog, but one thing came rushing back with brutal clarity—falling. I had tripped and landed hard, my stomach taking the brunt of the impact.

My hands flew instinctively to my belly.

The panic that followed clawed up my throat like wildfire. I pressed, I searched, desperate for a kick, a flutter—any sign that my baby was okay.

Then the door creaked open, and a nurse stepped in. She wore pink scrubs and held a clipboard, but what I noticed first was her smile—gentle, calm, grounding. The kind of smile that made you believe everything could still be alright.

"You’re okay," she said softly, walking over to check the monitor beside my bed. "And so is your baby."

My breath caught. Relief came crashing through me so fast it made my chest ache. But before I could even settle into it, another thought slammed into me—Rose.

I looked up at the nurse, my voice already cracking. "Where’s my daughter? Rose. She’s three. Curly hair. Bright eyes. She was with me."

The nurse didn’t miss a beat. "She’s safe," she assured, still smiling. "She’s downstairs in the children’s playhouse. Been charming everyone in sight."

I asked—no, begged—to see her immediately. The nurse nodded and left the room.

Five minutes later, she returned with Rose, still in her little sneakers, her face lighting up when she saw me. I didn’t think. I couldn’t. I just opened my arms, and Rose came running into them like she’d been waiting her whole life for that hug.

I clutched her so tightly, I thought I might never let go again.

And then, I broke.

The sobs came without warning, crashing out of me with every ounce of fear and love I’d buried deep. I held Rose against my chest and cried like I hadn’t in years—like something inside me had finally cracked open.

The nurse tried to calm me, but it wasn’t enough. Eventually, they had to sedate me just to help me breathe.

Three Days Later

They said I’d be on my feet in two days. It had been three.

And yes, technically, I was up—but everything felt... slow. Like walking through molasses, like my body had repaired itself but my soul was still catching up. There was a hollow ache just beneath my ribs—not quite physical, not quite emotional. Just... emptiness. Like I’d misplaced something important and couldn’t remember what.

Rose was curled beside me on the couch, giggling at some cartoon with talking animals and ridiculous voices. She especially loved the fox who tried to bake cookies using only her tail.

But I couldn’t laugh with her. Not really.

My hand wandered to my belly again, resting gently on the bump beneath my shirt. The baby had moved the night before—just once. A tiny flutter. It had left me in tears. I hadn’t cried like that since... I didn’t even know when.

Then came her voice.

"Mommy?" Rose asked between bites of crackers. "Do you remember Jacob now?"

My chest tightened.

This again.

I turned to her, brushing her curls back with my fingers. "No, sweetheart," I said gently. "I think you made him up."

She frowned—not a pout, but a real scowl, deep and determined. "He’s not made up. He’s tall and he has soft black hair. He carried me on his shoulders and we rode a dragon."

"A dragon?" I asked, trying to keep the disbelief out of my voice.

"Well... he said it wasn’t a dragon, but it looked like one," she muttered, arms crossed.

I smiled, but my heart wasn’t in it. Not completely.

Black hair.

A tall man.

Jacob.

There were moments—just moments—where the name felt familiar. Like a whisper behind a locked door. Sometimes, I’d wake with tear-streaked cheeks, the ghost of a beautiful dream still clinging to my skin. But the dream would vanish, and all I’d be left with was the ache. The certainty that someone was missing from my life. Someone important.

The day I was discharged, the doctor told me a man had brought me in. Said he’d vanished the moment I was safe. No name. No ID. No face anyone could remember. The nurses had nothing. Even the security footage had come up blank.

It should’ve scared me.

But strangely, it felt... comforting. Like whoever he was, I was supposed to trust him.

Later that afternoon, the sky hinted at a storm, but the air stayed soft and the light stubbornly golden. I needed the park—needed the wind, the trees, the distant hum of life.

I brought my sketchpad. Drawing helped, sometimes. Helped with the noise. With the dreams that slipped away before I could catch them.

Rose who had just woken up from her nap, ran ahead, headed straight for the dragon-shaped slide with a gleeful squeal.

I walked slower.

That’s when I saw him.

Leaning casually against the base of the climbing frame. Tall. Lean. Calm. Just another parent, maybe. But something about him grabbed hold of my breath and refused to let go.

He wasn’t watching any particular child. He was just... observing. Like he was memorizing something precious.

Then sunlight hit his hair.

Black.

My heart stuttered. I clutched the strap of my bag, the leather digging into my palm.

And then he turned.

His eyes met mine.

And for a moment, everything inside me stilled.

There was something ancient in the pull between us. A recognition older than memory. A magnetic thread stitched into my bones.

I looked away quickly. My heart thudded like a warning.

I sat on the nearest bench, trying to breathe. To think. Rose was shouting triumphantly from the top of the slide. I glanced back.

He was walking away.

No—he was walking toward me.

I stood, too fast. My knees wobbled. I held my ground.

"Hi," he said.

His voice... it was warm. Familiar in a way that made my throat tighten. Like firelight and winter snow.

"Hello," I replied, wary. "Do I... know you?"

He hesitated. Then smiled, carefully neutral. "No. I don’t think so. I just saw your daughter. I think I’ve seen her before."

My breath caught. "Where?"

"At the kindergarten, maybe? I was picking up a friend’s kid last week. She smiled at me like she knew me. Called me Daddy, I think. I’m Jacob, by the way."

The bag nearly slipped from my shoulder.

That name again.

I tried to play it off. "I’m so sorry. She... does that. She mixes dreams with real life. Gives names to strangers."

He laughed softly. "Yeah. Kids are like that."

He started to turn away.

I surprised myself.

"Would you like to sit?"

He paused. Looked at me with eyes that saw more than they should. Something flickered there—loss, longing... and something else.

"I’d like that," he said.

We sat. Watched the kids. The wind danced through the trees, bringing with it the faint scent of pine and something wilder—something untamed.

"So... what do you do?" I asked after a while.

"Odd jobs," he replied. "Consulting. I move around a lot. Try to stay close to nature."

I narrowed my eyes. "That sounds vague on purpose."

He grinned. "That’s because it is."

I laughed, surprising myself.

And suddenly, things felt easier.

We talked. About simple things. Rose. Books. Bad hospital coffee. He liked thunderstorms. Hated cucumbers. Once climbed a mountain barefoot "because someone dared me."

"You must’ve been out of your mind," I said.

"Still am," he replied.

And we laughed again.

Then Rose came bounding over, her eyes full of joy. She wrapped her arms around him without hesitation.

"Daddy Jacob! You found us again!" she squealed.

Something changed in his face. Not fear—grief. A grief so deep it almost stole my breath.

"Hey, blossom," he whispered. "Yeah. I found you."

Blossom.

The nickname Rose had used for weeks. I’d thought she made it up.

I rose, my heart thudding. "We should get home."

"Of course," he said, standing too.

We walked slowly, Rose skipping ahead.

"I’m sorry if she’s confusing," I murmured. "She... has a big imagination."

He didn’t answer right away.

Then quietly, he said, "Imagination is just memory wearing a different face."

The wind stirred.

And before I could change my mind, the words spilled out: "Would you... like to meet again?"

He turned to me. Smiled. A smile that reached all the way to the pieces of him he thought were hidden.

"I’d like that," he said.

And for the first time in weeks, I felt something I hadn’t dared to name.

Peace.