Rejected Luna Returns with Secret Twins (Lysandra) novel Chapter 20

Chapter 20

Third Person POV

Do I still love him?

The phantom sensation of Tristan’s lips still burned against hers, her body’s traitorous response impossible to completely deny.

After everything he did, could I still feel something for him?

The thought unlocked a flood of memories she’d fought to suppress.

###

Eight months after fleeing Silverblood Pack, Lysandra stood at the window of her bedroom.

“Lysandra?” Her mother’s voice broke through her reverie. “Do you still love that man?”

“No, Mom.”

The lie came easily after months of practice, but the pain that accompanied it never dulled. Every night she cried silently into her pillow, mourning not just the husband who’d rejected her, but the dream of the family they’d

never be.

Footsteps crossed the room. Aurelia’s reflection appeared beside hers in the window. “Stop thinking about that

Alpha. He doesn’t deserve you.”

“Maybe I was never meant to be his mate.” The words scraped her throat raw.

Aurelia’s hand settled on her shoulder, gentle but firm. “Don’t say that. Why are you so despondent all the time? You’re not alone here. Your family surrounds you. In two weeks, your little moonbeams will be with you too.”

At the mention of her children, Lysandra’s hand drifted to her swollen belly. The twins were active today, their

movements a constant reminder of both joy and sorrow.

“I know.” She forced a smile, turning to face her mother. “I’m just tired.”

Aurelia’s eyes narrowed slightly. As a mother herself, she recognized evasion when she heard it. “The doctor mentioned concerns about your blood pressure. You need to rest more.”

Lysandra nodded, grateful her mother didn’t know the full extent of her complications. She’d sworn the doctor to secrecy about how dangerous this pregnancy had become–how her body struggled to support two Alpha bloodline

cubs while adapting to her newly awakened wolf.

Later that afternoon, Lysandra made her way to the kitchen, craving the tart berries that had become her pregnancy obsession. As she approached the study, voices drifted through the partially open door.

“How dare he?” Her brother Alaric’s voice vibrated with barely controlled rage. “That bastard should die for what

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he did to my sister. Now he’s living with Selene and planning a marking ceremony?”

Lysandra froze mid–step, her heart suddenly thundering in her ears.

“Alaric,” came Kieran’s calmer tone, “don’t you think this is better for everyone involved?”

“Better?” Alaric spat the word. “My sister cries herself to sleep over that asshole while he’s proudly living with his

mistress.”

The world tilted beneath Lysandra’s feet. She clutched the wall for support, her breath coming in shallow gasps. A marking ceremony. With Selene.

The final rejection.

www

For two years he’d refused to mark her–his lawful wife–claiming she wasn’t worthy. But Selene… Selene would receive what had been denied to her.

She stumbled back to her room, barely making it inside before the first sob tore from her throat. Her knees hit the floor as grief and rage poured from her in waves. The twins responded immediately, their agitated movements

growing frantic as her distress flooded their shared connection.

A sharp pain knifed through her lower abdomen. Different from the twins‘ usual movements, this felt wrong- dangerous. When she pushed herself to standing, warmth trickled down her thigh.

Blood.

“Mom!” The scream ripped from her throat as another contraction doubled her over. “Mom!”

Aurelia burst through the door seconds later, her expression shifting from concern to horror at the sight of Lysandra crumpled on the floor, blood pooling beneath her. “Caspian! Alaric!” she shouted, dropping to her knees beside her daughter.

Everything blurred after that. Hands lifting her. Voices shouting. The sickening lurch of a vehicle speeding through forest roads. Through it all, one thought consumed her: My babies. Please, not my babies.

The hospital lights blinded her as they rushed her through corridors. Medical terms flew over her head-“placental abruption,” “fetal distress,” “emergency cesarean.” Then the doctor’s grave face appeared above her.

“Lysandra, we have a critical decision to make. With the severe hemorrhaging and your condition…” He hesitated, then delivered the devastating truth. “We can either save you or the babies. Not both.”

“Save them,” she whispered, clutching his hand with desperate strength. “Please, save my babies.”

The last thing she remembered was the cold press of an oxygen mask and her mother’s tear–streaked face,

mouthing words she couldn’t hear as darkness claimed her.

###

Hours later, weak cries penetrated the fog surrounding Lysandra’s consciousness. Her eyelids fluttered open to blinding white lights and the steady beep of monitors. Pain radiated from her abdomen, but it paled against the

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desperate need to see her children.