Fated To Not Just One But Three novel Chapter 478

Chapter 478: Refused

Levi’s POV

I stood my ground even as Olivia’s glare burned holes through me.

The witch shifted uneasily beside her, the bowl trembling in her hands.

"I said no," I repeated, my voice like stone. "You’re done with this, Olivia."

She clenched her jaw. "You don’t get to decide that for me."

"I do when your life is on the line!" I shot back. "When our child’s life is on the line!"

Her lips trembled. "You think I don’t know that? You think I don’t feel it?" Her hand went to her stomach. "But if I stop now, he’ll die, Levi. He’ll die, and I’ll never forgive myself."

My patience cracked. "And if you keep going, you’ll die!"

The words came out louder than I meant. Everyone froze.

Even Lennox’s shallow breathing seemed to pause.

Olivia’s frown deepened, but she refused to look away. "Then let me die with purpose."

Something inside me snapped.

"Purpose?" I barked, taking a step closer. "You call throwing your life away for him purpose? You call risking our child love?" My voice broke at the end, anger blurring into pain. "You’re killing yourself for a ghost, Olivia! He’s not here anymore. I am! We are!"

The silence that followed was deafening.

Her lips parted, but no sound came out. My father looked away, and my mother pressed her hand to her mouth. The witch’s eyes darted between us, unsure if she should stay or flee.

Finally, Olivia whispered, "You don’t understand."

I laughed bitterly. "No, you’re right. I don’t. I don’t understand how you can look at me, at Louis, at your own unborn child, and still choose him over all of us."

Tears spilled down her cheeks. "It’s not about choosing!" she cried. "It’s about saving someone I love!"

"Someone?" I muttered, my chest tightening. "Or the only one?"

Her breath caught. For a moment, we just stared at each other, two storms colliding in silence.

Then I turned sharply and stormed toward the door. I couldn’t breathe anymore. The walls were closing in, my father’s disappointed sigh echoing behind me like thunder.

As I reached the hall, I heard the witch’s trembling voice. "So... are we doing the ritual or not?"

I didn’t look back. "No," I said, my voice hollow. "It’s over."

But Olivia’s voice cut through the air, fierce and defiant. "Yes."

I froze in the doorway.

For a heartbeat, no one moved. I wanted to go over there and pull her away, but I held myself back.

Olivia was on the floor.

She was as pale as old paper, hair fanned around her head like a dark halo. The night robe was gaped open at the throat where the witch had cut, dried blood ringing a tiny crater on her palm. Her breaths were shallow. Her hand clutched at her belly as if holding the small life there close would keep it from rolling away.

I scooped her up before anyone could move, instinct first, logic later. Olivia was lighter than I expected, as if the ritual had hollowed her out from the inside. Her fingers scraped my neck when I gathered her against my chest; for a second, I panicked, thinking she’d slip away like smoke.

"Hold her," I barked at Louis. He was already there, steady hands under her knees, eyes wide and hollow. The witch and the sorcerer were murmuring frantic chants, but I shoved them gently aside.

The moment we reached my room, I set her down on my bed with too much force, and for a second the mattress dipped, and the breath left my chest with her.

Healers swarmed, efficient and sharp. Hands on her forehead, a palm to her chest, herbs crushed beneath quick fingers. Louis hovered like a guard dog, voice tight and sharp with instructions I didn’t need to hear but wanted to. I stood back, hands clenched, while they worked, watching, measuring the rise and fall of her ribcage as if it were a countdown.

Minutes dragged and blurred into a long, terrible ache. The sorcerer and the witch were in a tight huddle, averted faces, fingers knitting together spells I couldn’t name. My wolf snarled in the back of my mind, a low, hungry sound that wanted retribution. I wanted to tear the world open and drag whatever part of fate was responsible into the light and make it answer.

When she finally stirred, it felt like the sun worrying its way through storm clouds.

Her lashes fluttered. Her eyes opened, unfocused, then sharpened as she blinked and recognized the ceiling, and everyone in the room.

"I’m fine," she murmured, her voice small and brittle. "Really. Don’t, don’t make a fuss."

The healer’s hand smoothed across her brow. "Rest," she said gently. "You pushed too far. Sleep now."

But something in me snapped like a twig under too much weight.