The Pack's Daughter (Aysel and Magnus) novel Chapter 232

**Midnight Letters by Daniel Crowe**
**Chapter 232**

In a dimly lit room, Ivy felt the weight of humiliation pressing down on her like a heavy cloak.

As she attempted to push herself upright, a sharp pain contorted her features, twisting her expression into one reminiscent of a wounded she-wolf baring her fangs in defiance.

James, ever watchful, quickly intervened, gently but firmly pressing her back down onto the bed. “All right, all right—don’t strain yourself,” he murmured, his voice a soothing balm in the chaos of her thoughts. “We won’t go. We won’t take you to the Healers’ Den.”

The commotion stirred Ulric Sanchez from his own troubled thoughts, and he echoed James’s fierce refusal with a growl of his own.

With both injured wolves vehemently protesting, the family physician found himself with no other option but to remain. He steeled himself for the task ahead, meticulously cleaning the claw marks that marred their skin, applying salves that stung like frostbite against their bruised flesh, and wrapping their limbs with care. He reminded them both that in just a few days, they would need to undergo a full-body scan at the healer outpost to ensure that no internal organs—or their inner wolf—had sustained damage.

When the exhausting treatment finally concluded, James fixed both of them with a heavy, penetrating gaze, his eyes dark with concern and curiosity. “Speak. What happened between you two?”

Ivy pressed her lips together tightly, a stubborn silence enveloping her.

How could she possibly articulate the truth?

How could she confess that, despite all the years they had spent together, she had never truly won Ulric Sanchez’s heart? That the marriage she had fought for—secured with claw and pride—was nothing more than a cruel joke, a hollow bond devoid of the warmth and connection that true mates shared?

Ulric, meanwhile, cast a furtive glance toward the far corner of the room, where Aysel was lazily entwined with Magnus’s fingers, braiding them together while smiling up at him with an innocence that felt like a dagger to his heart.

A suspicion began to unfurl within him.

When the lights had flickered back to life earlier and he had seen the wounds adorning both Ivy’s and his own bodies, confusion had clouded his mind.

Had he truly struck that hard?

Was his aim with thrown objects ever that precise?

Especially with the final blow—the one that had sent his wheelchair crashing to the ground. That level of brute force was so out of character for Ivy.

Yet here they were, trapped in a room without cameras, the power having been out, and both of them had exchanged blows. With no evidence to support either of their claims and several points that defied explanation, he found himself mimicking Ivy’s strategy—playing dead and keeping his mouth shut.

Luna Darkmoon, James’s wife, was growing increasingly irate, her patience wearing thin.

Ivy was so fixated on maintaining her composure that it bordered on obsession. If only she would unleash her emotions—cry out, wail, or even complain—the Darkmoon Pack could leverage their status as her birth family to demand compensation from the Shadowbane Pack.

But no matter how many hints Luna dropped, Ivy remained resolute in her silence.

Eventually, even the elder wolf lost her patience, crossing her arms and simmering in a storm of unspoken frustration.

Ivy’s gaze flickered to her furious sister-in-law, then to Olivia, who was stealing glances at the intertwined hands of Magnus and Aysel, her own jealousy seeping through the air like a pungent scent.

With a shudder, Ivy closed her eyes, as if trying to shut out the world.

“Leave. All of you. I want to rest.”

James hesitated, his brow furrowing in concern.

“Why don’t I take you back to the Darkmoon Pack to recover?”

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