CHAPTER 225: WHO WILL YOU CHOOSE

Hailee’s POV

We were preparing to go to the council for the first hearing. Peter had assured me again and again that everything was in my favor—that I had nothing to fear—but somehow, my hands wouldn’t stop trembling. My chest felt tight, my heartbeat quick and uneven, like I was walking toward something I’d been running from all my life.

Nathan, Callum, and Dane weren’t ordinary men, nor were they ordinary Alphas. They were powerful, respected, and feared. Each of them commanded not only their packs but also the loyalty of others beyond their borders. They had influence that stretched across territories and alliances that could shift the Council’s decisions in a heartbeat.

Especially Nathan. His pack, the full moon pack, wasn’t just powerful—it was strategic, political, and deeply connected. He had a voice that could silence a room, and I knew he wouldn’t come here unprepared. He would fight with everything he had, and that scared me more than anything.

Oscar, Oliver, and Ozzy were having breakfast together while I just sat in a corner, quietly watching them. Since the truth came out, they hadn’t really talked to me. In fact, I could probably count the number of words they’d said to me so far. Because of that, I was tense. I knew the council would ask them a few questions, and I was terrified they might speak against me.

I took a deep breath and stood up, forcing myself to speak. "Boys," I said softly.

They didn’t look up.

"Oscar," I tried again. "Oliver. Ozzy. We need to talk."

Oliver finally raised his head, his expression blank. "About what?" he asked flatly.

I swallowed. "About today. We’re going to the Council. They might ask you questions about what’s been happening about who you want to stay with." My voice wavered slightly. "And I just... I want to prepare you."

Ozzy put his spoon down, but he didn’t look at me. "You mean they’ll ask if we want to stay with our fathers or you?"

The words hit harder than I expected. "Yes," I whispered. "Something like that."

Oscar leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms. "And what do you want us to say, Mother?" His tone was calm but sharp, too mature for his age.

I blinked, caught off guard. "I want you to say what you feel," I said carefully. "I just want you to be honest."

Oliver let out a quiet, bitter laugh. "Honest? You want us to be honest now?"

I froze.

He looked up, his eyes glistening with unshed tears, but his voice was steady. "You lied to us for years. You told us our father was dead. You said we didn’t need anyone else. And now we find out everything we believed was a lie."

"Oliver..." I started, but my throat closed up.

Oscar’s voice came next, colder, firmer. "You didn’t trust us with the truth. You didn’t even trust us to know who we were."

Tears filled my eyes. "I was protecting you," I whispered. "You don’t understand."

"No," Oscar cut me off. "We understand perfectly. You were protecting yourself."

His words stabbed deep.

Ozzy looked between his brothers and me, his small face scrunched with confusion and hurt. "Why did you hide them from us, Mom?" he asked softly. "Did you think we wouldn’t love them? Or that they wouldn’t love us?"

My vision blurred. "No, baby, I—"

Oscar pushed his chair back suddenly, the sound sharp in the silent room. "Stop calling us ’baby.’ We’re not little anymore. We know what you did."

Oliver’s voice trembled when he spoke. "The Council doesn’t need to ask, Mom. I already know who I want to stay with."

My heart dropped. "Oliver, please—"

He looked away, his lips tightening. "With my father. He didn’t lie to me."

Ozzy’s chin quivered. "Oliver..."

Oscar put a hand on his little brother’s shoulder, his eyes still on me. "We’ll tell the truth, Mother. That’s what you asked for."

I couldn’t breathe.

They stood slowly, one after another, and walked toward the door. Ozzy paused for a second, looking back at me—hurt flashing in his small eyes—then followed his brothers out.

The room fell silent again.

I pressed a trembling hand to my mouth, trying to hold back a sob. I had prepared myself for the council’s judgment, but not for theirs.

My sons practically hate me. They would prefer to go live with their fathers they barely know than live with me. But what did they expect? For them to forgive me so easily?

Through the glass door, I saw Peter walking toward us. He paused when he saw my face, then his expression darkened.

"They’re angry," I said quietly, my voice breaking. "I’ve lost them, Peter. My own children hate me."

Peter sighed and placed a hand on my shoulder. "No, Hailee. They’re hurt, not lost. But you can’t fix this with tears. You face the Council, then you face them. One truth at a time."

I nodded weakly, wiping my eyes.

But deep down, I wasn’t sure I believed him.

Because I knew the truth, the Council might forgive me. But my sons? They might never look at me the same again.

Peter glanced at the time on his wristwatch, then looked at me. "Let’s go," he said quietly. His tone was calm but firm, the tone of a man who didn’t like being late.

I nodded weakly and wiped the last of my tears. My eyes were still puffy, but there was no time to fix that now. I took a deep breath, stood, and followed him out.

The boys were already waiting outside, standing beside the car. None of them looked at me. Oscar had his hands in his pockets, Oliver was staring at the ground, and little Ozzy clutched the strap of his small backpack, his lips pressed tight.

Peter opened the car door for me and muttered, "We’ll take my jet."

The drive to the airstrip was silent. Every few seconds, I glanced at my sons through the rearview mirror—three beautiful boys sitting still, lost in their own thoughts. No laughter, no questions, no glances toward me. Just silence.

I missed them. I missed us.

When we arrived, Peter’s private jet stood waiting. The flight crew greeted us respectfully, bowing slightly.

"Welcome, Your Majesty," one of them said to Peter, then turned to me. "Lady Hailee."

I managed a small nod, my throat too tight to speak.

Inside, the cabin smelled faintly of leather and cedar. Peter gestured for us to sit. The boys took their seats together on one side, near the window, while I sat across from them. Peter sat beside me, his usual composed expression unreadable.

The engines roared to life, and soon the world below shrank into clouds.

I tried to speak once—to ask if the boys were okay, if they wanted anything—but the words died in my throat when Oliver turned his face toward the window and pretended not to hear.

The silence was worse than any argument.

Two hours later, the jet descended, slicing through the skyline of Singapore. The Council’s headquarters towered over the city, a massive structure of white stone and gold, its banners fluttering with the symbols of the Alpha Council.

My heart pounded faster with every mile.

We were met by a convoy of black cars. Peter led the way, his authority parting the guards like the sea. The boys followed, quiet and observant. I could feel their tension, their confusion, and their quiet anger building inside them.

When we reached the Council grounds, my breath caught.

The building was even grander up close—white marble steps, guards in silver armor, and the carved crest of the Moon Goddess watching from above the massive doors.

Peter looked at me as we approached. "Remember what I said," he murmured. "Speak calmly. Don’t let them see fear. And whatever happens, do not interrupt when the Alphas speak. The Council respects composure."

I nodded, gripping my hands tightly to stop them from shaking.

We entered the great hall, our footsteps echoing across the polished floors.

And then I saw them.

Nathan. Callum. Dane.

They were already there, seated on one side of the hall—three powerful men, each radiating dominance in his own way. Nathan’s eyes lifted first, and when they met mine, my heart stopped.

Even in a moment like this, he still had that effect on me.

Callum leaned back slightly, his expression unreadable, but Dane’s gaze lingered longer, as if assessing me.

Behind them stood members of their packs, advisors, and a few Council aides. The air felt heavy and tense.

Peter’s presence beside me was the only thing keeping me steady. He placed a hand on my back, a subtle reminder to stand tall.

The council elder entered moments later, the room falling into silence.

"King Peter of the Eastern Lycans," the Elder announced formally, "you may be seated. Lady Hailee Stones, you are here for the custody and heritage hearing of your sons—Oscar, Oliver, and Ozzy Stones."

My name echoed across the marble walls.

Every gaze turned toward me—some curious, some cold, some pitying.

And among them, the three pairs of eyes that mattered most: my sons’.

They stood beside Peter, silent and still. None of them looked my way.

My heart cracked quietly inside my chest.

The Elder’s voice broke the silence again.

"Let the hearing begin."