The Alpha Kings And Their Stripper Mate

Chapter 138: Chapter 137: Visiting Margaret

Margaret’s hospital room was on the fourth floor...a private room that the brothers had upgraded from the standard ward two weeks ago, without telling Eve until she’d arrived one day to find her mother in a room with actual sunlight and comfortable chairs and a view of a small garden courtyard.

When Eve had demanded to know why, Damon had shrugged and said: She’s important to you, which makes her important to us. And that had been the end of the conversation.

The room was quiet when they arrived, the morning nurse just finishing her checks. Margaret was propped up against pillows, her eyes closed, her chest rising and falling with that careful, measured rhythm that Eve had learned meant she was conserving energy.

She looked smaller than she had even last week. The cancer had been relentless in its progression, taking more from her each day. Her skin was paper-thin, her hands folded on the blanket like fragile birds.

But when the door opened and Eve stepped inside, Margaret’s eyes opened. And despite everything—despite the weakness and the pain and the toll of months of illness—they were still sharp. Still warm. Still wholly and completely herself.

"Eve," Margaret said, her voice soft but steady. "You brought company."

"I hope that’s okay," Eve said, moving to the bedside and taking her mother’s hand with infinite gentleness. "You remember Maya."

"Of course I remember Maya," Margaret said with a faint smile, looking at the blonde woman who’d followed Eve in. "Hello, my darling. It’s good of you to come."

"Hi, Margaret," Maya said softly, her voice thick. She pulled up a chair and sat on the other side of the bed, taking Margaret’s other hand. "You look—"

"Like I’m dying?" Margaret offered mildly. "It’s all right, child. I’m past the point of needing gentle euphemisms about it."

Maya made a sound that was half-laugh, half-sob. "I was going to say you look like yourself. Still sharp as a tack."

"Flatterer," Margaret said fondly. Then her eyes moved past Maya and Eve, finding the two men who had entered behind them. She recognized Damian immediately—they’d met on several hospital visits—and gave him a nod of acknowledgment.

Then her gaze found Raphael.

And everything in the room seemed to still.

Margaret looked at Raphael for a long, silent moment. Her expression was impossible to read—a complex mixture of recognition, wonder, and something that looked almost like relief.

"You," she said finally, her voice barely above a whisper. "You’re the shadow."

Raphael stepped forward, moving to stand at the foot of her bed. Up close, in the soft morning light of the hospital room, the resemblance between him and Eve was undeniable—the same amber eyes, the same facial structure, the same quality of presence.

"I am," he confirmed, his voice quiet and sincere. "My name is Raphael. I’m Evangeline’s uncle. Her father’s brother."

Margaret’s eyes filled with tears, though none fell. "I always felt you there. Hovering at the edges. Keeping her safe in ways I couldn’t." She took a shaky breath. "I used to pray, when Eve was small and struggling and I didn’t know if we’d make it through the month—I used to pray that whoever was watching over her was benevolent. That the presence I could almost feel meant she had someone beyond me looking out for her."

"She always did," Raphael said, and the rawness in his voice made Eve’s own eyes fill. "I was always there. I am so sorry I never revealed myself sooner. So sorry I left you to raise her alone, without the knowledge or resources her birth family should have provided."

"You kept her alive," Margaret said simply. "That was enough. More than enough."

She looked at Eve, then back at Raphael, taking in the physical similarities that went beyond just appearance. "You look like your brother," she said quietly. "I only have the photo Eve’s birth parents left with her—it was tucked inside the pendant. But you have his eyes."

Raphael’s composure fractured slightly, just for a moment. "I’m told I do."

"He and Lilith were good people," Margaret continued, her voice gaining strength with the emotion of the moment. "I could tell it from their faces. The kind of people who would die for their child." She squeezed Eve’s hand. "And they did."

"They did," Raphael confirmed. fɾeeweɓnѳveɭ.com

The room was quiet for a moment, all of them holding the weight of that truth. Then Margaret’s expression shifted—still soft, but gaining a focus that spoke of the urgency she was working against every day.

"You didn’t just come to meet me," she said, looking at Raphael directly. "You came for something specific. I can see it in how you’re assessing me. Those eyes—" She almost smiled. "—those eyes don’t miss anything, do they? Just like Eve’s."

"No," Raphael agreed. "I came because I made Eve a promise. And because I owe you a debt I can never fully repay." He moved around to stand beside the bed, his expression serious and gentle at once. "I have knowledge of ancient healing techniques. Seraphim methods that predate most modern medicine by centuries. They won’t cure you—I won’t lie to you about that. The cancer is too advanced for a complete reversal."

Margaret nodded calmly, unsurprised. "But?"

"But they might buy you time," Raphael said. "Weeks. Possibly months. With significantly less pain, more clarity, more strength than you currently have." His amber eyes were honest, unflinching. "I want to try, if you’ll allow it. The choice is entirely yours."

Margaret considered this for a long moment, her thumb moving slowly over Eve’s hand. Then she looked at her daughter—at the desperate hope and terror mixed together in Eve’s expression—and her decision was made.

"Do what you can," she said to Raphael. "Not for my sake. For hers." She nodded toward Eve. "She still needs her mother. Even if it’s only for a little while longer."

Part B

Raphael asked everyone to move back—not out of the room, but away from the immediate bedside. Damian guided Maya to the chairs by the window with a firm hand on her shoulder, intercepting her instinct to stay close to Margaret.

Eve remained nearest, sitting in the chair she’d pulled directly against the bed frame, her hand still holding Margaret’s. She wasn’t leaving. Raphael hadn’t asked her to, and she wouldn’t have gone even if he had. freewebnøvel.com

He looked at her holding her mother’s hand and didn’t argue. Just nodded slightly in acknowledgment and turned his full attention to Margaret.

"This will feel warm," he said to Margaret quietly. "Like sunlight on your skin from the inside. It may become uncomfortable as it reaches the diseased areas—the cancer will resist the healing energy, and that resistance will feel like pressure. If it becomes too much, tell me and I’ll ease back."

"I’ve been through chemotherapy," Margaret said dryly. "I think I can handle a bit of pressure."