Broken Bond: Claimed by My Ex-Husband's Alpha Billionaire Uncle-Chapter 122: Just The Thought

"For now, I’ve sent a team from the Nocturnal Order to the orphanage," Alderic said, "They’ll remove the children still living there and take them somewhere safe."

Charlotte’s chest tightened. "How many are left?"

"Only seventeen," Alderic replied. "Most of the others ... are unaccounted for."

She closed her eyes for a moment, trying to hold back the anger and sadness building in her heart.

Seventeen.

Only seventeen children were left after all those years, and chances were, they were the ones who had just recently arrived at the orphanage.

The others—the ones who had lived there for years—had either disappeared or most likely died because of those horrible experiments.

Damon’s jaw tightened. "Make sure your team treats them with care. They’ve already been through more than anyone should."

"They will," Alderic assured him. "We’ve assigned trained officers and a counselor to go with them. These children will never be left alone again."

"I just ... don’t understand," Charlotte said softly.

She looked down, her fingers curling into her lap. "Why would Ronan do this? What was the point of all those experiments? Why did he need that substance so badly?"

To control other werewolves under his command?

To create chaos?

Or was it something even worse, something done for no reason other than his own satisfaction?

The more she thought about it, the harder it was to breathe.

Alderic finally spoke, his voice low and filled with bitterness. "Power."

He continued, "That’s the only reason I can think of right now."

There was a possibility that Ronan wasn’t satisfied with the influence he already had.

He wanted more control and dominance.

He believed that with the right substance, he could manipulate rogue werewolves, make them loyal, obedient, turning them into a private army, hidden in plain sight.

Charlotte swallowed hard. "So they were just ... tools to him?"

"Not even that," Damon muttered beside her. "They were ingredients."

Alderic didn’t deny it. "He believed fear wasn’t enough to rule a nation. He wanted absolute control on the battlefield, in politics, even within the supernatural world. That substance was his key. And the orphans ... they were his lab rats."

Ronan never saw those orphans as real children.

To him, they weren’t people, they were no more than tools. Bodies he could use. Lives he could throw away.

"Julian probably knew about this plan since he was little," Charlotte said with a tired sigh. "No wonder he always listened to his father more than his mother."

Most likely, Ronan had brainwashed him from a young age, molding him into the perfect successor in case something happened to him before the army was completed.

"But for now, that’s just a theory," Alderic admitted. "If we want to know the full truth, we have to capture Ronan alive."

The problem was, both Ronan and Julian were moving like ghosts.

They were nearly impossible to track, leaving no traces behind—as if they had simply vanished into thin air.

The Nocturnal Order had already searched dozens of possible hiding places, like abandoned bunkers, secret tunnels, but nothing had turned up.

"They might be hiding in a place that’s not listed in our records," Damon said. "It could be underground, or it could be somewhere right in front of us."

Because sometimes, the best way to hide something ... was to place it right where no one would think to look.

Alderic went silent for a moment, clearly thinking. "I’ll have my people check out shops or public spaces that seem suspicious," he said at last. "Alright, Alpha Sullivan, I’ll contact you again once I find something."

Damon couldn’t help but throw in a jab. "You mean ... in a month or two?"

Alderic let out a soft chuckle. "I’ll call you next week. Don’t worry, you can also reach out anytime if you need my help."

After exchanging a few more polite words, Alderic ended the call.

Charlotte sighed heavily and leaned back against the headboard. Her phone rested in her hand, but suddenly she didn’t have the energy to keep scrolling.

"Isn’t it kind of ironic?" she murmured. "We can’t even have one child ... and yet Ronan has killed so many. No wonder Julian always got angry when I said maybe we could adopt a child from his father’s orphanage."

Back then, she was confused why Julian refused to adopt, especially when he claimed he wanted children so badly. But now she understood.

Those children were never meant to be adopted or to be loved. They were never meant to have a future. They were raised to be sacrificed.

Damon moved closer and gently wrapped an arm around her shoulders.

"Hey," he murmured, his voice soft and comforting. "This isn’t something you need to worry about." He brushed her cheek with his fingers. "We lost a child ... but that doesn’t mean we’ve lost our chance forever."

Even if they never had a child of their own, Damon would never see it as her fault. He would never love her any less.

"But Damon ..." Charlotte turned to face him, her voice soft. "This is just a thought, but, if I really can’t have a child of my own ... what would you think about adoption?"

Most Alphas would never agree to it. For them, bloodlines mattered more than anything.

Even Julian, who wasn’t even an Alpha, had once snapped at her for suggesting it. He had called her foolish, selfish, and worse.

Damon didn’t answer right away.

Instead, he looked at her deeply with eyes full of understanding. There was no shock in his expression, no trace of rejection. Just warmth.

"I think," he began gently, "that any child would be lucky to be raised by you."

Charlotte held her breath for a moment, her chest suddenly felt heavy.

"I don’t care if the child carries my blood or not," he continued. "I care about the home we give them. I care about the love we share. That’s what makes a family, Charlotte, not bloodlines."

She blinked, tears pricking at the corners of her eyes. "But what if the others don’t accept it? You know how most Alphas think. They’ll say it’s a weakness. They’ll say it’s—"

"I don’t give a damn what they say," Damon cut in softly, his voice calm and full of certainty. "Let them talk. Let them whisper. We’re not living for them."