Alessandra POV

I pushed the heavy mahogany door open, my knuckles white around the crumpled medical report. The air inside the office hit me like a physical blow—not the comforting, crisp scent of rain and pine I craved, but a cloying, suffocating stench of vanilla and synthetic roses.

Isadora.

She was all over him.

Demetri sat behind his desk, looking immaculate in a fresh suit, but the scent of another woman clung to his skin like a second layer. He didn't even look up as I placed the stack of pack financial reports on his desk. My hand trembled, the paper edge brushing against the polished wood.

"Your scent is a mess, Alpha," Adan said, his voice tight with disapproval. He stood by the window, arms crossed. "You reek of conflict... and her."

Demetri finally looked up, his storm-grey eyes flat and unyielding. He ignored me completely, his gaze locking on the Healer. "Watch your tone, Adan. My private life is not up for debate."

"It is when it affects the Pack's stability," Adan countered, his eyes flickering to me with pity. That pity was worse than Demetri's indifference. It made me feel small. Pathetic.

"Leave us," Demetri commanded, waving a hand dismissively in my direction.

I felt my wolf whimper, bowing her head to the Alpha's order despite my breaking heart. I turned and walked out, the silence in the room deafening. The elevator ride down was a blur of tears and the phantom smell of cheap perfume that seemed to have permanently stained my mate.

By lunch, the nausea had returned with a vengeance. I retreated to the Pack House communal kitchen, hoping for a quiet glass of water to settle the rolling in my stomach. The room was buzzing with whispers, eyes darting my way before snapping back to hushed conversations.

"Some Omegas just don't know their place," a shrill voice cut through the noise.

Chrissy Sweeney leaned against the counter, flanked by two other pack members. She smirked, her eyes raking over my simple grey dress. "Do you really think our Alpha would ever look at you when a true high-born she-wolf like Isadora is back?"

I gripped my glass, my knuckles turning white. "Move, Chrissy."

"Make me," she sneered. Before I could react, she snatched a steaming mug of coffee from the counter and jerked her wrist.

"Oops."

The dark liquid splashed across my forearm. Searing heat tore through my skin, blistering instantly. I gasped, dropping my water glass. It shattered, shards exploding across the tile.

*My pup.* The fear wasn't for me; it was a primal, violent terror for the life inside me. The stress, the pain—it was too much.

"You're nothing but a packless runt!" Chrissy laughed, stepping closer. "An orphan nobody wants!"

Something inside me snapped. It wasn't my weak Omega wolf; it was the mother. My hand moved before I registered the thought.

*Crack.*

The slap echoed through the kitchen, silencing the room. Chrissy stumbled back, clutching her cheek, shock written all over her face. I grabbed her wrist, twisting it until she cried out.

"She attacked me!" Chrissy shrieked, playing the victim instantly. "The Alpha's little Omega whore attacked me!"

"Enough!"

The command rolled over us like thunder, vibrating in my bones. The air grew heavy, charged with static. Demetri stood in the doorway, his presence filling the room. Everyone froze.

He stalked forward, his eyes cold as they swept over the shattered glass and my red, blistering arm. But his gaze didn't soften. He looked at me like I was a unruly child.

"Pack Law forbids wolves from raising a hand against one another," Demetri stated, his voice devoid of warmth. "Did you attack her, Alessandra?"

He didn't ask what she did. He didn't ask if I was hurt. He only saw my defiance.

I released Chrissy's wrist, standing tall despite the trembling in my legs. "As a member of this Pack, I apologize to her," I said, my voice shaking but clear. I looked him dead in the eye. "But as a woman, I do not."

I turned on my heel and walked out, leaving the Alpha and his judgment behind.

---

Demetri POV

The kitchen was silent as Alessandra disappeared into the hallway. The scent of her distress—burnt skin and salt tears—lingered, souring the air. It irritated my wolf, scratching at the back of my mind.

Chrissy was still whimpering, holding her cheek, a smug look creeping into her eyes as she looked up at me. "Thank you, Alpha. She's out of control. She—"

I moved faster than she could blink. I slammed my hand against the counter beside her head, leaning in until my nose brushed her ear.

"You will forget this happened," I snarled, letting the full weight of my Alpha aura crush her. Her knees buckled, and she slid to the floor, terror replacing her smugness. "You will never speak to her, look at her, or breathe in her direction again. She is MINE to deal with."

My wolf paced aggressively, demanding blood for the scent of burnt flesh on my mate. I shoved the instinct down.

"Touch her again," I whispered, my voice dropping to a lethal octave, "and I will rip your throat out."

I straightened, adjusting my cuffs, and looked at Kael, my Gamma, who had been watching silently.

"Get this trash out of my sight."

---

Alessandra POV

The evening air was cool, but my arm throbbed with a steady, burning rhythm. I stood outside the Pack Clinic, waiting for the shuttle to take me to my grandmother's cottage. I couldn't stay in the Pack House tonight. I couldn't breathe the same air as him.

Gravel crunched. A sleek black Bentley rolled into the lot.

My heart gave a traitorous leap. Demetri. Had he come to check on me? Had Adan told him about the burn?

The driver's door opened. Demetri stepped out, looking devastatingly handsome in the dying light. He walked around the car, but his eyes didn't scan for me. He opened the passenger door.

Isadora Pacheco sat there, looking pale and fragile.

Demetri leaned in, unbuckling her seatbelt with a gentleness I had never known. He scooped her into his arms, holding her against his chest as if she were made of glass.

"I've got you," I heard him murmur, his voice low and tender. "I'm here."

He carried her past me toward the clinic entrance. He didn't even see me standing in the shadows, clutching my burnt arm, carrying his heir.

The last ember of hope in my chest didn't just turn to ash; it froze. I watched them disappear inside, the image searing itself into my memory more painfully than the coffee on my skin.

I turned away, walking into the darkening woods. I didn't need a shuttle. I needed to be gone.

Alessandra POV

The silence in my head was the first mercy I had felt in months. Sitting on the rotting wood of my grandmother's porch, I stared into the dense treeline, the night air cooling the feverish heat radiating from my burnt arm. I had severed the Mind-Link. Just snapped it shut. For an Omega to block her Alpha was unheard of; for a mate to do it was a declaration of war.

But I didn't care. The image of him carrying Isadora—holding her like she was the most precious thing in the world—had cauterized the part of me that used to bleed for him.

A twig snapped. The shadows at the edge of the clearing shifted, coalescing into a towering figure that seemed to suck the light from the moon.

Demetri.

He didn't approach with the grace of a lover. He stalked toward the porch like a predator cornering prey. The air grew heavy, thick with the scent of ozone and suppressed violence. His Alpha aura slammed into me, demanding submission, but I was too hollow to bow.

"You blocked me," Demetri snarled, stopping at the foot of the stairs. His eyes were two chips of obsidian, devoid of warmth. "I have been calling for hours. Do you have a death wish, Alessandra?"

I didn't stand. I didn't tremble. I just looked at him, feeling a strange, detached exhaustion. "I needed some quiet."

His jaw ticked. "Quiet? You are the Luna of this Pack—in title, if not in competence. You do not shut me out. Ever."

"Luna," I repeated, the word tasting like ash. "Is that what I am? Or am I just the placeholder you tolerate until you figure out how to install her?"

Demetri mounted the steps, the wood groaning under his weight. He loomed over me, blocking out the stars. "Do not test my patience tonight. Get up. We are going back to the Pack House."

"No."

The word hung in the air, fragile but absolute. Demetri froze, looking at me as if the floorboards had spoken.

I stood up then, my legs shaking not from fear, but from the sickness rattling in my chest. I took a breath, the night air searing my lungs, and looked him dead in the eye.

"I'm done, Demetri. I can't be your punching bag anymore. I can't watch you love her while I rot in your shadow." My voice gained strength, fueled by the broken shards of my heart. "I, Alessandra Moon, want to reject you as my mate."

The silence that followed was terrifying. The forest seemed to hold its breath.

Demetri's face didn't crumble. It hardened into stone. A cruel, cold smile twisted his lips, terrifying in its lack of humor. He stepped into my personal space, forcing me to tilt my head back.

"You think you have a choice?" His voice was a low rumble, vibrating through my chest. "You think this is a fairy tale where you get to walk away? Your father sold your freedom for the safety of this Pack. You are my mate. You will do your duty until I say otherwise."

"My duty?" I whispered, tears pricking my eyes despite my resolve. "To be humiliated?"

"To be obedient!" he roared, his control slipping. "Is this about that pathetic scene with Chrissy? I dealt with her. Stop acting like a petulant child."

He reached out, his hand clamping around my uninjured upper arm. The moment his skin touched mine, the spark—that cursed, electric jolt of the Mate Bond—arced between us. But instead of pleasure, it felt like a brand.

Demetri frowned, his grip tightening not in anger, but in confusion. He pulled me closer, his eyes narrowing as he scanned my face. "You're burning up."

I tried to pull away, dizziness swaying the world. "Let me go."

"You have a fever," he stated, his tone shifting from accuser to Alpha commander. He ignored my resistance, his hand moving to my forehead. "You're shaking. Why didn't you say you were sick?"

"It doesn't matter," I rasped, panic beginning to claw at my throat. "Leave me alone."

"We are going to the clinic," Demetri decided, his voice leaving no room for argument. "Adan needs to look at that burn and this fever."

The Clinic. Adan.

Ice flooded my veins, instantly overpowering the fever. Adan was the best Healer in the territory. If he examined me, if he ran even a basic scan of my vitals, he would hear the second heartbeat. He would find the pup.

And if Demetri knew... if he knew I was carrying his heir while he pined for Isadora... he would take the baby. He would lock me away or, worse, hand my child to Isadora to raise.

"No!" The scream tore from my throat, primal and terrified.

Demetri moved to scoop me up, but I exploded into motion. I wasn't fighting as Alessandra the weak Omega; I was fighting as a mother. I clawed at his chest, my nails digging into his expensive shirt. I kicked out, my heel connecting with his shin.

"Put me down!" I shrieked, thrashing in his arms like a wild animal. "I'm not going to the clinic! I won't go!"

"Stop this madness!" Demetri grunted, tightening his hold to keep me from falling. He looked genuinely shocked by my violence. "You are ill, Alessandra! Stop fighting me!"

Alessandra POV

"I said no!" I shrieked, my fist connecting with Demetri's shoulder. It was like hitting a wall of granite.

Demetri swore, the sound vibrating against my chest. He stopped wrestling me toward the Bentley and instead slammed me against the side of the car, pinning me with his hips. His eyes were swirling pools of obsidian fury.

"You are hysterical," he snarled, his breath hot on my face. "If you think I am going to drag a screaming, thrashing Luna into the Pack Clinic for everyone to see, you are mistaken. I will not have you embarrass me."

"Then let me go," I gasped, my heart hammering a frantic rhythm against my ribs—a rhythm that hid the tiny, fluttering second heartbeat within me. He can't take me to Adan. He can't know.

"Change of plans," Demetri growled. He yanked the car door open, but instead of shoving me in, he leaned in and grabbed his keys, then slammed it shut. Before I could react, he scooped me up into his arms again, turning toward the Pack House. "We are going to my suite. I will deal with your fever myself."

My stomach dropped. The Alpha's Suite. His territory. His cage. But at least it wasn't the clinic. At least my secret was safe for one more hour.

The elevator ride was suffocating. Demetri didn't speak; he just radiated waves of anger and ozone. When the doors slid open to the penthouse, he marched into the master bedroom—a cavernous space of black silk and dark wood that smelled overwhelmingly of him—and dumped me onto the massive bed.

I bounced on the mattress, dizziness spinning the room. My burnt arm throbbed, but the fever was making my skin feel like it was on fire.

Demetri stood at the foot of the bed, staring at me. Then, with a sharp, impatient movement, he began to unbutton his dress shirt.

Panic, cold and sharp, pierced through my fever. I scrambled backward, pressing my spine against the headboard. "What... what are you doing?"

The scream tore from my throat. I curled into a ball, shielding my stomach. "No! Don't touch me! Not after her! Stay away!"

Demetri froze. His hands hovered over his belt, his expression shifting from annoyance to shock, and then to a dark, offended scowl.

"Do you think I am some rogue animal?" he spat, his voice dripping with disdain. "I am not going to force myself on a sick, delirious woman, Alessandra. Look at you. You are burning up."

He turned his back on me, walking toward the ensuite bathroom. "I am drawing you a cold bath. Get in. Now."

I blinked, the adrenaline crashing, leaving me trembling. He wasn't... he didn't want me. Of course. He had Isadora.

I stumbled into the bathroom. The tub was already filling. I gripped the marble counter, swaying. Demetri was there instantly, his hands gripping my waist to steady me.

The moment his skin touched mine, the spark arced between us—violent and undeniable. I gasped, and his pupils dilated, his wolf responding to the mate bond despite his anger.

"Let me help you," he murmured, his voice dropping an octave, rough with suppressed instinct. His fingers grazed the hem of my shirt.

"No." I shoved his hands away, clutching my collar. The electricity felt like a betrayal. "Get out. I can do it myself."

"Alessandra—"

"I said get out!" I cried, tears stinging my eyes. "Leave me some dignity, Demetri."

He stared at me for a long moment, his jaw working. The air crackled with his dominance, warring with something else—regret? No, that was impossible. Finally, he gave a curt nod and backed out, closing the door.

When I emerged twenty minutes later, wrapped in a thick towel, the fever had receded slightly, but the exhaustion was bone-deep.

Demetri was waiting. He had changed into sweatpants, his chest bare. Without a word, he pointed to the vanity stool. "Sit."

I was too tired to fight. I sat. He picked up a hairdryer, his large hands surprisingly gentle as he began to dry my damp hair. The domesticity of it was terrifying. It was a lie.

When he finished, he set the dryer down and gripped my chin, forcing me to look at our reflection in the mirror. He looked at my flushed face, my wet lashes, and a low growl rumbled in his chest.

"Don't you ever look at another male with those eyes," he whispered, his gaze locking onto mine in the glass. "You are mine, Alessandra. Do you understand? My mark is on your soul."

He leaned down, pressing a cold, hard kiss to my forehead. It wasn't affection; it was a brand. A warning.

Suddenly, Demetri stiffened. His eyes glazed over, the amber iris swallowed by the distant fog of a Mind-Link.

I watched his face change. The possessive Alpha vanished, replaced by worry. Pure, unadulterated concern.

"I'm coming," he said aloud, his voice soft.

He pulled away from me as if I were on fire. He grabbed a fresh shirt, not even buttoning it fully before heading for the door.

"It's her, isn't it?" I whispered to the empty room. "Isadora."

He paused at the door, not looking back. "She needs me."

Then he was gone.

The silence he left behind was louder than his shouting. He had held me, claimed me as his, and then ran to her the second she called.

I walked over to my discarded bag. My hands shaking, I pulled out the envelope I had stolen from the grandmother's house—the copy of my medical file. The proof.

Pregnancy Confirmed. 6 Weeks.

I looked at the door he had just walked out of. He would never choose us. He would take my baby and give it to her.

With a sob that felt like my heart ripping in two, I tore the paper. Once. Twice. Until it was nothing but confetti on the black carpet.

"You will never know," I vowed to the shadows. "You don't deserve to know."

Demetri POV

The Pack Clinic

Demetri burst into the private room, his chest heaving. Isadora lay on the narrow bed, wrapped in a deep purple silk robe that slipped off one shoulder. She looked pale, fragile—a stark contrast to the woman who had fought him in the penthouse.

"Demetri," she whimpered, tears spilling from her wide eyes. "I... I felt a pain. I was so scared."

"I'm here," Demetri said, stepping closer, guilt gnawing at him.

Isadora sat up and wrapped her arms around his waist, burying her face in his bare chest. She inhaled his scent, masking the lingering smell of Alessandra with her own cloying perfume.

"Please, Demetri," she begged, looking up at him with trembling lips. "Don't leave me alone tonight. I can't bear it. Stay with me?"

Demetri looked down at her, then back toward the door, toward the Pack House where his mate sat alone. But Isadora was trembling in his arms.

He closed his eyes, the bond with Alessandra aching in his chest, but his duty—and his heart's confusion—anchored him here.

"Okay," he whispered. "I'll stay."