My Alpha Locked Me Away for His Mistress

The first thing I notice is the pain.

It's everywhere—a dull, throbbing ache that pulses through my skull like someone's taken a hammer to it. My eyelids feel heavy, weighted down, and when I finally manage to pry them open, harsh fluorescent lights stab into my vision. I wince, turning my head away, and that's when the panic sets in.

Where am I?

The room smells sterile. Antiseptic. There's the steady beep of a heart monitor somewhere to my left, and beneath that, the faint scent of pine and earth. Pack territory. The knowledge comes instinctively, though I can't explain how I know it.

I try to sit up, but my body protests. Everything hurts. My ribs, my back, even my fingers feel bruised and tender. What happened to me?

"Easy there." A woman's voice, calm and professional. I turn my head—slowly this time—and see a middle-aged woman in a white coat standing beside my bed. Her dark hair is pulled back in a neat bun, and her eyes are kind but concerned. "You've been through quite an ordeal, Lyla. Don't push yourself."

Lyla. That's my name. I know that much, at least.

"What... what happened?" My voice comes out raspy, like I haven't used it in days.

The doctor—Dr. Cross, according to the name tag on her coat—exchanges a glance with someone behind her. "You had a fall. A bad one. You've been unconscious for two days."

A fall. The word echoes in my mind, but there's nothing there. No memory of falling, no memory of anything before waking up in this bed. It's like someone took an eraser to my brain and wiped everything clean.

The door opens, and two people walk in. The man is tall, broad-shouldered, with dark hair and eyes that could cut through steel. He moves with the kind of confidence that demands attention, and something deep inside me responds to his presence. My wolf stirs—I can feel her there, a presence in the back of my mind—and she's... reaching for him?

Daddy.

The word surfaces in my consciousness like a lifeline, and suddenly everything makes sense. This is my father. I don't know how I know, but I do. The certainty of it washes over me, warm and safe.

"Daddy!" I reach for him, my voice breaking with relief.

He freezes. His jaw tightens, and for a moment, something flickers across his face—shock? Disgust? But then it's gone, replaced by a carefully neutral expression.

The woman beside him steps forward. She's beautiful, with honey-blonde hair and delicate features, though there's something sharp in her eyes that makes me uneasy. But when she smiles at me, it's warm and motherly, and my wolf relaxes.

"Oh, sweetheart," she coos, moving to my bedside. "You gave us such a fright."

Mommy. The word comes just as naturally as the first, and I reach for her hand. She takes it, her fingers cool against my skin.

Dr. Cross clears her throat. "Alpha Stone, could I speak with you outside for a moment?"

Alpha Stone? I look at my father—Daddy—confused. Why is she calling him that?

He nods curtly and follows the doctor out of the room, leaving me alone with Mommy. She perches on the edge of my bed, still holding my hand, but her smile doesn't quite reach her eyes.

"How are you feeling, darling?" she asks.

"Confused," I admit. "I don't... I don't remember anything. What happened?"

Her expression shifts to something that might be sympathy. "You fell, sweetheart. From the balcony. It was a terrible accident."

A balcony. I try to picture it, but there's nothing. Just empty space where memories should be.

Daddy returns a few minutes later, his face grim. He doesn't look at me, and something about that makes my chest ache. Did I do something wrong?

"We're taking you home," he says, his voice flat. "Dr. Cross says you're stable enough to leave."

Home. The word should bring comfort, but instead, it fills me with a strange sense of dread I can't explain.

The pack house is enormous. I stare up at it from the car, trying to find something familiar, but it's like looking at a stranger's home. Daddy helps me out of the car—though his touch is stiff, impersonal—and Mommy guides me inside.

Pack members stop and stare as we pass. I hear whispers, see the way they look at me with a mixture of pity and something else. Disgust? Why would they look at me like that?

Daddy leads me upstairs and down a long hallway. He stops in front of a door and pushes it open, revealing a room that makes my stomach drop.

It's decorated like a child's bedroom. Pale pink walls, stuffed animals on the bed, even a nightlight shaped like a crescent moon. I'm not a child. I know that much. So why...?

"This is your room now," Daddy says, still not meeting my eyes.

"But... where's your room?" I ask. "Where will you and Mommy sleep?"

His jaw clenches. "Down the hall. In the Alpha Suite."

Something about that feels wrong. So wrong. My wolf whimpers, confused and hurt. Why would my parents sleep so far away? Why does the thought of them together make my chest feel like it's being torn apart?

"Can't I... can't I stay with you?" The words come out small, pleading.

"No." The word is sharp, final. "You'll sleep here. Alone."

Mommy squeezes my shoulder. "It's for the best, darling. You need your rest."

They leave me there, closing the door behind them. I stand in the middle of the room, surrounded by childish decorations that feel like a mockery, and listen to their footsteps fade down the hall.

When I hear a door close—their door—something inside me breaks.

I climb into the too-soft bed and pull the covers up to my chin. My wolf is howling, a sound of pure anguish that echoes through my mind. She's reaching for something, someone, but I don't understand what.

All I know is that something is terribly, horribly wrong.

And as I cry myself to sleep in this strange pink prison, one thought keeps circling through my fractured mind:

Why does it hurt so much to be away from Daddy?