Aliyah’s POV

The wind nipped against my face as I stood before the grand, graffiti-laced gate of M Spring Boots Racing Club. The rusted hinges creaked as I pushed it open, revealing a row of glossy motorbikes lined like soldiers at war. Engines purred in the background, the smell of grease and rubber mixing with the sharp scent of fresh-cut grass.

My fingers curled tightly around the straps of my helmet. It felt like it weighed a thousand pounds on my palm. Every part of me wanted to turn around. But Papa’s words haunted me.

"You’re a loser if you give up with your life because of this downfall."

I walked in, ignoring the whispers. A few steps further, and the first mocking voice pierced the air.

"Look who decided to show up. The Omega with no wolf and a bruised ego."

More laughter followed. My back stiffened. The girls stood in clusters, draped in leather jackets, flaunting their sleek bikes and the arrogance that came with having a wolf form. Their eyes glinted with amusement. They weren’t just racers—they were predators. I was prey.

"Did you come to mop the floors or carry our helmets?" one of them sneered, her tail flicking in mockery.

"I heard she got dumped naked on the internet. Poor thing probably thinks racing will give her a new life."

"She doesn’t even have a tail or claws. How can she ride without instincts?"

Their howling laughter echoed across the yard. My hands trembled. I turned away, then paused. I could see my reflection in the glass of a nearby bike mirror—tears threatening to form, lips trembling.

No.

I thought of the clubhouse walls without our posters. Of Cohen’s smirk. Of my nude pictures on that cursed iPad. Of Papa’s hope-filled eyes.

I turned around.

"Enough," I said coldly.

The group went quiet. A few chuckled nervously, as if daring me to keep going.

"If I hear another word, I’ll personally kick you all out of this club."

The lead girl stepped forward. She was taller, more muscled, and the tattoo of her wolf crept over her collarbone.

"You and what army?" she asked, showing off her claws.

Inside, my heart pounded like war drums. But the rage within me was louder. I threw my helmet to the ground, rolled up my sleeves, and launched at her. She didn’t see it coming. The sound of my fist cracking against her jaw silenced the yard.

Then chaos erupted.

I didn’t know how many I punched, shoved, or kicked, but by the time I was done, three of them were groaning on the ground, two limping away, and my knuckles were raw and red.

"Stop!" a booming voice interrupted the madness.

I turned. Papa stood at the edge of the training yard, a wrench in one hand and a startled expression in his eyes.

"Aliyah!" he snapped.

I froze, breathing heavily. Sweat rolled down my spine.

"What happened to harmony? This isn’t a war zone. It’s a club."

I looked away, ashamed and defiant at the same time.

"Then tell your girls to stop acting like a pack of wolves hunting the last deer," I muttered.

He sighed and walked closer. Then, without warning, his face broke into a mischievous grin. He held up his phone.

"Guess what just came in?"

I blinked. "What?"

He handed it to me. On the screen was a bold, crimson-colored logo that read: Lycan's Edge Annual Tournament – Entry Opened.

My heart stuttered. Every biker in the region dreamed of it.

"They accepted our club," he said. "We’re in the preliminaries. And I want you to represent us."

"Me?" My eyes widened. "But I just started."

"You’re my daughter. You’ve got the spirit. Now get ready. Train harder. Show them what they couldn’t break."

The fire reignited in my chest. I nodded. That night, I trained till my muscles screamed. I rode around the practice field again and again, pushing myself to limits I didn’t know existed. Papa timed my laps, yelled instructions, adjusted my bike’s gears.

The insults faded. The fear dulled. All that remained was purpose.

Until he showed up.

I was oiling my bike when a familiar voice froze my blood.

"Aliyah."

Cohen.

I stood up slowly. My heartbeat thundered in my ears as I turned to face him. He looked cleaner than the last time—his leather jacket crisp, hair brushed back, lips curled in that familiar smirk. The one I used to kiss like it was air.

"What do you want?" I asked, wiping my hands.

"Can we talk privately?"

I didn’t want to. Every fiber of me screamed no. But some foolish part of me hoped—hoped he’d say he was sorry. That it was a mistake. That he missed me.

We walked behind the garage, away from Papa’s gaze.

"What do you want, Cohen?"

He leaned closer, his cologne suffocating. "I heard you’re entering the tournament."

I said nothing.

He chuckled. "Don’t. Just… don’t. You’ll embarrass yourself. You’ll embarrass the club. Stay out of it."

I stepped back. "Is that a threat?"

"Call it advice. You’ll thank me later." He winked and walked away.

I stood there, seething. His words echoed like a curse.

But instead of breaking me, it did the opposite.

It fueled the fire.

I would ride. I would race. And I would win—not just for Papa. Not for revenge.

But to prove that no matter how many times they kicked me down…

…I would always rise.

The sun barely rose today. It was as though the heavens understood the weight of what was coming.

The tournament.

The one thing I had poured every drop of my soul into over the past weeks.

I sat at the edge of my narrow bed, lacing my boots with trembling hands. My stomach churned with hunger, but it wasn’t unfamiliar. For days now, I had starved myself just to make time for practice.

Aliyah’s POV

Skipped meals, slept in the club's garage, trained until I couldn’t feel my legs. I wanted to win—no, needed to win.

To silence the mockery. To prove I wasn’t just the president’s pitiful Omega daughter. To honor Papa.

I’d been to the Ember Pack stadium a few times growing up—always in the safety of Papa’s shadow—but today was different. Today, I was no longer in the shadows. I was at the center. Under the light. Under their judgmental stares.

The stadium roared with life as I stepped in. Banners flew in the wind. The strong scent of fuel and testosterone hung in the air. Tires screeched in practice laps and engines growled with power.

My throat dried up instantly.

I clutched my gloves tighter. I’ve been here before… but never this nervous.

My fingers trembled and I could feel my heartbeat in my teeth. Papa walked up to me, dressed in his racing gear, the club's crest proudly stamped across his chest. He placed a firm hand on my shoulder and squeezed.

“You’ll do just fine,” he said gently.

But I shook my head. “My heart is in turmoil, Papa. I don’t know… What if I fail you?”

He smiled. “Then fail trying, Aliyah. Don’t run. Don’t hide. Just try.”

Try.

The word echoed in my head like a drumbeat.

But that fragile resolve cracked the moment I saw them.

Cohen.

And behind him, his obnoxious pack of club members—The Black Fangs.

The crowd went wild as they strutted into the stadium like gods of speed. Every step they took seemed choreographed, every smirk practiced. They lived for this applause.

And then… I saw him.

Asher Moretti.

The one I swore I’d never want to lay eyes on again.

He didn’t look at me. Didn’t even notice I was there. But I saw him.

The way his hair curled beneath his helmet. The leather jacket clinging to his tall, massive frame. The same tattoo that once made me gulp in awe.

Now, it made me sick.

I felt bile rise in my throat.

I hate you, I whispered under my breath. You’re just like them. One of Cohen’s wolves. One of the animals who ruined me.

I stepped back, trying to make myself invisible, turning my face away so Cohen wouldn’t see me. I wasn’t ready. I wasn’t strong enough.

But of course, he noticed.

“Look who it is!” Cohen’s voice rang out like a whip. “The star of our group chat.”

Laughter exploded from his club. I stiffened.

“Is that our dear Omega princess?” one of the girls sneered. “Did you bring more nudes to share?”

More laughter.

I clenched my fists so tightly that my nails pierced my palms.

Cohen’s wolfish grin curled wider. “Don’t be shy, Aliyah. You’ve shown us everything before.”

I froze.

Paralyzed.

Until two girls stepped forward—one brunette, one auburn-haired—fellow racers I had sparred with in training. They stood in front of me, backs stiff, glaring at Cohen.

“She’s not just an Omega,” the brunette snapped. “She’s an Omega with pride.”

“And more guts than any of you tail-wagging jackals,” the other growled.

Their words lifted something inside me… and yet, shame still wrapped around my throat like a collar.

All eyes were on me.

I could feel the jeers, the whispers, the camera phones pretending not to record.

My knees are weak… My chest hurts… I want to scream…

Then the horn blew—the tournament started soon.

Everyone began moving to their bikes.

And just then, Cohen swaggered toward me.

He bent close, lips nearly brushing my ear.

“Back off now… or you’ll lose your face very badly,” he whispered.

That was it.

The final shove.

My mind collapsed into chaos. I could see Papa from a distance, waving me over, motioning for me to get ready. I turned away.

What if I fail?

What if I crash out there?

Papa will be disappointed. I’ll be just another pathetic Omega who tried and embarrassed herself.

My body moved before I could stop it.

I dropped my helmet, spun on my heel, and ran.

I ran from the roars. From Cohen’s laughter. From Asher’s indifference.

From my own cowardice.

The light drizzle began just as I crossed the borders of Ember Pack. I didn’t stop running until the stadium was far behind, replaced by thick woods and silence.

Tears fell freely now.

I failed again…

I collapsed to the grass, wet, trembling, and ruined.

I failed Papa… the only man who ever cared. I failed the man who picked me up when my own mother threw me away.

The soft patter of rain mingled with my sobs.

I was alone.

Just a broken girl with no wolf, no courage, and no future.

Or so I thought.

The tide whispered softly against the pebbled shore as I dipped my line into the water. The breeze carried the scent of salt, pine, and something strangely calming. For the first time in what felt like centuries, my lungs expanded freely. No judgment. No whispers. No mocking eyes. Just me… and the fish that weren’t biting.

A week had passed since I ran away like a coward from the tournament. A whole week of avoiding Papa’s calls, of crying under the stars, of eating barely enough to stay conscious. I built this tiny shelter by the beach—my own little tented world—where I could pretend for a second that I wasn’t a disgrace. That I hadn’t failed the only man who believed in me. That I wasn’t the joke of Ember Pack.

My fingers toyed with the smooth reel of the fishing line, but my eyes remained fixed on the horizon. I hated the silence.

Aliyah’s POV

It gave room for the guilt to crawl back in. Every time I closed my eyes, I heard Cohen’s laughter echoing in my head.

“Better back off now… or you’ll lose your face very badly.”

I had believed him. Worse, I had let him convince me that I didn’t belong. That I would never be enough.

Until I heard the growl of a bike engine cutting through the wind.

I froze, heart thumping. No one came here—this was well beyond the border of Ember Pack. I chose this place because I wanted to disappear.

The engine cut off.

Boots hit gravel.

And then he appeared.

Asher Moretti.

Black boots. Dark jeans. A leather jacket clinging to muscles like it was custom-made for danger. His hair was damp from the drizzle, and the moment our eyes met, my breath hitched.

Of all the people to find me...

"I was just passing through," he said casually, as if the sight of me didn't surprise him. "Thought I’d stop for some water."

I blinked, gripping the fishing rod like it was a weapon. “This beach is a long detour from any road.”

His lips twitched. “I take long detours.”

That voice. Calm, deep, smooth like smoke. I hated that it stirred something inside me. I hated that it reminded me of things I swore I’d buried.

“Water’s in that blue bottle,” I said stiffly, gesturing toward my tent.

He picked it up, drank, and then—without asking—settled beside me on the large flat rock I had claimed as my own.

I shifted. “What are you doing?”

“Watching the waves. Sitting. Breathing.”

I stared at him.

He stared right back.

This was insane. Asher Moretti wasn’t just the president of the most elite biking club in Ember Pack—he was untouchable. Dangerous. Mysterious. And worst of all... Cohen’s friend.

“Why did you run from the tournament?” he asked suddenly.

My heart dropped.

I turned my face toward the ocean, pretending not to hear him. “That’s none of your business.”

“You trained hard,” he said, ignoring my deflection. “I watched some of your sessions. You were improving. Why run now?”

I was quiet. My fingers trembled slightly. “Because Cohen said I would embarrass myself.”

Silence.

Then a sigh. “Do you always do what he says?”

That question hit harder than it should have. My throat tightened. “I didn’t want to disappoint my father.”

“And you think disappearing for a week without a word helped?”

His words weren’t cruel. They were honest.

I didn’t know why that made them worse.

A lump formed in my throat. “You don’t understand…”

“Try me.”

I looked at him then, really looked. His eyes weren’t mocking or cold. They were... tired.

“I ran because I was afraid,” I admitted. “Afraid of failing, of them laughing again. Of being the Omega everyone expects to fall.”

He didn’t say anything for a while. Just watched the water like it held secrets only he could read.

“I haven’t been sleeping,” he said finally.

I blinked. “What?”

“Since that night... the tournament. Since you ran. I kept wondering why. I thought maybe I’d see you in town, or you'd send a message, or... something. But I didn’t. So I took a road trip, and ended up here.”

My brows furrowed. “You have insomnia? You?”

He smiled faintly, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “Funny, right? The great Asher Moretti, feared by many, tormented by sleep.”

I chuckled awkwardly. “Your club’s out there, living it up, and you’re... brooding?”

He shrugged. “They don’t know half of what I carry.”

That confession hung in the air, weighted and real. I had no idea who this version of Asher was. Vulnerable. Candid. And... kind.

A fat drop of rain landed on my cheek.

Then another.

“Looks like a storm,” I said, standing. “Come on. Into the tent.”

He followed me in, and we both ducked beneath the flap. The space was tight, just big enough for one person to lie down and another to maybe sit curled at the corner. I scrambled to get a dry cloth, my back brushing against him—

—and then my foot slipped.

“Ahh!”

In a split second, I landed directly on him. Chest to chest, our faces inches apart. My palm braced against the mat beside his shoulder, and the scent of leather and rain filled my lungs.

Oh goddess.

He was warm. Too warm.

I looked down at him.

That jawline. Those lashes. The shadow of a scar on his neck.

I never realized Asher Moretti was this... ridiculously handsome. No, not just handsome—magnetic. Intense. Breathtaking.

Then my stomach twisted.

The nausea hit without warning.

I scrambled up, hand to my mouth, and stumbled outside the tent just in time to vomit.

Asher rushed out, confused. “Aliyah? Are you—”

“I’m fine,” I croaked.

But I wasn’t. I hadn’t eaten anything weird. Nothing except dry crackers and tea. And yet...

A sharp memory slammed into me.

That night. The heat. The fire. The desperate way we clung to each other.

No. It can’t be...

Hands shaking, I ran back into the tent and fished out my pouch. The small strip was still in there. The one I had bought three days ago but never dared to use.

I stared at it for a long time.

Then I went outside. The rain had stopped.

I used the strip.

Waited.

One line appeared.

Then another.

Clear. Bold. Undeniable.

Pregnant.

I collapsed to my knees.

Tears slipped down my cheeks as the ocean roared quietly in the distance.

“I’m pregnant…”

With Asher Moretti’s child.