Betrayed By My Alpha; Claimed By His Uncle

The doctor is looking at me with so much pity. I hate it. I can't bear it.

"Mrs. Blackwood, I'm so sorry." Her voice is so gentle, and it makes me want to scream. "Your baby boy didn't survive. We need to induce labor as soon as possible."

I bite down on my lower lip until I taste blood—oh goddess.

My hand moves to my swollen stomach, and I press hard on it, hoping for anything…any sign this was just a nightmare…

But nothing happened. 

Goddess, he'd kicked just yesterday morning. The kicks were strong and insistent against my ribs as if he was trying to tell me something.

If only I’d listened, maybe my baby would have survived…

"We'll need Alpha Noah's signature for the procedure," Dr. Storrie says, glancing at her tablet. "Has he arrived yet?"

A bitter laugh chokes up in my throat, and I clench my fingers into fists until my nails dig into my palm. Pain lit up on the spots where my nails cut my skin, but it’s nothing compared to the vortex of agony in my heart.

"He won't come," I whisper, my voice sounding like it's coming from someone else. "I'll sign it myself."

The doctor’s eyebrows knit together. "Ivy, I really think—"

"I said I'll sign it myself," I yell out this time, and she flinches hard.

She holds my gaze for a long time and then pity flashes across her expression. 

The pity in her eyes felt like a hot knife searing into my heart. I need her to stop looking at me with it.

Nodding slowly, she finally leaves to prepare the paperwork.

I close my eyes, and I'm back at the party. It's been three days since it happened, and yet it feels like a lifetime ago.

We were at the Spring Equinox Gala, hosted by the Silverwood Pack. Noah had been distracted all evening, his eyes following Amy's slight figure through the crowd as she went to stand by the poolside.

I'd been on the terrace, one hand resting on my belly, when I heard her scream.

Noah moved like lightning, headed to save her as usual, but his shoulder slammed into me as he rushed past. 

I didn’t even register what was happening until it was too late.

One moment I was standing on solid ground, the next I was falling backwards over the railings into the frigid water below, screaming as I tried to grab anything but the air slipping through my fingers.

Finally, I hit the water, and it was so cold that it stole my breath.

I remember sinking, the sound of the party muffling as my heavy, pregnant body dragged me down. I tried to hold my breath, but I was screaming, “I can't swim,” and so the water filled my mouth, choking my lungs. 

I clawed towards the surface, screaming and sobbing until darkness swallowed me whole.

When the guards finally hauled me out, they had to pump my chest fifty-seven times to bring me back.

 Meanwhile, Noah was across the pool, holding a dry Amy in his arms, while I sat alone, cold and coughing up water. 

But that wasn’t the worst part. There was so much blood coming from between my legs. I held the guard’s hands, shaking my head as the tears rolled down my face.

But Noah never even looked in my direction once.

In fact, he got into his car and drove Amy to the hospital for a checkup when she whimpered that she was getting cold.

I didn’t leave the poolside until the paramedics finally arrived, and no one followed me in the ambulance to the hospital. I was all alone, slipping in and out of consciousness while the team worked to save my baby.

Six hours later, Noah finally showed up.

He'd stood in the doorway of my room for maybe thirty seconds,  asking if I was okay. 

I'd nodded, too exhausted to speak, and he'd left. 

That was forty-eight hours ago.

I tried calling and texting since, but he never responded. 

 If not for Amy's social media, I'd be convinced he was dead.

Her I*******m was updated with a post this morning showing an elaborately decorated ballroom, captioned: He really does make dreams come true. My birthday is going to be magical.

Her birthday. He's planning a party after being the one who killed my baby.

My child had been very healthy. Even though Noah starved us of his pheromones by never being around, my baby still grew strong. It was his own father who killed him with his own hands.

The procedure is exactly as horrible as I imagine it will be. They give me an epidural so I don't feel the physical pain, but there's no anesthetic for the heart-wrenching pain of the knowledge that I'm birthing my dead child. 

When he comes out, they ask if I want to hold him. I do. He's small and perfect and dead. I hold him for seven minutes before they take him away.

After that, I complete the discharge paperwork alone and leave.

The house is empty when I return.

I move through the rooms mechanically, seeing them as if for the first time. The nursery I'd decorated in soft greens and grays. The tiny clothes folded in drawers that will never be worn. 

My eyes burn with unshed tears, and I forced myself to blink them back, gasping as the pain tore me apart.

When I can finally breathe again, I close the door and go to my room.

The divorce agreement sits in my bedside drawer, where I've kept it for two weeks now. I printed it the day after Noah gave Amy the wedding that was supposed to be mine. 

I should have signed it sooner…maybe my baby would have lived.

Biting down on my already torn lips, I sign my name at the bottom and let out a quivering breath, swallowing the blood in my mouth

Then I wait.

Midnight comes and goes. One AM. Two.

At 2:47, I heard his key in the lock.

He found me in the living room, sitting in the dark with the divorce agreement on the coffee table in front of me.

"You're still awake?" He sounds annoyed. "Ivy, you need to think about the baby. This kind of stress isn't…"

OUR BABY IS DEAD. I wanted to scream. YOU KILLED HIM. YOU KILLED MY BABY. But instead, the only words that leave me are…

"Reject me." 

The words are so empty and not damning enough. For months, I dreamed about standing up to Noah and saying, “I reject you, Alpha,” to his face. But I couldn’t, because in my world, an ordinary Omega like myself can never reject an Alpha. 

Only he can end this. I am trapped until the higher-ranking wolf agrees to sever our mating bond and set me free.

I slid the divorce papers toward him right then.

However, Noah only stared at me, then at the agreement, his expression shifting from confusion to disbelief.

"What the fuck are you making a fuss about now?" His voice hardened. "Is this still about the party? We already discussed this."

I don't answer because if I open my mouth, I'll scream.

He runs a hand through his hair. "Amy only has six months left to live, Ivy. Six months. Can't you stop being so goddamn petty and just—"

"How long she has left has nothing to do with me." My voice comes out cold. "Why should I endure this?"

"Because we had an agreement!" His eyes flashed gold as he used his Alpha Authority to subdue me. "You said you understood. You said…"

"She wants to relive her first love, so I have to watch you fall in love with her again." I laughed bitterly. "She wants to experience marriage once, so you give her the wedding I spent six months planning. She wants to see the world, so you take her traveling while I sit at home alone, pregnant with your child."

Five years of marriage, and we never had a wedding ceremony. The pack elders opposed our union because I was an orphan omega of unknown bloodline, not good enough for their precious Alpha. Only after I'd proven myself as Luna, after I'd helped drag the Blackwood Pack from obscurity into the top three intercontinental rankings, did they finally agree to acknowledge me publicly.

Six months I'd spent planning that ceremony. Choosing flowers, tasting cakes, and designing invitations. Six months of imagining Noah looking at me the way he used to, before Amy came back with her terminal diagnosis and her dying wishes.

"This is ridiculous," Noah says. "We're not getting divorced over…"

"I've already signed." I gesture to the papers. "All you have to do is add your signature and reject me. Then you can do whatever you want with Amy. I won't stand in your way anymore."

"What about the child?" He leans forward, and I can smell Amy's perfume on his jacket. "You planning to take my heir from me? Is that what this is about?"

The words are there, right on the tip of my tongue. The child is gone. You killed him. Your negligence, your obsession with her, killed our son.

But before I can speak, his phone buzzes.

He glances at it, and his entire demeanor softens.

"Amy's fainted," he says, already turning toward the door. "I have to—"

The door closes behind him before he finishes the sentence.

I sit in the dark for a long time, staring at the unsigned divorce agreement.

Then I pick up my phone and scroll through my contacts until I find the number I've never called but never deleted either.

 I press the dial, and it rings three times before a deep voice answers. "I was wondering when you'd call."

"Do the words you said back then still count?" I ask.

There's a pause, and I can almost hear the smile in Alpha Liam's voice.

"Every single one of them.”