The Alpha's Secret Heir: The Ward's Revenge のすべてのチャプター: チャプター 41 - チャプター 50

Cora’s POV The formal invitation sat on the edge of my new desk in the Administrative Archive like a venomous insect. It was thick, cream-colored cardstock embossed with the silver wolf crest of the Vane lineage, but the elegant calligraphy at the center belonged entirely to Elara. *A Celebration of Border Solidarity,* it read. *To honor the enduring alliance between the Silver Moon and the Iron Ridge.* And at the very bottom, written in sharp, heavy strokes: *Attendance mandatory for all high-ranking department heads. Formal attire required.* I leaned back in my chair, pressing my fingers to the bridge of my nose. The air in the deep stone vaults of the archive was cool and smelled of old paper and dust—a welcome relief from the suffocating tension of the upper floors. For the last four hours, I had buried myself in the records of the last ten years, trying to map out how to protect the pack’s children with only seventy percent of the budget I had been promised. But the invit

Cora’s POV "How old did you say he was?" Silas’s voice wasn't loud, but it possessed a low, gravelly vibration that seemed to pull the oxygen directly out of the corridor. His silver eyes were pinned to mine, burning with a sudden, suffocating intensity that made my heart hammer a frantic, painful rhythm against my ribs. He wasn't looking at me anymore. He was looking past my shoulder at Leo, who was still entirely focused on his plush wolf, completely oblivious to the tectonic shift happening in the room. I forced my hands to stay steady, clenching them into fists at my sides to hide the sudden tremor. I didn't spin a massive, desperate lie. I didn't dive into old stories about the city or try to manufacture an alibi to throw him off. I knew Silas too well; a long-winded explanation would taste like guilt to a trained hunter. I had to keep my voice ice-cold, sharp, and smooth. "He's three, Silas." The silence stretched between us, thick and heavy with the scent of rain,

Silas’s POV My knees hit the blood-slicked hardwood, the impact vibrating through my bones, but I couldn’t feel it. I couldn’t feel anything. The entire universe had shrunk down to the space of a few feet, trapped between the broken, bleeding body of the only woman I had ever loved and the little boy standing protectively over her, his eyes blazing with the luminescent, blinding silver of my own bloodline. A Vane. The True Heir. Hiding in plain sight, masked by amber drops and a mother’s desperate lies. The shock was a physical parasite, freezing the air in my lungs, paralyzing my vocal cords. I couldn’t register the math. I couldn’t process the five years of grief, the faked clinic fire, or the recent, altered DNA test. All I could see was the royal fire in the boy’s gaze, a genetic mirror so absolute it shattered every denial I had ever manufactured. “Alpha King!” My beta, Cassian, shattered through the broken balcony frame behind me, his boots crunching on the glass shar

Silas’s POV The beast inside me had stopped roaring. It had hardened into something far more dangerous: absolute, unyielding calculation. I stood before the floor-to-ceiling reinforced glass windows of the newly renovated master suite in the Royal Wing, my hands clasped loosely behind my back. Outside, the morning sun was just cresting over the jagged peaks of the Silver Moon mountains, casting a cold, crisp light over the sprawling courtyard below. Yesterday, this room had been an empty, heavily fortified vault used only during high-level pack emergencies. Overnight, I had commanded a small army of omegas to tear it apart and rebuild it. Now, it was a sanctuary of staggering luxury. The floors were covered in thick, plush white carpets that swallowed the sound of footprints. The massive king-sized bed was draped in the finest cream silks, surrounded by vases of rare, sweet-smelling northern lilies meant to mask the lingering scent of copper. It was flawless. It was magnificen

Cora’s POV The silk sheets felt like shackles. I sat propped up against a mountain of goose-down pillows, my uninjured hand tightly gripping the edge of the cream-colored duvet. My back and shoulder were still stiff, encased in a tight corset of medical bandages, but the blinding, white-hot agony from two days ago had settled into a dull, throb. The pack-doctors’ sedatives were wearing off, and with the returning clarity came a suffocating, clawing restlessness. Silas had built me a beautiful tomb. The air in the massive royal suite was perfectly climate-controlled, the scent of fresh lilies drifted from the marble countertops, and a tray of untouched, gourmet food sat on a silver cart by the door. But the heavy mahogany door remained locked from the outside. The reinforced glass windows didn’t budge. I was a phantom in his palace, kept alive but entirely stripped of my agency. Then, a sound drifted through the adjoining wall, cutting through the sterile silence. The hea