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Alpha’s Regret After He Proposed to a Fake Heiress Novel Cover

Alpha’s Regret After He Proposed to a Fake Heiress

Hidden for eight years, the protagonist expects Alpha Adrian Grant to finally claim her. Instead, he proposes to Vivian, a girl her family once pitied. After a rogue ambush causes her to lose her unborn child, Adrian ignores her pleas for help to comfort the fake heiress. Heartbroken and betrayed, she reveals her true identity as the powerful Oceanridge Pack’s sole heir. Returning home to accept an arranged mating, she demands Vivian’s exile and the total financial ruin of Adrian’s pack.
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Chapter 6

Four days until the celebration.

After wrapping up the handover, I went home and packed everything that was mine into a suitcase. Every gift he'd ever given me, every photo we'd taken together—I threw it all into the yard and set it on fire.

The flames roared skyward. Every memory of us turned to ash, dissolving into nothing. Just like what we'd had. In the end, there was nothing left.

The house felt empty. I looked around the bare rooms and felt something in me go quiet.

Late that night, Adrian slipped into my room carrying his usual cloud of perfume. The mattress dipped beside me, and his low voice came from above.

"Serena, I know you're awake. I know you're angry, but will you please just hear me out?"

I kept my eyes shut and said nothing.

He had the nerve to sound hurt. "You know everything I've done has been for the pack. There's a huge project about to break ground but we don't have the funding. As Alpha, the pressure is crushing me. This was my only option."

"On one hand, my pack. On the other, the woman I love. I had to sacrifice personal happiness for the greater good. I didn't have a choice."

He went on and on about how hard things were for him, then pivoted to how deeply he loved me. It was quite the performance. Would've been convincing too, if not for the fresh marks Vivian had left on his neck.

When I still didn't respond, he sighed, left something on the nightstand, and walked out.

Once his footsteps faded, I sat up. A small box—inside, an expensive necklace. This was his pattern. Throw money at everything and assume it would fix things. He never understood that I'd never wanted his money. All I'd ever wanted was his heart.

I tossed the necklace in the trash.

The next morning, he came downstairs to find breakfast already on the table—my plate empty, his untouched. His brow furrowed. I'd always waited for him before eating.

He chalked it up to yesterday's fight, laughed it off, and came up behind me for an embrace. I tilted away. His arms hung in the air, then dropped. Unease crept into his eyes.

He recovered quickly, flashing a grin. "Still upset? I explained everything last night, didn't I?"

"I'm only getting close to her for business. Please don't be angry."

"Okay," I said flatly, without looking up.

My calm unnerved him. He'd expected tears, a fight, drama. Not this. Not indifference.

It should have been a good thing, so why did his heart feel so uneasy?

After a long silence, he seemed to wrestle with something, then spoke. "There's an important reception at the pack shrine tomorrow. Come with me."

My pulse jumped. It was the first time he'd ever invited me to appear in public. I started to speak, but he cut me off.

"Everyone thinks Vivian is my mate now, so when you get there, could you maybe... keep your distance? So no one figures out—"

He trailed off, but the meaning was clear.

I agreed anyway. Not for him. Because I'd left something at that shrine—something I needed to get back. Adrian and I had once buried a prayer charm beneath the tree there, promising to dig it up on the day of our mating ceremony.

That day was never coming.

He smiled and kissed my forehead. That night, he didn't come home—"pack business," he said. But Vivian's feed updated again. Adrian with his head pressed to her belly, her hand holding a medical report.

No caption needed. The message was loud and clear.

My grip on the phone turned my knuckles white. They were having a baby. And mine? My baby hadn't even had the chance to form, to see the world—and had died in agony. I'd buried that child with my own hands. I couldn't even put a name on the headstone. And the father was out celebrating a new baby with another woman.

The grief swallowed me whole. I sank to the floor, covered my face, and wept—not just for the child I'd lost, but for eight wasted years.

When the tears stopped, I dried my face. Eight years to see someone for who they really were. At least I saw it.

After today, I would never cry for anyone again.

I went to the shrine, but the guards stopped me at the entrance.

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