From Broken Fiancée To Corporate Queen

Ava Clements POV: I grew up as an omega without a father, a constant reminder of my vulnerability in a world that favored strength and bloodlines. My mother, Annabel, and I were a unit, fiercely protective of each other, an island against the currents of judgment and scarcity. We had no other family, just us. Derrick's parents, the Bradfords, had seen me as an unacceptable blight on their lineage, a stained commoner unfit for their heir. Yet, Derrick had chosen me. He had stood against his domineering parents, or so I believed. I thought our love was enough to conquer all. For a brief, intoxicating period, I had felt truly loved, truly cherished, in a way I never thought possible. But the fire of that love had slowly, agonizingly, dwindled to embers. That night, he stayed. I didn't refuse him. I was too numb, too broken. But the lingering scent of Charlotte's perfume on his skin, faint but unmistakable, turned my stomach. It was a tangible reminder of his betrayal, a stench of deceit that clung to him. The next morning, Derrick was annoyingly cheerful. He kissed my forehead, a perfunctory gesture devoid of genuine affection. "Thank you, Ava," he murmured, his voice brimming with false relief. "Thank you for being so understanding. For making this easier. It means the world to me that my two most important women can be so amicable." He left me with empty promises of making it up to me, of buying me a new house, of a future he clearly didn't intend to build with me. After breakfast, he returned my phone. A small victory. He also permitted me supervised walks around the estate. A gilded cage, but a cage nonetheless. The first thing I did was call my mother. Derrick didn't know about Bronson Mays. He didn't know my mother wasn't alone anymore, that we weren't weak and vulnerable. He didn't know I finally had a way out. A plan began to form, a desperate, fragile tendril of hope. The next few months were a strange, uneasy truce. Charlotte flaunted her private nutritionist and personal trainer, her every move designed to highlight my lack of such privileges. I ignored her, my gaze fixed on a different horizon. Then, at eight months pregnant, Charlotte had a scare. A complication, the doctors said. They recommended a specialized hospital, far away. Derrick, panicked, immediately began packing. He was leaving. Again. I curled up in the corner of my small bedroom, my hands instinctively going to my own swollen belly. A wave of dizziness washed over me. I felt impossibly weak. My wolf soul, usually a fierce protector, whimpered deep inside me. 'He's leaving again, Ava,' it mourned, a raw, aching sound. 'He's breaking our bond. We might not survive this time.' 'I have to,' I whispered back, a fierce denial. 'I'll survive. We'll survive. We always do.' Derrick paused at the doorway, a fleeting glance thrown my way. His face was etched with fatigue, but also a flicker of genuine concern. "Ava? Are you alright?" he asked, his voice strained. I didn't answer. I wouldn't show weakness. Not to him. "I'll be back before the baby arrives, I promise," he said, his voice softer now. "Charlotte's situation is urgent. But I'll be back, and then I'll be here for you, all day, every day." I wanted to stand up, to scream at him. To tell him I needed him. To tell him our baby needed him. But my pride held me captive. I forced a brittle smile and nodded. He looked surprised, perhaps expecting a fight. He hesitated, a flicker of uncertainty in his eyes. "Derrick! We need to go!" Charlotte's shrill voice cut through the air. He slowly tore his gaze from mine, a look of unbearable conflict on his face. He turned to leave, but then, inexplicably, he rushed back. He pulled me into a fierce hug, his arms crushing me against his chest. His voice was frantic, more uncertain than I'd ever heard it. "I'm not going, Ava," he whispered, his breath warm against my ear. "I'm staying. I'll send my beta with Charlotte. I'll stay here and take care of you." My heart pounded, a frantic drum against my ribs. A foolish, dangerous hope surged through me. He was choosing me. He was choosing us. But then, the cold, hard truth slammed into me. He didn't deserve my pity. He didn't deserve my love. "No, Derrick," I murmured, my voice barely audible. "Go with her. If anything happens to her child, you'll regret it for the rest of your life." My true reason, selfish and cold, remained unspoken. I couldn't bear the thought of him blaming me, of that lingering resentment turning to hatred. He slowly released me, his eyes searching mine for an explanation. I gave him none. He turned and walked towards Charlotte. As he was about to get into the car, one of the maids, an older woman who had always been kind to me, called out to him. "Alpha Derrick, please," she pleaded, her voice trembling. "Let Ava move back into her old room. This guesthouse is damp, it's not good for her or the baby." Before Derrick could answer, Charlotte leaned out of the car window, her voice sharp and petulant. "No! She's not moving back," she snapped. "That room is mine now. I'll be back soon, and I'll need it." "It's alright, Derrick," I said, my voice flat. "I don't need to move." A warm, relieved smile instantly spread across his face. He actually looked grateful. "Thank you, Ava," he said, his voice soft. "I promise, when I get back, I'll buy us a brand new house. A real home, just for us. I'm so sorry for everything I've put you through." He got into the car, and with a final wave, drove away with Charlotte, leaving me utterly alone.