I Hid His Heir from My Alpha

Alessandra POV The paper trembled in my hands, the crinkle of the medical sheet sounding like thunder in the silent, oppressive luxury of the Alpha's suite. Positive. Five weeks. I pressed a hand to my flat stomach, a wave of nausea rolling through me. An heir. I was carrying the Stonecrest Pack's future Alpha. For two years, I had been Demetri Hamilton's wife in name, his secret shame in public, and his dutiful bedwarmer in private. A marriage orchestrated by his dying father, a bond he resented with every fiber of his being. But this... this pup could change everything. It was the blessing of the Moon Goddess, proof that our frayed, neglected mate bond was real. The bathroom door opened, steam billowing out, carrying the scent of rain-soaked pine and ozone—him. Demetri walked out, a towel low on his hips, water droplets clinging to the hard planes of his chest. He was breathtaking, a lethal predator carved from marble, and my wolf purred instantly, pathetic in her adoration. "Demetri," I started, my voice trembling. I stepped forward, the paper burning against my palm. "I need to tell you—" He froze. His eyes, usually a stormy grey, glazed over. Mind-link. The air around him grew heavy, the static of a powerful Alpha erecting a mental wall. I was shut out. Again. I watched his jaw tighten, a flicker of urgency crossing his stoic face. The link cut, and he was moving before I could blink, shedding the towel and grabbing his clothes. "I have to go," he stated, his voice devoid of emotion. "Now?" I glanced at the clock. "It's midnight. Demetri, please. Tomorrow is my grandmother's birthday. You promised you might—" "Something came up," he interrupted, buttoning his shirt with sharp, precise movements. He didn't look at me. He never really looked at me. "Go to sleep, Alessandra. Do not wait up." It wasn't a request. The command in his tone, the subtle weight of his Alpha authority, forced my wolf to lower her head in submission. I stood frozen by the bed, the pregnancy report crunched in my fist, watching my husband walk out the door without a backward glance. Sleep was a ghost that refused to haunt me. Two hours later, I sat in the dark, the cold light of my phone illuminating the tears drying on my cheeks. The notification had popped up moments ago. FASHION ICON ISADORA PACHECO RETURNS WITH MYSTERY BILLIONAIRE. My thumb hovered over the screen, shaking. I tapped the article. The photo was grainy, taken outside the private airport terminal, but I would know that silhouette anywhere. The broad shoulders, the commanding stance that screamed power. Demetri. He hadn't left for pack business. He had left to pick her up. The woman he had loved before duty shackled him to me. A desperate, stupid hope flared in my chest. *Maybe it's not what it looks like.* I closed my eyes, reaching for the thin, frayed thread of the mate bond that connected us. Usually, he kept it blocked, a dead line. But tonight, in his distraction, it was open. I pushed a sliver of my consciousness toward him, seeking reassurance, seeking him. *Connect.* The link snapped into place. But instead of Demetri's cool, pine-scented presence, I was slammed with a wall of cloying, sugary emotion. Triumph. Smugness. Possessiveness. It wasn't Demetri's emotion. It was *hers*, bleeding through him, radiating from her proximity to him. It tasted like cheap perfume and poison. *Mine,* the foreign emotion seemed to hiss. I gasped, severing the link as bile rose in my throat. I scrambled off the bed, rushing to the ensuite. I fell to my knees before the black marble toilet, emptying my stomach until my throat burned. My wolf howled in agony, curling into a ball in the back of my mind. Our mate was with another. The pup inside me swirled with restless anxiety, sensing its mother's heartbreak. The next morning, the sun rose over Stonecrest like a mockery. I dressed in my usual grey office attire, masking the dark circles under my eyes with concealer. I was the Alpha's assistant first, his wife second, and his mate... never. I walked down the corridor toward his office, the Healer's report folded into a tiny square in my palm. I had to tell him. Even if he didn't love me, he would love his heir. He had to. The heavy mahogany door was ajar. Voices drifted out. "...your pheromones are chaotic, Alpha," Adan's voice was low, concerned. "You reek of conflict... and her." I stopped, my hand hovering over the wood. "Isadora needed me," Demetri's voice was smooth, unbothered. "She's staying at the Pack House." "And Alessandra?" Adan asked. "She's your mate, Demetri. The bond—" "The bond is a shackle," Demetri scoffed. The sound of glass clinking against a desk followed. "She is a duty I fulfill. Nothing more." "She looks pale lately," Adan pressed, his tone shifting to something softer, almost protective. "She's fragile." A cruel chuckle vibrated through the air, freezing the blood in my veins. "You seem to care for her more than I do," Demetri said, his voice dripping with icy indifference. "Do you want me to give her to you, Adan? Take her. She's of no use to me." The world tilted. The air left my lungs. I looked down at the crumpled paper in my hand—the proof of the life we had created. *Give her to you.* I wasn't his mate. I was a piece of furniture he was tired of looking at. I didn't barge in. I didn't scream. I simply stood there, the paper cutting into my palm, as the last ember of hope in my chest turned to ash.