ICE- The Alpha's Unwanted OMEGA

There wasn’t a shadow of a second heartbeat during my first checkup.

I stared at the ultrasound in my lap, sitting in a daze on a cold bench in the pack clinic’s corridor. Just one week later, and the monitor had shown two distinct sparks of life. The healer told me the odds of a natural twin pregnancy for a shifter were incredibly low.

If I chose to end this now, I might never have this chance again.

I let out a jagged, bitter laugh. This was the handiwork of the Carters’ private specialists. When they had performed the procedure, they hadn't breathed a word about twins. To them, I wasn't a person or a mate—I was just a high-yield vessel for the Silvercrest legacy.

When the spotting started last week, I’d assumed my body was rejecting the link. When the Foster doctors heard, they figured the investment had failed. Once Ethan woke up and demanded a divorce, they hadn't even bothered to look at me again.

The weight of two lives now rested entirely on my shoulders.

My phone vibrated in my pocket. I’d been haunting the clinic for over an hour. I stood up and moved toward the exit, checking the screen. It was my mother.

"Collins, your father is fading! Get to the house now!"

Natalie’s voice was a hoarse, broken wreck. I froze.

Andrew was dying? How? I knew he’d been hospitalized after the Silvercrest Holdings pulled their support and the family business collapsed. He hadn't even been strong enough to attend my forced wedding.

I didn't realize he was at the edge of the abyss. My mind was a storm of conflicting scents. I had a jagged relationship with him; I couldn't forgive the way he’d betrayed my mother with Denise Harper. But hearing he was slipping away made my chest ache with a sudden, sharp grief.

The main hall of the Parker house was a disaster zone when I arrived. Natalie took me straight to the master suite.

Andrew Parker lay against the pillows, his breathing a shallow whistle, his eyes clouded. When he caught my scent, he reached out a trembling hand.

"Dad, why aren't you in the pack infirmary?" I asked, gripping his cold fingers as tears blurred my vision.

"Don't be dense, Collins! Where would we find the credits for a private ward?" Denise Harper snapped from the corner, her voice like ice.

I whipped my head around. "Didn't the Carters pay a fortune for the marriage contract? Why wasn't that used for his care?"

Denise scoffed. "That money went to the creditors before the ink was dry! Do you have any idea how much debt your father racked up trying to keep the franchise afloat? Don't look at me like I stole your inheritance, boy. Besides, his wolf is broken. He's better off crossing the veil!"

She turned on her heel and stormed out, leaving a trail of bitter jasmine scent behind.

I stayed. Despite everything, he was my father. He’d been the one to teach me to skate, and the thought of him being gone forever was a hole in the world.

"Don't listen to her, Dad," I whispered, sniffling as I leaned over the bed. "I really thought you’d pull through..."

Andrew didn't seem to hear me. He looked at me with eyes swimming in tears, his voice a low, broken rasp. "Collins... my son. I failed you... I failed Natalie. I’ll hunt better for both of you in the next life..."

The hand holding mine suddenly went limp.

A howl of pure agony tore through the house. My heart felt like it had been shredded. In the span of a few days, my world had been upended: I was bound to a man who hated me, carrying two cubs I couldn't claim, and now, my father was gone. I felt like a pup pushed into a corner by a blizzard, with no way home.

The funeral was a gray, rain-slicked affair.

Very few wolves attended; the fall of the Parkers had turned us into pariahs. After the service, Denise headed to a nearby lounge with the few remaining "friends." The crowd thinned out like a flock of birds before a storm.

Eventually, it was just me and my mother standing by the fresh earth.

"Do you hate him, Mom?" I asked, staring at the headstone.

Natalie looked down, her voice hollow. "I do. Even now, I can't forgive the betrayal."

I didn't understand. "Then why are you crying?"

"Because the love doesn't just vanish when the hate arrives," she sighed. "It's a love-hate bond, Collins. Shifter hearts are rarely simple."

That night, I dragged my exhausted body back to the Carter fortress. I’d been gone for three days dealing with the arrangements, and not a single soul from the Silvercrest pack had called to check on me. My standing with Ethan was colder than a mid-winter frost.

As I walked into the courtyard, the mansion was ablaze with light. The sound of laughter and clinking crystal drifted from the living room. It was a party.

"Collins!" Patricia Bennett spotted me and rushed over.

She saw my black coat and the hollow look in my eyes, and her smile faltered. "It's pouring. Get inside." She pulled me into the foyer.

I was a ghost in black, my frame looking even thinner in my trench coat. My boots were caked with cemetery mud. I felt entirely out of place in the warmth of the room.

Patricia brought me my house slippers. As I changed, I glanced at the lounge. Ethan’s inner circle was evaluating me like a strange specimen in a cage—disrespectful, bold stares.

I looked directly at Ethan, who sat at the center of the leather sofa. He was wreathed in expensive tobacco smoke, his hard features looking like a dream behind the gray veil.

The reason I stared, though, was the woman draped beside him.

She had long, dark hair and was poured into a white dress that left nothing to the imagination. She was leaning into Ethan’s space, her own cigarette between her fingers. It was clear she was more than just an employee.

She stood up and walked toward me with a provocative smirk. "You must be Collins Parker," she said. "The 'consort' Margaret picked out. She has... interesting taste. You're quite the pretty thing, though a bit small. I'm not talking about your rank, but your... build."

I narrowed my eyes. "You're gorgeous, and clearly you've got the curves the Captain likes. So, when is the wedding?"

The nonchalant bite in my voice sent her into a rage.

"How dare you? Do you know how many seasons I’ve spent at Ethan’s side? I'm Chelsea Tierney. Even if you have the title, if I slapped you right now, he wouldn't even blink!"

She raised her hand.

CRASH.

The sound of shattering glass stopped the music. I had grabbed a thirty-thousand-dollar bottle of vintage wine from the side table and smashed it against the marble. Red liquid sprayed across her white dress and soaked into the expensive carpet.

My eyes were bloodshot, and my knuckles were white as I gripped the jagged neck of the bottle, pointing it at her throat.

"You want to hit me? Try it!" I snarled, my voice vibrating with a grief-fueled rage. "Touch me, and I’ll finish you!"

The room went silent. The "introverted Parker boy" they’d heard about was gone. Standing there was a wolf with nothing left to lose.

Ethan’s amber eyes narrowed as he exhaled a cloud of smoke. He didn't move, his gaze fixed on my trembling, lethal face.

I didn't wait for a reaction. I turned and stormed to my room, slamming the door with a force that rattled the chandeliers.

The guests looked at Ethan, expecting a slaughter. Usually, any noise over a whisper made him snap. That door slam was a sonic boom. But he sat there, calm and composed.

"Damn," someone whispered. "I heard the kid's father died this week. He's coming straight from the burial."

Chelsea, the PR lead for Silvercrest Holdings, was vibrating with humiliation. It was her birthday, and she’d intended to mark her territory. She returned to Ethan’s side, her voice trembling. "I'm sorry, Ethan. I didn't know about his father."

Ethan crushed his cigarette out. He picked up his glass and drained it in one go.

"Happy birthday, Chelsea," he said, his voice deep and smooth.

"Thank you," she whispered.

"One more thing," Ethan added, adjusting his cuffs. His voice carried a razor-edged warning. "Collins Parker isn't a target. Even if he’s just a stray I’m keeping in the kennel, I’m the only one who gets to push him around."

Chelsea paled. "But the divorce... he’ll be nothing to the pack then!"

Ethan’s gaze turned to ice. Even if he's something I no longer want, I won't watch a vulture pick at him.

I sobbed into my pillow until I fell into a heavy sleep. When I woke, my eyes were swollen shut.

I was starving—the kind of hunger that felt like a physical ache in my gut. I threw on a robe and headed for the kitchen, stopping when I saw Ethan’s back in the dining room.

"Breakfast is ready, Collins!" Patricia called out.

I sat as far from him as possible. I was about to reach for a piece of toast when he spoke.

"That bottle of wine was worth thirty thousand credits."

My hand froze. Thirty thousand? For fermented grapes? "Are you sending me a bill?" I muttered.

Ethan glanced at my pale, haggard face. "It's a warning. You break another piece of my property, you’ll pay for it down to the last cent."

My stomach cramp vanished, and I started to eat. I noticed the bacon on my plate and felt a sudden, violent surge of nausea. I pushed the meat to the side, my face turning green.

"Is the food not to your liking?" Patricia asked.

"I'm... I'm sticking to greens lately," I lied.

After breakfast, I prepared to meet my father’s lawyer, Attorney Lucas Grant. As I headed out, Ethan was also departing for the Silvercrest offices.

The morning air was biting. As I walked down the long driveway, the cold wind hit me, and the nausea returned with a vengeance. I doubled over by a stone planter, puking my guts out.

A silver luxury sedan pulled up beside me. The window rolled down, and Ethan’s cold, amber eyes locked onto mine.

I felt my face heat up. Did he know? Could a High Alpha scent a pregnancy this early?

I wiped my mouth and stood tall, glaring at the window. "I think I just ate too much breakfast," I snapped.