Pregnant by the Alpha Who Never Knew My Name

"Are you trying to talk me out of this?" I asked, staring at his large, bare hand resting lightly on my waist.

"I am offering you an exit," he replied. His voice stayed low and steady in the quiet hallway. "Once we cross this threshold, I will not hold back."

"I didn't ask you to hold back," I said.

"You are angry," he pointed out. "Anger makes people reckless."

"I spent three years being careful," I countered, stepping closer to him. "Careful got me publicly dumped for a political promotion. I want reckless."

"Reckless has consequences."

"Not if we never see each other again." I reached out and wrapped my fingers around his. "Are you opening this door, or should I go find a dive bar?"

A faint smirk touched his lips. "I prefer you stay right here."

He didn't pull me inside. He stood motionless, allowing me to take the lead. I squeezed his hand, pushed the oak door open, and stepped inside the glass penthouse.

He followed, and the lock clicked shut behind us.

Eight hours later, the morning sun blinded me through the floor-to-ceiling windows.

I squinted against the glare, rolling over on the massive mattress. The sheets were hopelessly tangled. The left side of the bed was empty, the mattress cool to the touch.

I sat up, dragging a hand through my messy hair. The scent of cedar and expensive bourbon had already vanished from the pillows.

On the glass nightstand, a piece of hotel stationery sat pinned beneath a jagged black stone.

I picked up the thick paper.

After last night, we owe each other nothing.

The handwriting was angular, aggressive, and unapologetic.

I set the note down and examined the stone. It was an obsidian cufflink. The silver backing had snapped cleanly off, leaving just the polished black rock.

"Perfect," I said to the empty room. "what I wanted."

I grabbed my clearance-rack dress from the armchair, slipped it over my head, and shoved the broken cufflink deep into my pocket.

I stepped out of the penthouse and nearly collided with a housekeeper pushing a linen cart.

"Oh, excuse me, miss," the older woman gasped.

"My fault," I said.

She eyed my wrinkled evening gown. "Do you need me to call a cab for you?"

"No, thank you. I'm going to walk."

"Are you sure? It's awfully cold out there this morning."

"The cold will wake me up," I assured her.

The elevator ride down to the lobby felt twice as long as the trip up.

I bypassed the front desk and walked straight into the main ballroom. The Black Moon Charity Ball was now a graveyard of overturned chairs and swept-up confetti.

"Watch your step," a worker carrying a metal ladder snapped, cutting across my path.

"My apologies," I said, sidestepping toward the melting ice sculpture.

"Turn up the volume!" a man in a hotel manager's suit shouted, waving frantically at an AV technician. "Alpha Vale is about to speak."

"I'm trying," the tech yelled back, aggressively tapping a keyboard. "The audio feed is lagging."

"Just fix it. The owner wants this broadcast playing in every lobby."

A massive digital display dominated the far wall. The screen flickered, revealing a live feed from the city's downtown press center.

I stopped walking.

On the screen, a man in a tailored charcoal suit stood behind a wooden podium. The broad shoulders. The commanding posture. The black molded wolf mask still covering the upper half of his face.

He reached up, grabbed the edge of the mask, and pulled it away.

"Ladies and gentlemen," the press coordinator announced over the ballroom speakers. "Please welcome the Alpha of the Greyhaven pack, Lucian Vale."

My stomach dropped.

Lucian's face was striking—high, aristocratic cheekbones, piercing dark eyes, and a jawline that looked carved from granite. He stared out at the flashing cameras with absolute indifference.

"Is that the guy from last night?" a waitress whispered, stopping her broom a few feet away from me.

"Yeah," another cleaning staff member replied. "I heard he rented the penthouse suite."

My fingers curled tightly into fists inside my pockets. The jagged edge of the obsidian stone bit into my skin.

A stunning silver-blonde stepped into the frame. She wore a pristine white designer suit, her smile radiant and practiced. She slid her hand seamlessly into the crook of Lucian's elbow.

The exact spot my hand had occupied hours ago.

She leaned into his side, projecting the perfect image of a devoted mate. Lucian didn't pull away. He stood like a statue, accepting her touch as a necessary transaction.

"I am Celeste Thorne," she said smoothly into the microphone. "And we are thrilled to announce that the Greyhaven pack will officially merge with my family's territory."

The room full of journalists erupted into overlapping shouts. Camera flashes strobed across the screen, mimicking the chaos I had endured last night.

"Lucian and I will hold our political wedding within ninety days," Celeste continued, her voice cutting through the noise.

A bitter laugh scraped the back of my throat.

Just hours ago, Nolan had humiliated me on a stage like that one, tossing me aside for a high-society blonde who could secure his appointment. Now, the stranger who had shielded me from the fallout was standing on his own stage, announcing his own strategic alliance.

"Another Alpha, another political arrangement," I muttered under my breath. "Humans are just the collateral damage."

"Did you say something, miss?" the waitress asked, looking over at me.

"Just talking to myself," I replied.

Wolves and their politics. Humans were nothing more than temporary distractions. We were the secrets they kept in the dark, the playthings they discarded before sunrise.

"Three months," the waitress whistled softly. "That's a fast wedding."

"It's all business," the other worker replied, leaning on her mop. "Alphas don't marry for love. They marry for land."

I turned away from the screen, ready to walk out the glass doors and leave this entire world behind.

"Mr. Vale!" a journalist shouted on the broadcast, his voice exceptionally loud. "Will this union affect the northern border disputes?"

I paused, glancing back over my shoulder.

"I will answer three questions," Lucian's voice echoed through the empty ballroom.

The low, gravelly timbre vibrated through the floorboards, exactly as it had on the balcony last night.

He leaned forward to adjust the metal microphone stand.

As he raised his left hand, his dark eyes lifted from the crowd and pierced straight through the camera lens.

The crisp white cuff of his shirt slid back, revealing an empty buttonhole where a black obsidian cufflink should have been.