Rejected by the Alpha: Carrying His Secret Heir

Arla POV:

The city lights smeared across the windshield, a chaotic blur of neon that mirrored the storm in my mind. I drove back to the Holden estate on autopilot, the woman's soft voice echoing in my ears. Young. Sweet. Everything I wasn't.

I told myself it was probably just a friend, but I knew full well that Bryce had never had any close female friends in all the years I'd known him. And I was still dwelling on his lie. He deserved a chance to explain. I needed him to explain.

I parked the car in front of the sprawling, silent mansion and took a deep breath, trying to steady the tremor in my hands.

Maria, the head housekeeper, met me in the grand, empty foyer. Her expression was carefully neutral. "Luna. Alpha Holden has returned. He is waiting for you in the study."

My heart sank. Not our bedroom. The study. The place where he signed deals and made decisions, the room stripped of all emotion.

I climbed the sweeping staircase, my steps silent on the thick runner. The heavy oak door to the study was closed, a formidable barrier. I hesitated for only a second before pushing it open.

Bryce stood with his back to me, a tall silhouette against the floor-to-ceiling window that overlooked the darkened estate. Even from behind, he radiated an aura of untouchable authority.

He turned at the sound of the door. His eyes, held none of the warmth I had foolishly hoped for. There was only a vast, chilling indifference.

"You're back," I said. My voice was hoarse. I tried to smile, but my lips felt stiff.

He didn't return the greeting. He walked to his massive mahogany desk, picked up a file, and held it out to me.

Confused, I took it. The cover was blank. I opened it.

The words at the top of the page were stark and brutal. DIVORCE AGREEMENT. The cold, printed letters seemed to burn into my retinas.

My head snapped up. The blood drained from my face. "What... what is this?"

His expression didn't flicker. His voice was flat, devoid of any emotion, as if he were discussing a quarterly report. "It's exactly what it says, Arla. We're getting a divorce. Sign it. The terms are generous. You'll be well compensated for your time."

The world tilted on its axis. I stumbled back, my hand finding the edge of a bookshelf, saving me from collapsing. I looked at the man I had loved for three years, and for the first time, I saw a complete and utter stranger.

"Why?" The word was a shattered whisper. "I don't understand. I thought... I thought we were okay."

I thought of the baby. I thought of the joy I had carried all day, now curdled into a sickening lump of despair. The sheer absurdity of it all was suffocating.

A flicker of something—impatience, maybe—crossed his face. "We were never 'okay,' Arla. This was a union based on mutual family interests. Those interests have been served. It's time for it to end."

His voice then dropped, becoming cold and formal, a pronouncement that echoed with the weight of pack law.

"I, Bryce Holden, Alpha of Blackwood Pack, reject you, Arla Osborn, as my mate and Luna."

His words were a scalpel, expertly slicing through three years of my self-deception.

"Did you never love me, Bryce?" I gripped the edge of the table to keep myself from fainting.

"There has never been genuine love between us, Arla," he said, a faint frown creasing his brow. "... When your father died, you were taken into our household. I have always seen you as a younger sister."

How ridiculous.

"Sister." One simple word, and it put an end to three years of our marriage. The days we spent together, the nights we shared a bed, even this child growing inside me—all of it meant nothing, erased by his single word: "sister."

My vision blurred as my gaze fell on the calendar on his desk. The date was circled in red ink. I had been so thrilled about the pregnancy that I had completely forgotten this. Today was also our third wedding anniversary.

And he had chosen today. He even picked our anniversary to give me the divorce papers.

A wave of grief and humiliation so profound it stole my breath washed over me. Tears welled, hot and stinging. I spun around, needing to escape, to breathe.

I choked down the nausea as I reeled backward, almost losing my footing. His hand shot out and grabbed my wrist just in time to stop me from falling. His grip was like iron, his skin radiating a familiar, searing heat. A jolt, like an electric current, shot up my arm. The undeniable, infuriating pull of the mate bond.

"You're really pale. Are you feeling okay?"