After My Alpha Killed Our Pup, I Stole His Fortune

Pain woke me.

Not the sharp kind—the dull, throbbing ache that meant something inside me was broken beyond repair. My eyelids felt like lead. When I finally forced them open, fluorescent lights burned into my retinas.

The infirmary. White walls. Antiseptic smell. The steady beep of a heart monitor somewhere to my left.

I tried to move, and agony lanced through my ribs. My right arm was in a cast. Bandages wrapped around my head, tight enough to make my skull throb.

But none of that mattered.

My free hand moved to my stomach. Flat. Empty. Wrong.

No flutter. No presence. Just... nothing.

"No," I whispered. My voice came out cracked, broken. "No, no, no—"

The door opened. Dr. Reeves walked in, his white coat pristine, his expression clinical. He'd been the pack doctor for twenty years, delivered half the wolves in the Bloodmoon Pack. I'd always thought he was kind.

His eyes were cold now.

"You're awake." He didn't sit. Didn't come closer. Just stood at the foot of the bed like I was something distasteful. "The crash caused severe internal trauma. We did what we could."

My throat closed. "The baby?"

"Gone." One word. Flat. Final. "The fetus didn't survive the impact. Frankly, Miss Mitchell, it's a miracle you did."

Fetus. Not baby. Not child. Fetus.

The room tilted. I couldn't breathe. Couldn't think past the roaring in my ears.

"You're lying," I gasped. "You have to be lying—"

"I assure you, the miscarriage was complete." He checked his watch like he had somewhere better to be. "You'll be released tomorrow. Try to rest."

He left.

I stared at the ceiling, my hand still pressed to my empty stomach, and felt something crack open inside my chest. Not my heart—that had shattered weeks ago. This was deeper. Darker.

The door opened again.

Bryce stood in the doorway, and for one desperate second, I thought he'd come to mourn with me. To hold me. To tell me he was sorry.

Then I saw his face.

Relief. That's what I saw in his gray eyes. Relief.

"Good," he said, stepping inside. "You're awake."

I couldn't speak. Couldn't move.

He shoved his hands in his pockets, casual, like we were discussing the weather. "The doctor told me. About the... situation."

Situation. Our child was a situation.

"Honestly, Hazel, it's for the best." His voice was light, almost cheerful. "That Rogue spawn would've been a stain on the Knight bloodline. Now we can all move forward."

Rogue spawn.

He thought—he actually believed—

"It was yours," I whispered. My voice shook. "It was your baby, Bryce. Your heir."

"Don't." His expression hardened. "Don't insult me with more lies. Sloane told me everything about your little forest meetings. The money you stole. You're lucky I don't throw you out with the other Rogues."

He turned to leave.

Something inside me snapped.

Heat exploded through my chest, burning away the numbness, the grief, everything. My vision blurred gold at the edges. A voice—not mine, but mine—snarled in my head.

*He killed our pup.*

My wolf. After eighteen years of silence, she was finally awake.

And she was furious.

"Get out," I heard myself say. My voice was different. Deeper. Layered with something primal.

Bryce paused, glancing back. His eyes widened slightly. "Your eyes—"

"Get. Out."

He left quickly, and I was alone with the rage.

The wolf in my head growled, pacing, demanding blood. Demanding justice. But I pushed her down, forced myself to think.

They'd taken everything. My mother. My baby. My dignity.

But they'd made one mistake.

They'd taught me how to do the pack's books.

I waited until midnight. The infirmary was quiet, the night nurse dozing at her station. I slipped out of bed, my body screaming protest, and found my clothes in the corner—torn, bloodstained, but wearable.

The Pack House was dark. Everyone was at the celebration in the main hall—Sloane's victory party for winning the race. I could hear music, laughter, the clink of glasses.

I made my way to Alpha Marcus's office. The door was locked, but I'd watched him enter the code a hundred times while delivering papers.

0-8-1-5. Bryce's birthday.

The lock clicked.

Inside, his computer sat on the massive oak desk. I powered it on, my hands steady despite the pain radiating through my ribs.

The pack's financial system loaded. I knew every password, every account number. I'd been the one entering invoices and payments for months while they treated me like furniture.

I pulled up the main operating account. Seven million dollars. The pack's liquid assets, ready for investments and emergency expenses.

My fingers flew across the keyboard. There was a bylaw—ancient, barely used—about severance for rejected mates. Compensation for the severed bond. It entitled the rejected party to forty percent of the rejecting Alpha's accessible wealth.

Forty percent of seven million was two point eight million dollars.

I created the offshore account in thirty seconds. Routed the transfer through three different banks. Attached the bylaw citation as legal justification.

One click. That's all it took.

The money vanished from the Knight Pack accounts and reappeared in mine.

I sat back, staring at the screen, and felt my wolf's satisfaction rumble through me.

*Good,* she purred. *Now we run.*

I cleared the browser history, shut down the computer, and walked out of the office.

By the time they discovered the theft, I'd be gone.

By the time they realized what I'd done, I'd be someone they couldn't touch.

I was done being the victim.

I was done being weak.

The Omega they'd broken was dead.

And something new—something dangerous—was rising from the ashes.