After My Alpha Took My Daughter to His Mistress

The surveillance footage played on a loop in the secure room of the Bradley estate. Jackson's face was haggard, his once-immaculate appearance now disheveled as he paced outside a dingy warehouse in Queens.

"He's desperate," Marcus Chen observed, his voice clinical as he zoomed in on the screen. "Look at his aura—it's unstable. The Northern Ridge Pack has officially disowned him."

I hugged myself tighter, watching the man who had once been my world now reduced to a cornered animal. "What's he planning?"

"Something stupid," my father answered, his voice heavy with concern. "Something that will get him killed."

On screen, Jackson met with two men—their movements too fluid, too predatory to be human. Rogues. Werewolves without pack allegiance, mercenaries for hire.

"He can't get to you here," Elliot assured me, his hand warm on my shoulder. "The estate's security is impenetrable."

But even as he spoke, I felt a chill run down my spine. Jackson knew he couldn't reach me—but he knew exactly how to hurt me.

---

Hattie stood before a Monet, her face illuminated by the soft gallery lighting. "I could spend hours here," she sighed, her artist's eyes drinking in every brushstroke.

I watched her from across the room, my heart swelling with pride and fear in equal measure. The Chelsea gallery was small but prestigious—a perfect opportunity for Hattie to explore potential venues for her own work.

"Ms. Bradley," one of the bodyguards murmured, nodding toward the entrance. "We should move to the next section."

Hattie rolled her eyes. "I'm not a prisoner, Ryan. I just want to enjoy this."

"Of course," I conceded, though every instinct screamed to keep her close. "Just... stay where I can see you."

She smiled, already drifting toward another exhibit. "I'm eighteen, Mom. Not a child."

The gallery was busier than I'd anticipated—a small crowd had gathered around a new exhibition opening. Perfect cover for someone who wanted to blend in.

I checked my watch. We'd been here forty minutes. Just twenty more, then we'd leave.

That's when I smelled it—smoke.

"Fire alarm!" someone shouted from the lobby. "Everyone out!"

Panic erupted instantly. People rushed toward the exits, pushing and shouting. I lunged for Hattie, but bodies separated us.

"Hattie!" I screamed over the chaos.

Ryan and his partner fought against the crowd, trying to reach us. Through the press of bodies, I caught a glimpse of Jackson—his eyes wild with triumph as he moved against the flow of fleeing patrons.

"Mom!" Hattie's voice cut through the noise, tinged with fear.

I pushed harder, desperate to reach her. Then I saw him—Jackson reaching for my daughter.

"No!" The scream tore from my throat as I watched him clap something over Hattie's mouth. Her struggles weakened almost instantly.

Ryan shouted something into his radio as he fought toward them, but Jackson was already dragging my limp daughter toward a service exit.

By the time security cameras captured the van speeding away, Hattie was gone.

---

"Answer it," my father commanded, his face ashen as my phone rang.

Jackson's name flashed on the screen. My hands trembled so violently I nearly dropped it.

"Put it on speaker," Elliot instructed, already recording.

I pressed the button. "Jackson."

"Adele." His voice was eerily calm. "Miss me?"

"Where is she?" I demanded, my voice breaking. "What have you done with Hattie?"

A rustling sound, then—"Mom?"

Hattie's voice, groggy and terrified, sent ice through my veins.

"Baby, are you hurt? Where are you?"

"Shut up," Jackson snapped, and I heard a cry of pain that made my knees buckle.

"Three seconds," he said coldly. "That's all you get."

More rustling, then Jackson was back. "Here's what's going to happen. You're going to drop every lawsuit. Every charge. You're going to transfer fifty million dollars to an account I'll specify. And you—" his voice dropped to a venomous whisper, "—are going to come to me. Alone."

"If you don't," he continued, "I'll reject her as my daughter. Violently. No one wants a rogue wolf, Adele. Especially one who's been marked by her own father."

The line went dead.

I collapsed, my legs giving out beneath me. My father caught me before I hit the floor.

"We'll get her back," he promised, his voice steel wrapped in silk. "We'll get her back."

---

"Marcus," my father barked into his phone. "Track the signal."

Marcus Chen's voice came through crisp and professional. "Already on it, sir. The necklace Prince Elliot gave Ms. Hattie has a tracking device built in."

I grabbed the phone. "Where is she?"

"Industrial district in Queens," Marcus replied. "Abandoned warehouse complex. We're mobilizing now."

"I'm coming with you," I declared, already moving toward the door.

My father blocked my path. "Adelaide—"

"No." Something shifted inside me—my wolf rising, golden eyes flashing in my human form. "I'm done being the victim."

Elliot handed me a small earpiece. "Stay connected to us. But promise me—" his eyes held mine, "—don't engage until backup arrives."

I nodded, feeling power coursing through me that I'd forgotten I possessed.

The Luna of the Bradley pack was waking up. And she was ready to tear apart anyone who threatened her cub.