Alpha, I’m Leaving. You’ll Regret This

After that, I ran out into the chaos, coughing, my chest tight, and found a battered phone booth at the roadside. My hands shook when I dialed the number I’d been holding onto for years.

“Alaric… do you still mean it?” I whispered, my voice trembling. “That I can come back to the pack anytime within five years?”

There was a pause, and then that deep, low, cello-like voice rolled through the receiver. “Of course, my beloved Arianne. Every northern wolf in the pack has been waiting for you. They’re all asking when their favorite she-wolf is coming home.”

I pressed the receiver harder to my ear, trying to steady my voice. “But my… my identity. The paperwork. It takes three days to sort. And I can’t exactly cross state lines quietly. Drake… he won’t let me leave, I know him.”

His voice softened, “How do you plan to leave New York without him noticing? You know him, Chloe. Drake is territorial. Possessive. He’d know the moment you stepped a foot outside the glass house gates.”

I swallowed hard. “Then… I’ll make sure he only gets my corpse.” The words felt hollow, but at least they burned with the truth. If he could let Chiara pretend to be me, then I could vanish from his life entirely.

And then it happened. Warm, large hands wrapped around my waist, pressing me tight against someone. My breath caught.

“Wife,” Drake’s voice trembled as he buried his head in my shoulder. “Thank God! Thank God you’re alive. If anything had happened to you… I wouldn’t even want to live. I… I can’t—”

I froze, my mind screaming at me to push him off, to run, but I couldn’t.

“Luna, the fire. Are you okay?” Kieran’s voice cut in, tense and urgent. “Alpha went in after you. You couldn’t see, and he insisted on risking himself. That chandelier—if it fell, it would have—”

“Kieran, stop!” Drake growled, a low rumble that made my chest ache. “She’s safe. That’s all that matters. I don’t care about the chandelier, I don’t care about anything else.”

I could feel the weight of him on me, and the smoke stung his eyes, his skin smelled like ash, his clothes were torn, burned in places. I gasped, my heart pounding, and I hated him for it. I hated that he’d risk his life for me when he’d let Chiara live in my place.

And then I saw her. Chiara. She stepped out from the smoke, pristine in white, pulling her suitcase, elegant and deliberate. My stomach twisted.

“Alpha Thornhill,” she said softly. Her voice calm, almost mocking.

Drake stiffened, then let go of me reluctantly. He smoothed his hair and turned to her. “Honey… a business partner’s here. Just um, wait a second.”

He stepped toward her, took her hands in his, and signed with careful, deliberate motions. “Chiara, why did you come alone? Didn’t I say I’d come tonight to stay with you and the pups? I wanted to be here with you, to make sure you were safe.”

Chiara’s hands moved in response, her sign language precise, full of tension. “I missed you, Drake. I wanted to come and make things right… to atone for what I’ve done to Chloe. I… I know I’ve wronged her, and I wanted to help her.”

Drake shook his head slowly, almost like he was in pain. “No. No, Chiara. You haven’t wronged her. I’ve wronged both of you. I made you carry a life that was never meant to be yours under my lies. I forced you into a position that wasn’t fair and I hid the truth from Chloe, from both of you, because I… because I couldn’t face the consequences.”

He pressed his forehead to hers, whispered, “I couldn’t let her know, and I couldn’t let you leave. I thought, I thought I was protecting everyone, but I was just protecting myself. And now…”

Chiara’s lips moved again in sign language. “Drake… I only ever wanted to make this right. To protect the baby, to protect her. You’re the one who carried this all alone.”

He kissed her, soft but agonized, eyes almost overflowing with something I couldn’t name. Then he signed again. “I’ve already chosen the names. The boy will be Draken. The girl will be Chanelle.”

I felt my chest collapse. My alpha. My mate. And yet everything I believed in, everything I trusted, was falling apart in front of me.

Why did love have to be this cruel?

Around this time last year, I found out I was pregnant. I thought maybe… maybe things would finally be ours.

Drake had been over the moon. He booked out the whole hot spring resort, told me we’d have the entire place to ourselves.

And then he picked up a phone. I could hear a girl crying on the other end, faint, but I could hear it. My heart twisted in a way I didn’t understand.

He kissed my belly, soft, warm, and whispered, “Wife, there’s an emergency at the pack. Just wait for me, okay? I’ll be back.”

I believed him. I waited. A whole day, a whole night, just sitting there, hoping, praying. But instead of Drake, there was an avalanche. Snow burying everything. And our child… our little wolf pup, gone. I got miscarriage.

I saw him later. Touching Chiara’s belly, the same way he had touched mine. The same way he’d whispered to me, the same way he’d promised he’d protect us. And I smiled bitterly, the edges of my heart cutting like glass. Because the only person trapped that winter was me.

Then I heard him talking to her. “Honey, I’ve been tied up with the pack. I hired a nutritionist to make sure you’re taken care of while I’m busy.”

His hand covered hers, his eyes soft and doting, like she was the only mate that mattered.

“Hello, Miss Brightman,” she said, shy and sweet, and my chest twisted. Miss Brightman. Not Mrs. Thornhill. Not mine.

Drake frowned for a moment, and then he just… let it go. Didn’t correct her, didn’t even flinch.

I clenched my fists in my lap, fingertips digging into my palms, trying not to scream. Trying not to shatter right there.

And then he draped a wool coat over my shoulders, “It’s cold out. Come on, let’s go home, honey.”

I froze, and through the corner of my eye I saw Chiara nod, and he leaned down and kissed her, soft, lingering, like he’d been waiting to do it forever.

That evening...

I watched him in the kitchen, always careful, thoughtful. He’d serve me my soup, gently, like he’d done a thousand times before. But then he’d turn and wipe sauce from Chiara’s lips, smiling down at her, laughing warmly, as if she was everything he’d ever wanted.

“Silly girl,” he signed, “how can you be this cute?”

I lowered my head, my lips tasting the soup, my eyes burning, and I couldn’t cry. I wanted to. I tried to. But I couldn’t. Because I knew him. I recognized that movement. That look in his eyes. That care. That love.

And then it hit me. All of it. All the warmth, all the touches, all the promises he’d given her. He’d really… fallen for her.

And I was nothing.