Alpha’s Rebound: Married to His Stepbrother

The morning light streamed through the windows, but it did little to chase away the gloom that hung over me. I opened my eyes, hoping for a message or missed call from Alpha Darius. My heart sank as I reached for my phone—nothing.

He hadn’t come home.

I stared at the blank screen for a long moment before deciding to call him. Maybe he had a reasonable explanation. Maybe this wasn’t what it seemed. I dialed his number, the ringing echoing in my ears.

“Hello?” a soft, feminine voice answered.

I froze. My throat tightened as I recognized the voice. “Princess Fraulein?” I whispered, disbelief and dread mixing in my chest.

“Yes, this is Fraulein,” she said, her tone polite but firm. “Who’s calling, and why are you trying to reach Alpha Darius?”

My mind raced. Fraulein had no idea about me or what I meant to Darius—or rather, what I thought I meant to him. I couldn’t tell her the truth.

“I’m sorry,” I stammered. “I must have dialed the wrong number.”

Before she could respond, I heard his voice in the background, light and warm. “Who’s on the phone, love?” Darius asked, his tone laced with affection.

Fraulein laughed softly. “No one important,” she replied, her voice growing fainter as they spoke to each other.

I hung up abruptly, my hands trembling. The phone slipped from my grasp onto the bed.

The silence of my room felt suffocating as I sat there, my mind replaying their voices over and over. My eyes wandered to the familiar corners of the space—the dresser where Darius would lean while teasing me, the bed where we shared countless nights together.

Tears welled up, spilling over as I buried my face in my hands. It was over. Whatever we had, whatever I thought we had, was over.

His greatest love had returned, and I was nothing but a fleeting distraction.

I stood, wiping my face with shaky hands. I couldn’t stay here. Not in this room filled with memories, not in this town where his name was on everyone’s lips.

I opened my closet and began packing, each item feeling heavier than the last. Every piece of clothing, every trinket, reminded me of him. The pain was almost unbearable, but I forced myself to keep going.

By the time I finished, my suitcase was packed, and my heart felt like it had been ripped apart. I dragged my luggage down the street, heading toward the train station. Leaving was the only option.

As I neared the station, a black car pulled up beside me. The window rolled down, and Vincent Doyle leaned out, his sharp features softening as he saw me.

“Leaving town, Ingrid?” he asked, stepping out of the car with an air of calm confidence.

I nodded, my voice barely above a whisper. “I don’t have a reason to stay anymore.”

Vincent’s eyes narrowed slightly, a flicker of understanding crossing his face. “So, you’re giving up?”

I frowned. “What else can I do? He’s made it clear where his heart lies.”

He stepped closer, his tone steady but firm. “Do you remember what I told you? About our deal?”

I hesitated, looking away. “I don’t know, Vincent. Everything feels so wrong.”

He placed a hand on my suitcase, stopping me. “You don’t have to figure it all out right now. But running away won’t fix anything. If you want to take back control, if you want revenge then come with me. Stay at my mansion. Let’s make Darius realize what he’s lost.”

His words lingered in the air, tempting and bold. Part of me wanted to keep walking, to disappear and start over somewhere far away. But another part, a stronger part, wanted to stand my ground.

“Okay,” I whispered, nodding.

Vincent took my suitcase and placed it in the trunk of his car. I climbed into the passenger seat, my thoughts spinning. The engine roared to life, and the car pulled away from the station.

As we drove, my phone buzzed incessantly. I glanced at the screen—dozens of missed calls and messages from Darius.

[Ingrid, where are you?]

[Why did you leave without telling me?]

[Come back. We need to talk.]

The final message was filled with fury: [COME BACK NOW!]

My chest tightened as I read his words, but anger quickly replaced the pain. He had no right to demand anything from me—not after what he had done.

I took a deep breath, opened a new message, and began typing.

[I’m leaving. I’m going to marry Vincent Doyle, your stepbrother. You can’t stop me. And I’m no longer your rebound.]

I hit send and stared at the screen for a moment, my hands shaking.

Then, I blocked him without hesitation.