My Alpha Blamed Me After His Mistress Killed Our Baby

The lab was silent except for the hum of refrigeration units. I locked the door behind me and checked twice. Old habit. Melanie had a key—Luna clearance gave her access to everything—but she rarely came this late. She preferred daylight for her performances.

I sat at my terminal and stared at the screen without seeing it. My hands rested on the keyboard, fingers motionless. The physical injuries from the ravine were nearly healed. Ribs knitted. Bruises faded. But the other wound—the one that lived behind my sternum where new life had flickered and gone dark—that one wasn't closing.

My wolf was still silent. Three days of silence. It felt like living in a house where someone used to be.

I pressed my thumb and forefinger together. The small pressure grounded me. Kept me present.

Then I opened the mind-link channel I'd kept blocked for years.

It was buried deep in my consciousness, a connection I'd maintained without using. I'd never been entirely sure why I kept it. Maybe because closing it completely felt like giving up on something I couldn't name. Maybe because some part of me had always known I'd need it.

The channel was fragile at first. Weakened by distance and disuse. I reached through it carefully, testing the connection the way I'd test a compound's stability. Tentative. Precise.

Greyson's presence flooded through before I'd finished forming his name.

It wasn't like Maxwell's voice in my head—sharp and commanding, always carrying the edge of Alpha tone even when he wasn't using it deliberately. Greyson's presence was warm. Unhurried. It settled into the space around my thoughts without pressing down on them.

*Alice.* His voice in my mind was quiet. Steady. *What do you need?*

Not *why now*. Not *what happened*. Just that single question, offered without conditions.

I didn't cry. I'd learned not to. But something in my chest loosened slightly, enough to let words through.

*Everything is wrong,* I sent back. *It's all wrong and I can't—I don't know how to fix it from inside anymore.*

*Tell me,* he said simply.

So I did.

I told him about the ravine. The fall. The way my wolf had tried to protect what we were carrying and failed. The blood. Maxwell's face when I told him, clinical and cold, like I'd reported a minor equipment malfunction. *You should have been faster.* I told him about the pack ceremony two days ago, reading lies about Evan while Maxwell's Alpha tone held my voice hostage. I told him about Melanie's pendant and the research she'd present under her name at the Summit in three weeks. I told him about the files I'd been copying, the evidence I'd been gathering, the plan forming in my mind that I hadn't fully articulated yet but could feel taking shape.

Greyson listened without interrupting. His presence stayed steady in my mind, a constant warmth that didn't flinch or pull back no matter what I said.

When I finished, the silence stretched for several seconds. Not empty. Just thoughtful.

*The Silvercrest lab has been ready for two years,* he said finally. *State-of-the-art equipment. Your own research wing. No one looking over your shoulder.*

I blinked at the screen in front of me. "Two years?"

*I built it after the rumors from Ironvale started reaching me. I didn't know if you'd ever need it. I hoped you wouldn't.* A pause. *But I wanted it there. Just in case.*

Something twisted in my chest. Not pain exactly. Something adjacent to it.

*My royal Beta and Lycan guard can reach Ironvale's borders within six hours of your signal,* Greyson continued. *Extraction protocols are already in place. You just have to say the word.*

I stared at my hands on the keyboard. They were steady. They'd been steady through everything.

"I need three weeks," I said aloud, then sent it through the link. *Three weeks to finish gathering evidence. To make sure when I leave, I take everything that matters and leave nothing they can use.*

*Three weeks,* Greyson agreed. *I'll be ready when you are.*

*Why?* The question slipped out before I could stop it. *Why would you do this for me?*

His answer came without hesitation. *Because you stepped between me and a pack of bullies when we were kids and you had no reason to. Because you're brilliant and kind and you deserve to work somewhere that doesn't steal your name off your own research. Because the only thing I've ever needed from you is your word that you want this. Everything else—the resources, the protection, the lab—that's already yours. It's been yours since the day I built it.*

I closed my eyes. Pressed my thumb and forefinger together hard enough to hurt.

*Three weeks,* I sent back. *Then I'm gone.*

*I'll be waiting,* Greyson said.

The connection didn't close. It stayed open, a warm steady presence at the edge of my consciousness. Not intrusive. Just there. Like he was sitting in the same room, close enough to reach if I needed him but not hovering.

I turned back to my terminal and opened the encrypted files. Started organizing the evidence into categories. Financial crimes. Research fraud. Communications proving Maxwell's complicity in Evan's destruction. I worked methodically, the way I always worked, but something had shifted.

I wasn't just surviving anymore.

I was counting down.

---

Melanie came to the lab the next afternoon. I was running stability tests on a reagent batch when I heard her key in the lock. She didn't knock. She never did.

"Alice." She set her bag on the counter near the door. "I need the preliminary Summit presentation files by tomorrow morning."

I didn't look up from the centrifuge. "They're not ready."

"Make them ready." Her tone sharpened. "This is important."

*Important for you,* I thought. But I just nodded. "I'll have something by morning."

She studied me for a moment, eyes narrowed. Then she crossed to the supply cabinet and opened it. Her hand hovered over the reagent shelf.

"These need to be restocked," she said. "The labels are fading."

The labels weren't fading. I'd printed them two weeks ago. But I watched as she pulled three vials from the shelf and slipped them into her bag.

Contamination by handling. Improper storage. If she used those in any experiment, the results would be worthless.

I said nothing. Just made a note on my tablet after she left. Date. Time. Which vials. The security camera in the corner had captured it all.

Let her take them. Let her ruin whatever she touched.

Every mistake she made was another piece of evidence I didn't have to fabricate.