My Alpha Claimed Another While Our Daughter Suffered

The floorboard came up with a familiar creak—third plank from the window, just like I'd left it six years ago.

I knelt in the dim light of our bedroom, Cameron's scent still clinging to the sheets despite his three-day absence. My fingers found the edge of the hidden compartment, and I pulled out the case I'd buried the day I'd swallowed my first dose of that poison.

Black leather. Dust-covered. Inside, my professional camera equipment gleamed in the shadows—Leica M11, custom lenses, light meters that cost more than most pack members earned in a year. Tools of my trade as Raining, the photographer whose work hung in Council chambers and Alpha estates across the continent.

I ran my thumb over the camera body. It felt like greeting an old friend.

My phone buzzed. Piper's response to my agent persona had come through within an hour—desperate, eager, exactly as predicted. She'd agreed to every term, including the one that mattered most: full access to pack records for "biographical accuracy."

Stupid girl. She had no idea what she'd just handed me.

I stood, catching my reflection in the full-length mirror. The woman staring back wasn't the diminished creature who'd scrubbed Cameron's office floors. My true scent had been blooming for three days now—wild roses and thunderstorms, barely contained by the high-grade scent blocker I'd ordered through my brother's network.

Not the suppression potion that had poisoned me. This was Enforcer-grade technology, the kind that masked without diminishing. My aura remained potent underneath, coiled and ready. Just invisible to casual detection.

I dressed carefully. Black slacks, tailored shirt, leather jacket that whispered money and authority. My hair pulled back in a severe knot. Dark sunglasses even though the shoot would be indoors. And the piece de résistance—a silk scarf that could double as a face covering, artistic eccentricity that Raining was famous for.

No one would recognize Elora the Omega in this woman.

I checked on Halle before I left. She slept peacefully, her fever long gone, watched over by a trusted friend from my old life—someone Cameron had never met, never knew existed.

"Be safe, Mama," she'd whispered before bed, her child's intuition sensing the shift.

"Always, baby."

The contract arrived in Cameron's inbox at dawn. I'd crafted it with my brother's legal team—pages of dense legalese that looked standard but contained clauses that would destroy him. Buried in section 7, subsection C: permission for the photographer to release "candid truths and documentary evidence" to the Lycan Council if such information pertained to violations of sacred law.

He signed it digitally at 6:47 AM. Didn't even read past page two.

Arrogant. Distracted by Piper's excitement, by visions of social elevation. He probably thought he was being clever, using this feature to cement his false identity.

He had no idea he'd just signed his own execution warrant.

The pack house grand hall had been transformed for the occasion. Piper had clearly spared no expense—flowers everywhere, dramatic lighting, a chaise lounge positioned near the massive stone fireplace. She'd dressed in designer everything, her dark hair cascading in perfect waves.

Cameron stood beside her in a tailored suit, looking every inch the powerful Alpha. My stomach twisted, but I forced it down. Not Elora's pain. Raining's cold assessment.

"You must be Raining's assistant," Piper gushed as I entered, my equipment cases in hand. "Where is she? We're so honored—"

"Raining prefers to work in solitude during setup," I said, my voice pitched slightly lower, accent carefully neutral. "She'll join you shortly."

I moved through the space with professional efficiency, setting up lights and reflectors. Cameron watched me with a frown, something nagging at the edge of his awareness. My scent blocker held, but my movements—the way I angled the key light, the precise positioning of the backdrop—those were muscle memory he might recognize.

I felt his eyes on my back and smiled beneath my scarf.

Sweat, Alpha. Remember who taught you about photography during those early courtship days? Remember who you tried to erase?

"All right," I announced, pulling the scarf higher to cover everything below my eyes. Dark sunglasses completed the disguise. "Raining is ready for her subjects."

Piper practically bounced to the chaise. Cameron followed, his expression still troubled.

"Closer," I commanded, my voice sharp. Professional. "This is a love story, yes? Show me intimacy."

Cameron's hand settled on Piper's waist. I raised my camera, framing them through the viewfinder.

"Alpha Joshua," I said, using his false name like a blade. "Look at the lens. Let me see the man behind the title."

His eyes met mine through the glass. For a heartbeat, I saw recognition flicker—then confusion. The scent was wrong. The context was wrong. But something in my tone, in the way I held the camera...

He began to sweat.

"Beautiful," I murmured, clicking the shutter. "Now, Ms. Martinez, whisper something to your Alpha. Something only lovers share."

I photographed their performance, each click of the shutter another nail in their coffin. They preened and posed, believing themselves the predators in this scenario.

Fools.

"We'll need an outfit change," I announced after thirty minutes. "Something more casual for the 'at home' portion of the spread. Take twenty minutes."

They disappeared upstairs, Piper chattering about wardrobe choices.

I pulled out my laptop.

The network access Cameron had granted for "biographical research" opened before me like a gift. I navigated to the financial systems with practiced ease—my brother had taught me these pathways years ago, back when I was still a princess learning statecraft.

The Stone River Pack accounts loaded. Then the shared accounts with Silver Claw.

And there it was.

Transfer after transfer, funds flowing from the Silver Claw treasury into Cameron's personal accounts. Labeled as "alliance investments" and "joint venture capital," but the timestamps told the truth. Money disappearing days before Cameron's debts came due. Before his pack's payroll needed covering.

He'd been robbing Piper's father blind.

I downloaded everything—transaction logs, forged authorization documents, email chains where Cameron had fabricated approval from Alpha Martinez. Enough evidence to prove embezzlement, fraud, and violation of pack alliance law.

Footsteps on the stairs. I closed the laptop, slipping the drive into my pocket.

Piper descended in a cashmere sweater and designer jeans, Cameron in casual wear that probably cost more than my car.

"Perfect," I said, raising my camera again. "Now let's capture the real you. The private moments. The truth behind the power couple."

Cameron's eyes met mine through the lens once more.

And this time, I let him see the smile beneath my scarf.

Let him wonder. Let him sweat.

The reckoning was just beginning.