My Alpha Husband Gave My Inheritance to His Foster Sister

The winter gathering was in full swing by the time I realized I couldn't feel my feet anymore.

I'd been standing for six hours. Maybe seven. The kitchen crew had started setup at noon, and I'd been moving ever since—directing the food service, checking the warming trays, making sure the pup play area had enough supervision. Someone's toddler had knocked over a pitcher of juice. Two Omega workers got into a dispute over table assignments. I mediated. I cleaned. I smiled.

I'd slept four hours the night before. Maybe less. I'd been up finishing the centerpieces, the ones I'd hand-made because the florist's quote was too high and Chandler had looked at me like I was being wasteful for even asking.

Now I stood in the center of the gathering hall, holding a serving tray in one hand and a clipboard in the other, trying to remember what I was supposed to do next. The room was loud. Voices layered over each other. Laughter. The clatter of silverware. The high, bright shriek of children playing.

I blinked. The edges of my vision went soft.

I set the tray down on the nearest table. My hands were shaking. I told myself it was just fatigue. Just the usual exhaustion. Nothing I hadn't managed before.

I turned toward the kitchen. I needed to check the dessert station. Someone had mentioned the pie plates were running low.

I took a step.

The floor tilted.

I reached for the table to steady myself, but my hand didn't find it. My knees buckled. The room spun once, fast and violent, and then the wooden floor rushed up to meet me.

The impact was sharp. My cheekbone struck first. Then my shoulder. The pain was distant, like it was happening to someone else.

I heard voices. Urgent. Overlapping. Someone shouted my name.

I tried to push myself up, but my arms wouldn't respond. My wolf stirred faintly, confused and sluggish, like she was waking from a drugged sleep.

Footsteps. Running. Hands on my shoulders.

"Elodie. Elodie, can you hear me?"

Monroe's voice. Close. Steady. I tried to answer, but the words caught in my throat.

I felt her arms slide under me. She lifted me like I weighed nothing. I wanted to tell her I was fine, that I just needed a minute, but my mouth wouldn't form the words.

The room blurred. Faces passed overhead. Concerned. Shocked. I caught a glimpse of Chandler across the hall, standing near the Beta's table. He was looking in my direction, but he wasn't moving. His expression was tight. Irritated.

Not alarmed. Irritated.

Monroe's jaw was set. Her face was carved from stone. She didn't speak. She just carried me out of the hall, through the side door, into the cold night air.

The clinic was three buildings away. I knew because I'd walked the path a hundred times, bringing supplies, checking in on injured Deltas, organizing the healer's inventory. I knew every crack in the pavement.

Monroe kicked the clinic door open. The warmth inside hit me like a wave.

"Petra!" Monroe's voice was sharp. Commanding.

Footsteps. Quick and efficient. Petra Voss appeared in the doorway to the exam room, her silver hair pulled back, her expression calm but alert. She took one look at me and gestured toward the exam table.

"Set her down."

Monroe lowered me carefully. The table was cold through my dress. I tried to sit up, but Petra's hand pressed gently against my shoulder.

"Lie still, Elodie."

I obeyed. I didn't have the strength to do anything else.

Petra's hands moved over me with practiced efficiency. She checked my pulse. My temperature. She shone a light in my eyes and asked me questions I couldn't quite hear. Her expression tightened with each passing moment.

Monroe stood at the foot of the table, arms crossed, her eyes never leaving me. Her knuckles were white.

Petra stepped back and pulled Monroe aside. They spoke in low voices. I caught fragments.

"...dangerously suppressed..."

"...sustained dominance..."

"...no longer invisible."

Monroe's face went even harder. She nodded once. Then she turned and walked toward the door.

"Where are you going?" Petra asked.

"To make sure no one interrupts."

Petra didn't argue. She just returned to my side and began setting up an IV line.

I closed my eyes. The room was warm. Quiet. For the first time in hours—maybe days—I felt like I could breathe.

My wolf stirred again. Faint. Confused. She didn't understand what was happening. Neither did I.

I heard the clinic door open. Voices in the hallway. One of them was Chandler's.

"I need to see my mate."

Monroe's voice, flat and unyielding. "No."

"Excuse me?"

"She's not receiving visitors."

"I'm her Alpha." His tone sharpened. The authority in it pressed against the air like a weight. "Move."

There was a long silence. Then Monroe spoke again, her voice low and deliberate.

"If you enter this room before Petra clears you, I will file a formal welfare complaint with the Pack Council before the night is over. Do you understand me, Alpha Chandler?"

Another silence. Longer this time.

Then footsteps. Retreating.

I opened my eyes. Petra was adjusting the IV. She glanced down at me and her expression softened, just slightly.

"Rest, Elodie," she said quietly. "You're safe now."

I wanted to believe her. I wanted to close my eyes and let the exhaustion take me.

But my wolf stirred again. And this time, it wasn't confusion.

It was a growl.