My Alpha, I’m Back to Make You Pay

Felicity’s POV

He was Damien.

I barely recognized him at first. He stood at the hospital doorway, radiating power in a way that made the air feel heavy, his dark hair cascading past his shoulders, his gaze sharp and commanding. It was nothing like the Damien I remembered.

Once, long ago, he had been a visitor to my parents’ pack. My father, though not an Alpha himself, had been one of Damien’s early mentors in diplomacy and battle strategy. Despite Damien’s pack being far larger and more formidable than ours, he had spent time in our home, listening intently to my father’s lessons.

Back then, he had been… softer. A little nerdy, bookish, with glasses that always slipped down his nose and a frame that seemed too lean for an Alpha heir. I had never thought he would one day carry the weight of his pack with such confidence, such strength. Years of leadership had carved a new man before me, nothing like the shy young wolf I once knew.

“You…” My voice had cracked when I saw him. “Damien?”

His smirk had been faint, but real. “So you do remember me.”

Of course I had. How could I forget the boy who once snuck me extra sweet buns from my mother’s kitchen? But the man before me was no boy. He was all Alpha, and his words had made my heart stumble.

“Do you want me to help you run away from your mutt of an Alpha?”

The weight of his question still lingered with me days later, long after I had begged him for time. “A week,” I had whispered to him. “Give me a week. To settle what’s left of me here.”

And Damien, steady and unshaken, had only nodded. “I’ll be waiting. Always.”

I stayed in the hospital for three more days. My body healed, but my heart did not. I grieved endlessly in silence—the baby I had lost before I ever knew it existed, the marriage I thought was real, the betrayal that stared me in the face every time I closed my eyes.

When the healers cleared me to leave, I walked back to the packhouse, dragging the weight of despair with me. But as soon as I stepped inside, I froze.

The air was filled with laughter. The living area was bright, crowded with food on the center table as though it were a feast. There they sat—Alpha Cyrus, Beta Noel, and her. Dianna.

The laughter stopped the moment I entered. All eyes turned toward me.

“Oh,” Cyrus said after a pause, his voice casual, as though I had only interrupted a minor gathering. “I forgot you’d be coming home today. You should have called me.”

Called him. Again with blame. As if I had been wrong to simply return to my own home.

But my eyes were not on him. They were on her.

Dianna sat close to him, her smile sugary sweet, her hand resting on her lap as though she had every right to be there.

Cyrus cleared his throat, shifting uncomfortably before he spoke again. “This is Dianna. My childhood friend. She’ll be staying here at the packhouse for a while. She’s recovering—from… an attack. Some sorcery in the past month.”

Sorcery? I nearly laughed. But I forced myself to breathe, to stay composed. “I remember Dianna,” I said quietly. “You used to… hang out. Years ago.”

“Yes,” Cyrus said quickly, almost too quickly. “Exactly. She’s been through a lot, Felicity. Her condition is serious. That’s why I left the other day—she needed me more. Your border stunt…” He waved a hand dismissively. “…I knew you’d be fine, It can be avoided if you only stayed away from the borders.”

My jaw dropped. He was blaming me? The scars still burned across my skin. The ache in my womb still throbbed.

“I wasn’t—” My voice shook, but I pushed through. “I lost something. I lost our baby—”

But before the words could fully leave my lips, before I could tell him of the baby, Dianna let out a sudden shriek.

Her hand flew to her chest. “Oh, Goddess! Alpha—it’s happening again—my condition—!” She slumped dramatically against the chair, her face twisted in false pain.

And just like that, all eyes went to her.

Cyrus was on his feet instantly, hands on her shoulders. “Dianna! Breathe, I’m here. I’ve got you.”

“No,” I whispered, my voice drowned beneath her cries. “No, listen to me—I lost our—”

But he didn’t hear. He didn’t see. All his focus was on her trembling form, her crocodile tears spilling like rain.

The words about our baby died on my tongue, strangled by the weight of his indifference.

I turned and walked away.

Upstairs, I pushed open the door to my room, my sanctuary, my last remaining corner of this cursed packhouse. But the sight that met me sent me reeling.

It was empty. The furniture was still there, but my belongings were gone. My clothes, my books, the little trinkets I had carried from my parents’ pack, vanished. The space felt foreign, stripped bare.

And then I understood. This wasn’t my room anymore.

I felt her presence behind me before I even turned.

“Like it?” Dianna’s voice was honeyed with false sweetness. “Cyrus gave me this room. Said it was bigger. More comfortable. More fitting… for me.”

My stomach twisted. She stepped closer, her lips curving. “After all, it was always meant to be mine. From the very beginning. I left, yes—but then you stole everything that belonged to me. Even Cyrus.”

Her words dripped venom, but her eyes glittered with triumph. I saw her now for what she truly was, not the fragile childhood friend, not the victim of sorcery, but a wolf who had returned to reclaim everything, no matter who she destroyed in the process.

“So your illness,” I asked softly, “is it real?”

For a fraction of a second, her mask slipped. But then her voice rose, trembling theatrically as tears spilled down her cheeks. “Are you accusing me of faking my pain? After everything I’ve been through?”

Her wails echoed down the hallway. Loud. Calculated. And right on cue, Cyrus appeared. His eyes immediately locked on her, full of concern, before they flicked to me with fury.

“What did you say to her?” His voice was sharp as a whip.

“I—”

“She’s accusing me,” Dianna sobbed, throwing herself against him. “She accused me of pretending to be sick just to get your attention. She hates me, Alpha! She wants to ruin us!”

“That’s not what I said!” I shouted, desperate, but it was useless.

Cyrus’s gaze hardened. He strode forward, his grip suddenly like iron as he snatched my hand. Pain flared as his fingers clamped down, and before I could protest, he ripped the ring from my finger.

The ring. The simple band he had placed there three years ago, promising me that someday it would be replaced by a Luna’s coronet. Promising me that my time would come.

His eyes were cold as he pocketed it. “You don’t deserve this ring anymore.”

The final thread that had tied me to him snapped.

And I stood there, hollow, realizing every promise, every word, every dream had been a lie.