My Alpha Planned Pups with Her in Our Bedroom

The voices from the intercom cut off with a sharp click as I silenced my phone. The recording was saved, backed up to the cloud, and locked in a folder named 'Demolition.'

For a moment, I just stood there in the hallway that was supposed to be my sanctuary. My chest felt like it had been hollowed out with an excavator. The pain was physical, a sharp, twisting knot right behind my sternum where the mate bond lived. My wolf was pacing in the back of my mind, whining, confused by the scent of betrayal that clung to the air like cheap cologne. She wanted to shift, to tear the door down, to howl until Tate remembered who I was.

But I wasn't just a wolf. I was Eileen Parker. I was a Beta. And Betas didn't howl at the moon when things went wrong; we fixed the structural integrity.

I took a deep breath, forcing the air into my lungs until the burning sensation subsided. Panic was inefficient. Heartbreak was a luxury I couldn't afford right now. If I stormed in there screaming, Tate would use his Alpha voice to cow me, to make me doubt myself. He’d spin it. He’d say I was hysterical, jealous, unstable.

No. I needed more than a voice recording. I needed a paper trail so thick he’d choke on it.

Reaching into my bag, I pulled out a small silver vial—my high-grade scent blocker. I usually only used it for meetings with human clients or the high-stress negotiations with the Lycan Council where pheromones could be seen as aggression. I spritzed it on my wrists and neck. The familiar, sterile smell of ozone and nothingness washed over me, masking my unique scent of parchment and rain.

To them, I was now just a generic, scentless human contractor.

I pulled my hair back into a severe bun and put on my hard hat, which I always kept in the car. I grabbed my clipboard. I wasn't Eileen, the loving mate coming home early. I was the Inspector.

I walked further into the site, my heels clicking with purpose on the unfinished subfloor.

A man in a dusty orange vest was crouched by a stack of drywall, his head in his hands. It was Miller, the Delta foreman. I’d hired him myself because he was honest and meticulous. Now, he looked like he’d aged ten years in a week.

"Miller," I said, my voice crisp.

He jumped, scrambling to his feet. His eyes widened when he saw me, panic flashing across his face. "Beta Parker! I... we didn't expect you... the schedule said..."

"Plans change," I said, keeping my face impassive. I gestured to the hideous red walls with my pen. "Explain this. The blueprints specified 'Slate Mist' for the corridors. This looks like a crime scene."

Miller swallowed hard, wringing his hands. He looked toward the master suite doors, fear radiating off him in waves. "I know, Beta. I tried to tell them. But... the orders came from the top."

"From Alpha Tate?" I asked.

"From The Lady," Miller whispered, lowering his voice as if saying her name might summon a demon. "She said the slate was 'depressing.' She said if we didn't paint it 'Passion Red' by yesterday, she'd have Alpha Tate exile the whole crew."

My grip on the clipboard tightened until the plastic creaked. Exile. For paint. Tate was letting a mistress threaten loyal Pack members with exile over interior design choices.

"I see," I said, my voice dangerously calm. "And the materials? The shag carpet? The gold trim?"

"She ordered it all," Miller said, looking miserable. "She signed for it. Said to put it on the 'Emergency Fund' tab."

The Emergency Fund. The account I had set up for structural failures or weather damage. My personal savings.

"Do you have the invoices, Miller?"

He nodded vigorously, fumbling in his back pocket to produce a crumpled stack of receipts. I took them, scanning the lines. 'Imported Velvet - $5,000.' 'Custom Gold Leaf - $8,000.' 'Consultation Fee - M. Gray - $10,000.'

She was paying herself a consultation fee to ruin my house with my money.

"Thank you, Miller," I said, tucking the receipts into my clipboard. "Get the crew to the break area. I'll handle the rest."

Before he could argue, the double doors at the end of the hall banged open.

A woman stepped out, and the air instantly soured with an overpowering scent of synthetic vanilla and heavy musk. It was Maddison Gray. I recognized her vaguely from pack gatherings years ago—a flighty Omega who always hung around the buffet table looking for a wealthy mate.

She was wearing a fur coat. Not just any fur coat. It was a silver fox fur, floor-length, dragged carelessly over the dusty construction floor.

I recognized the coat. I had seen the invoice for 'Roofing Insulation - Premium Grade' just last week. It cost exactly as much as a custom silver fox coat.

Maddison didn't look at my face. She looked at my clipboard, then at my boots, dismissing me instantly as 'help.'

"You!" she barked, snapping her fingers at me. Her nails were long, painted the same garish red as the walls. "Don't just stand there gawking. The Alpha is thirsty."

She adjusted the coat, flashing a glimpse of lingerie underneath that cost more than Miller made in a month.

"I need a bottle of sparkling water," she demanded, waving a hand dismissively. "And make sure it's chilled. This dust is drying out my throat. And tell those idiots to stop hammering so loud; Tate and I are trying to... brainstorm."

I stared at her. She had no idea who I was. The scent blocker was working perfectly. To her, I was just a faceless bureaucrat, a servant to be ordered around in my own house.

A cold smile touched my lips. "Brainstorming," I repeated, my tone flat. "Is that what you call it?"

Maddison narrowed her eyes, finally looking at my face. She didn't see a rival. She saw insubordination. "Excuse me? Do you know who I am? I am the future Luna of this Pack. You watch your tone, or I'll have you thrown off this property before you can blink."

"Future Luna," I said, writing it down on my clipboard as if taking a note. "Interesting title. Does the current Luna know she's been replaced? Or is the position open due to... incompetence?"

Her face flushed an ugly, blotchy pink. "Who do you think you are?" she screeched, stepping closer. "I want your name! I'm going to have Tate fire you!"

"Oh, I don't think Tate can fire me," I said softly, tapping the pen against the stack of incriminating receipts. "But please, do go get him. I have a few questions about the insulation budget."

Maddison snarled, a pathetic sound for an Omega trying to play Alpha. "I'm going to make sure you never work in this town again!"

She spun on her heel, the stolen fur coat swishing dramatically, and stormed back toward the bedroom. "Tate! Tate, baby! There's some rude inspector out here refusing to get my water!"

I watched her go, my heart pounding a steady, war-drum rhythm against my ribs.

*Let him come,* my wolf growled.

I uncapped my pen. *Yes,* I thought. *Let him come.*