My Alpha Planned Pups with Her in Our Bedroom

The hallway smelled like disaster. Not the clean, honest dust of demolition, but the sour tang of incompetence mixed with cheap perfume. I watched Maddison storm back toward the master suite, her stolen silver fox coat trailing behind her like a bridal train from hell.

"Move it!" she shrieked at two young Omega workers who were struggling with a massive crate near the doorway. "Tate wants the mood lighting up before sunset!"

I stepped closer, my clipboard acting as a shield against the urge to shift and tear her throat out. The crate was marked 'Industrial Iron Fixture - Custom.' My architect's eye did the math instantly. Based on the size and the strain on the workers' faces, that thing weighed at least four hundred pounds.

"Careful!" one of the Omegas gasped, his knees buckling. "It's slipping!"

"Just get it up there!" Maddison snapped, checking her nails. "It's for the mating rituals. It needs to hang directly over the bed. And if you drop it, I'll have Tate dock your pay for a year."

My blood ran cold. The master suite ceiling was framed with standard residential joists, designed for drywall and maybe a ceiling fan. It wasn't reinforced for a quarter-ton of iron shackles and chains. If they hung that monstrosity, it would rip through the plaster and crush whoever was in the bed below.

Ideally, that would be Tate and Maddison. But I couldn't let innocent workers get hurt installing their death trap.

The taller Omega lost his grip. The crate tilted dangerously, sliding toward Maddison’s unsuspecting ankles.

I didn't think. I moved.

Dropping the clipboard, I surged forward with Beta speed. I wasn't as fast as an Alpha, but I was faster than any human or Omega. I slammed my shoulder into the crate, catching the weight just as it tipped past the point of no return. The wood groaned, biting into my blazer, but I held it. My boots skid an inch on the subfloor, finding traction in the dust.

"Stabilize it!" I barked, my voice dropping into the command tone I used on high-rise sites. "Now!"

The Omegas scrambled, terrified, and together we shoved the crate back to a safe angle. I exhaled, brushing the sawdust off my shoulder. My muscles burned, but the adrenaline felt good. It felt like control.

Maddison stared at me, her mouth hanging open. She looked from the heavy crate to my relatively slender frame, confusion warring with her arrogance.

"You..." she stammered. "You almost dropped it on my foot!"

I picked up my clipboard, stepping into her personal space. She flinched, expecting a blow, but I just tapped the paper with my pen. "That fixture exceeds the static load capacity of a residential truss system by three hundred percent," I said, my voice cold and clinical. "You hang that without steel reinforcement, and the roof comes down. It's a structural violation. Section 4, Paragraph 2 of the Pack Safety Code."

"I don't care about codes!" Maddison hissed, recovering her composure. She crossed her arms, trying to look imposing in her lingerie and fur. "I'm the future Luna. I want the chandelier."

"Physics doesn't care about your title," I replied flatly. "And neither does the insurance company. Unless you want to explain to Alpha Tate why his new bedroom has a skylight shaped like a lawsuit, I suggest you leave it on the floor."

For a second, I thought she might actually try to fight me. Her eyes flashed a weak, muddy yellow—her wolf was surface-level, agitated but weak. But then fear flickered in her gaze. She didn't know who I was, but she recognized competence. She recognized that I wasn't afraid of her.

"Fine," she spat, turning to the trembling workers. "Leave it! Go... go polish the sconces or something! Useless, all of you!"

While she was busy berating the crew, screeching about how hard it was to find good help, I slipped past her into the temporary site office set up in what used to be the guest room.

This was where Miller kept the hard copies. The real paperwork.

I closed the door softly, drowning out Maddison’s shrill voice. The room was cluttered with blueprints and coffee cups. I moved straight to the secure laptop on the desk. Miller was good, but he used the same password for everything: 'SilverRiver1'.

The screen flickered to life. I navigated to the budget spreadsheet, my fingers flying across the keys. I needed to see where the money was really going.

I found the entries for the 'Imported Velvet' and 'Custom Gold Fixtures' almost immediately. The amounts were staggering. Five thousand here. Twelve thousand there. But it was the vendor names that made my stomach turn.

'Velvet' was listed under a vendor named *Red Tooth Supply*.

'Gold Fixtures' was paid to *Shadow Creek Logistics*.

I pulled up the vendor details. These weren't interior design firms. They were shell companies. I knew *Red Tooth Supply*. It was a front for a Rogue faction operating near the border—a group known for illegal gambling dens and trafficking stolen goods.

My breath hitched. Maddison wasn't just wasting my money on bad taste. She was laundering it.

I clicked through the transaction history. The dates aligned perfectly. Every time a 'renovation' invoice was paid, a transfer went out to these Rogue accounts. She was paying off debts. Huge ones.

"Grifting isn't enough for you, is it?" I whispered to the empty room.

She was funding the very enemies that threatened our borders. She was taking Pack funds—*my* funds—and handing them to Rogues who would happily slaughter us in our sleep. And Tate? He was either too stupid to notice or too blinded by lust to care.

This wasn't just infidelity anymore. This was treason.

I pulled a flash drive from my pocket and jammed it into the USB port. The download bar crawled across the screen—20%... 45%...

Outside, I heard heavy footsteps approaching. The floorboards creaked under a weight that was distinctly Alpha.

"Maddison?" Tate's voice boomed from the hallway, closer than I expected. "Why are the workers hiding in the kitchen?"

60%...

"Because that rude inspector woman wouldn't let them hang the shackles!" Maddison whined. "She's in the office right now! Get rid of her, Tate!"

90%...

The doorknob to the office rattled.

"Inspector?" Tate growled, his hand heavy on the latch. "Open this door."

The download hit 100%. I yanked the drive out just as the lock clicked.