My Alpha Poisoned Me to Erase Our Baby

His grip on my arm wasn't the gentle, seeking touch I had grown used to over the last two years. It was a vice of steel, bruising and cold, dragging me away from the celebration and into the silent, shadowed corridor of the Alpha wing.

"Damon, please! You're hurting me!" I gasped, stumbling in my heels as he hauled me toward his office.

He didn't stop. He didn't even look back. The man who had held me through his nightmares just last night, who had buried his face in my neck seeking comfort, was gone. In his place was a stranger fueled by the intoxicating, maddening scent of his fated mate. The smell of Amelia—sickeningly sweet roses and vanilla—clung to him, overpowering the cedar and rain scent I loved. It was as if she had branded him just by walking into the room.

He shoved the heavy oak doors of his office open and flung me inside. I caught my balance against the edge of his mahogany desk, my heart hammering against my ribs like a trapped bird.

"Damon," I whispered, my voice trembling. "Talk to me. Please. You don't have to do this. The last two years... we built something real. You said it yourself."

He paced the room like a caged animal, his movements jerky and manic. His eyes were pitch black, his wolf fully in control and drunk on the bond he had just snapped into place.

"Real?" He laughed, a harsh, barking sound that lacked any humor. "You were a service, Rosalie. A pacifier to keep my wolf from tearing this pack apart until my true mate returned. And she has returned." He turned on me, his lip curling. "You smell wrong. You smell like... interference. Like a mistake."

His words were physical blows, but I couldn't let go. Not yet. My hand tightened around the small velvet pouch in my pocket. The pregnancy test. Our baby.

"It wasn't a mistake," I pleaded, stepping toward him. I pulled the midnight-blue pouch from my pocket, my hands shaking. "Damon, look. Please, just look at this. We created something. We—"

Before I could finish, his hand lashed out.

*Smack.*

The sound echoed in the large room. He slapped the pouch from my hand with such force that it skidded across the hardwood floor and disappeared under the leather sofa. He didn't even glance at it.

"I don't want your trinkets!" he roared, the Alpha power in his voice making the windows rattle. "I want you gone! I want every trace of your scent scrubbed from my life before Amelia steps foot in this wing!"

He marched to the crystal decanter on the sidebar. The liquid inside was a dark, menacing amber. I knew what it was. *Alpha’s Ruin.* A potent, chemically enhanced scotch brewed specifically for Alphas to sever temporary emotional attachments and dull the pain of physical injuries. It was toxic to humans and dangerous for Omegas.

And for a pregnancy? It was a death sentence.

He poured a glass, the smell of burnt sugar and ozone filling the air. He turned to me, thrusting the glass forward.

"Drink," he ordered. "It will dull the bond you think you feel. It will make leaving easier."

My hands flew to my stomach instinctively. "No." I backed away, shaking my head violently. "Damon, I can't. You don't understand—it's poison to me."

"It's a mercy," he snarled, stepping closer. The darkness in his eyes swirled, consuming the hazel I loved. "Drink it, Rosalie. Sever the tie."

"I won't!" I cried out, backing until I hit the bookshelf. "I won't drink it!"

Damon’s face twisted into a mask of fury. He didn't see me anymore. He only saw an obstacle between him and his fated perfection. He drew in a breath, his chest expanding, and the air in the room grew heavy, suffocatingly dense.

**"DRINK."**

The Alpha Command hit me like a physical wave.

My knees locked. My will shattered instantly under the crushing weight of his order. Tears streamed down my face as my body betrayed me, moving like a puppet on strings. My hand reached out, trembling violently, and took the glass.

*No, please, no,* my mind screamed, but my muscles obeyed him.

I watched in horror as I lifted the glass to my lips. Damon watched me, his expression stony and unyielding. I tried to clamp my jaw shut, but the command forced my mouth open. I tipped the glass back.

The liquid seared my throat like molten lead. I gagged, choking on the burn, but I swallowed every drop. It hit my stomach like a punch, a hot, cramping fire that made me gasp for air. The glass slipped from my numb fingers and shattered on the floor.

I collapsed to my knees, clutching my throat, coughing violently.

"Good," Damon said coldly, stepping over the broken glass. He walked to his desk and slammed a document down on the surface. "Now, sign this."

I looked up through my tears. The room was spinning. "W-what?"

"Termination of contract," he said, uncapping a pen. "And a blood oath of silence. You will never speak of what happened in this room, in my bed, or during the last two years. You will never claim to have been anything to me other than a hired servant."

I stared at him, heartbreak warring with the nausea rolling in my gut. "You want me to erase us?"

"There is no 'us'," he spat. "Sign it. Or I swear to the Moon Goddess, I will have the funding for your precious orphanage cut by morning. Those runts will be on the street before the sun comes up."

A sob ripped from my throat. He knew exactly where to strike. He knew the orphanage was the only reason I had sold my soul to his mother in the first place. I couldn't let the pups suffer for my heartbreak.

With shaking hands, I pulled myself up to the desk. The pen felt heavy, slippery in my sweaty grip. I didn't read the words. I just signed my name, the letters jagged and uneven. Then, following the custom of the oath, I bit my thumb until copper filled my mouth and pressed my print onto the seal.

The magic of the oath sizzled against my skin, a cold chain locking around my tongue. It was done. I was silenced.

Damon snatched the paper away immediately, tucking it into a drawer as if touching it contaminated him. He didn't look at me. He walked to the coat rack, grabbed a heavy wool coat—one that belonged to a visiting dignitary, not me—and threw it at my chest.

"Cover yourself. You look pathetic," he muttered. "My guards are outside. They will escort you to the territory line. If I catch your scent on my land after midnight... the treaty is void, and you will be hunted as a rogue."

I clutched the scratchy wool to my chest, the smell of the strange alpha on it making me want to retch. I looked at him one last time, searching for a flicker of the man who had promised to protect me.

But there was only the Alpha.

"Goodbye, Rosalie," he said, turning his back to me to gaze out the window at the moon.

I turned and walked toward the door, my legs feeling like lead, the fire in my stomach spreading lower, turning into a dull, terrifying cramp. I left the velvet pouch under the sofa. I left my heart on the floor. And as the guards grabbed my arms to haul me out, I realized I was leaving the only home my heart had ever known.