My Alpha Watched His Lover Destroy My Mother

I'm scrubbing the marble floors in the east wing when I hear the elevator ding in the hospital basement.

It's past midnight. The Omega ward is supposed to be locked down—no visitors, no staff except for emergency calls. But I've learned not to question things that don't make sense in this pack. Learned to keep my head down and my mouth shut.

The mop sloshes in the bucket as I wring it out. My arms ache from twelve hours of serving dinner, clearing plates, and pretending I don't exist while Marcel entertained another delegation. Another round of handshakes and territorial agreements that I'll never be part of.

Footsteps echo down the corridor. Heels clicking against linoleum with purpose.

I freeze.

Raquel's laugh drifts through the air, followed by a man's voice I recognize—Dr. Cross, the pack's head healer. Their conversation is too quiet to make out words, but the tone is wrong. Conspiratorial. Like they're planning something.

I abandon the mop and press myself against the wall, following the sound. They're heading toward the isolation wing. Toward Mama's room.

My chest goes tight.

"—cameras will be off for exactly one hour," Dr. Cross is saying as I creep closer. "After that, I can't guarantee—"

"One hour is all I need." Raquel's voice carries that familiar edge of cruelty. "When Marcel sees what needs to be done, he'll understand. The Hart bloodline has been a burden on this pack for too long."

They stop outside Mama's door.

I duck behind a supply cart, my heart hammering against my ribs. Through the metal shelving, I watch Dr. Cross pull out a keycard and swipe it. The lock clicks open.

"Remember," Raquel says, her hand on the door handle. "You never saw me here."

Dr. Cross nods, pocketing something that looks like cash. "The security footage will show a malfunction. Nothing more."

They disappear inside.

I should run. Should find help, call someone, do something. But who would I call? Marcel? The same Alpha who left me bleeding on the floor while his Beta's daughter held a camera?

The pack warriors who held me down?

There is no help coming. There never was.

I creep closer to the door, pressing my ear against the wood.

"Wake up, Martha." Raquel's voice is sing-song, almost playful. "We need to have a little chat."

Mama's voice, weak and confused: "Raquel? What are you—it's the middle of the night—"

"I have something to show you." The sound of a tablet being powered on. "Something about your precious daughter."

My blood turns to ice.

"No," Mama whispers. "Please, whatever this is—"

"Watch."

I hear it then—the audio from that night. My own voice, small and terrified, begging for help that never came. The sound of fabric tearing. Raquel's laughter.

Mama makes a sound I've never heard before. Like something breaking inside her chest.

"Stop," she gasps. "Please, stop—"

"This is what your bloodline produces," Raquel says conversationally. "Weak. Pathetic. Unable to defend herself against a simple pack initiation. Is this really what you want representing our Alpha?"

"She's just a girl," Mama sobs. "She didn't choose this—"

"No, but you did." Raquel's voice goes cold. "You chose to burden this pack with your inferior genetics. You chose to saddle Marcel with a mate who can't even shift. Every day she remains here, she weakens us all."

I press my forehead against the door, tears streaming down my face.

"But I have good news," Raquel continues. "Marcel has found a solution. There's a Rogue ring in the eastern territories—they pay well for breeding stock. Especially young, unshifted females. It would clear your family's debt and remove the burden from our Alpha's shoulders."

Mama's breathing becomes ragged, panicked.

"Unless," Raquel says, and I hear something metallic being placed on the bedside table. "The burden removes itself. Sometimes the Moon Goddess requires us to make difficult choices for the greater good."

"You're talking about my daughter," Mama whispers.

"I'm talking about setting her free." Raquel's footsteps move toward the door. "The debt dies with the bloodline, Martha. Think about it."

The door opens.

I barely have time to duck behind the supply cart before Raquel emerges, smoothing down her hair like she's just finished a pleasant conversation. She walks past me without a glance, her heels clicking toward the elevator.

Dr. Cross follows a moment later, avoiding eye contact with the empty hallway.

I wait until the elevator dings before I move.

Mama's room is dark except for the glow of the tablet, still playing that horrible video on repeat. She's staring at the ceiling, tears streaming down her hollow cheeks.

On the bedside table, a surgical scalpel gleams under the fluorescent light.

I understand then what Raquel has done. What choice she's trying to force.

And I know, with terrible certainty, that my mother is already deciding.