Pregnant by the Alpha Who Never Knew My Name

"Miss Hart. Step this way."

A hand the size of a dinner plate clamped onto my shoulder just as I reached the hotel lobby's revolving glass doors.

I spun around, my fingers instinctively curling around the broken obsidian cufflink hidden in my pocket. Two men in identical navy suits loomed over me. Their golden eyes flashed under the chandelier lights, a dead giveaway. Wolf security.

"I know the way out," I said, shrugging off the grip.

"Alpha Vale requested a private word," the taller guard rumbled. He gestured toward a frosted glass door marked for staff only. "It is not a request."

They flanked me, leaving absolutely no room to maneuver. I marched through the door and down a narrow service corridor. The guard shoved open a mahogany door at the end of the hall and stepped aside.

Lucian Vale stood by a marble fireplace, pouring amber liquid into a crystal tumbler. He wore the same charcoal trousers and crisp white dress shirt from the television broadcast, though his tie was gone. The missing cufflink on his left wrist glared at me from across the room.

"You work fast," I said, stopping in the center of the Persian rug. "An engagement announcement and a press conference before nine in the morning. You must be exhausted."

Lucian set the decanter down and turned. Without the black mask, his face was exposed. Angular features, ruthless dark eyes, and a firm mouth pulled into a hard, uncompromising line.

"Take a seat, Avery," he instructed.

"I prefer to stand."

He picked up his glass. "Last night was mutual."

"Is that a question or a statement?"

"A legal clarification," he replied smoothly. He walked over to the massive mahogany desk and picked up a plain manila folder. "You initiated contact. You consented to entering the penthouse. I need to ensure we share the same memory of the evening."

"We do. We also agreed to no strings, no history, and no questions. So why am I standing in this lounge?"

Lucian dropped the folder onto the glass coffee table between us. "Because my pack is merging with the Thorne territory. My public image requires absolute stability. A human one-night stand complicates that narrative."

He flipped the cardboard cover open. Inside sat a stack of thick ivory paper and a printed cashier's check.

"Two hundred and fifty thousand dollars," Lucian said. His tone was strictly business. "Sign the non-disclosure agreement. You never speak of last night. You never approach me, my pack, or my future mate."

I stared at the staggering string of zeros printed across the bank check. Nolan had sold me out after I spent eighteen thousand dollars building his career. Lucian Vale was pricing my silence at a quarter of a million.

"You Alphas really love throwing money at your messes," I said flatly.

Lucian's jaw tightened. "It is a generous sum. Enough to pay off whatever debts your ex-boyfriend left you."

"You researched me."

"I protect my assets."

I leaned forward and picked up the contract. The paper felt heavy, official. Paragraph after paragraph detailed the financial penalties I would face if I ever breathed a word about the Greyhaven Alpha.

"So you get the Thorne alliance, the pristine reputation, and the powerful blonde mate," I said, tapping the edge of the document against the glass table. "And I get a permanent gag order."

"You get financial freedom."

"I get all the risk," I snapped, closing the distance between us. "If this leaks, your pack council blames the human temptress. The Thorne family destroys me to protect their political investment. You walk away clean while I take the fall."

"My security team does not leak."

"Neither do I."

I gripped the top of the ivory pages, digging my nails into the binding seam. With one violent yank, I tore the two-hundred-and-fifty-thousand-dollar contract straight down the middle.

Lucian’s eyes narrowed into dangerous slits.

I stacked the halves and ripped them again, the thick paper groaning under the force.

"I don't want your hush money," I told him, throwing the shredded pieces into the air. "And I don't want anything to do with your pack."

The torn paper rained down onto the glass table, scattering across the surface.

A glossy photograph slipped free from the back pocket of the manila folder. It missed the table, gliding through the air to land face-up on the edge of the Persian rug.

My eyes flicked downward.

It was an old, faded photograph. The edges were singed black, curling inward from fire damage.

"I am leaving," I announced, turning my body toward the mahogany door.

Then my brain registered the exact details of the image on the floor. I froze.

The photo showed a destroyed hospital corridor. Charred walls, melted fluorescent lights hanging by wires, and dark water pooling on the linoleum tiles. Seven metal stretchers lined the hallway, each covered with a soot-stained white sheet.

Standing at the end of the grim row was a young man with striking features. The printed label typed at the bottom border read: Gideon Vale, 2006. I didn't know who Gideon was, but the facial resemblance to the Alpha standing two feet away from me was undeniable.

Yet, Gideon wasn't what anchored my feet to the floor.

It was the third stretcher in the lineup. The white sheet had slipped down slightly, revealing the pale, lifeless hand of a woman. Pinned to the charred remains of her blue hospital gown was a silver brooch shaped like a crescent moon wrapped in thorny vines.

My aunt's brooch.

The exact piece of jewelry she wore the night the St. Jude Maternity Ward burned to the ground eighteen years ago. The night the police claimed an electrical fault took her life.

My chest tightened, squeezing the air from my lungs. I dropped to my knees, my fingers reaching out for the glossy surface of the photo. Why did a werewolf Alpha have a crime scene picture of a human hospital fire?

"Where did you get this?" I demanded, my voice edged like a razor. "This is St. Jude's."

Before my fingertips could brush the paper, a black leather dress shoe slammed down, pinning the photograph flat against the rug.

I jerked my head up.

Lucian stood over me. The indifferent, calculating Alpha from ten seconds ago was gone. His facial muscles were rigid, his dark eyes burning with a terrifying, violent intensity.

He leaned down, grabbing my wrist with a grip that threatened to bruise the bone.

"Where have you seen this woman?" he demanded.