Rejected by the Alpha: Carrying His Secret Heir

Arla POV:

"I'm okay. You don't have to bother."

"Fine." His eyes turned distant again. "You don't have to be so defensive."

I wiped the tears from my face with the back of my hand, forcing myself to meet his gaze. "Defensive? You're the one who asked for the divorce first. "

"That's not the same thing," he said. "Now that you're okay, sign the agreements."

"Our marriage was arranged by the family elders. You wouldn't defy your grandfather so easily. Tell me the real reason, Bryce. Is it because of her? The woman on the phone?" I said, my voice raw but steady.

I wouldn't let him dismiss three years of my life with a cold, corporate write-off.

He watched me, his expression unreadable, as if weighing the cost of telling me the truth. The silence stretched, thin and sharp, chilling me to the bone.

Finally, he spoke. Two words, delivered with no inflection, no emotion. "Kyla's back."

Kyla. Kyla Landry. The name struck me like a physical blow.

It all came rushing back. No wonder that voice on the phone had seemed familiar. She was Bryce's first love. I'd talked to her a couple of times while I was living with the Holdens. She was the daughter of one of their strategic allies. She was the only one who survived that so-called Rogue attack, and Bryce sent her overseas to recover. Everyone said he felt a profound and unshakeable responsibility toward her.

"So she's back, and you're divorcing me?" I struggled to keep my voice steady. "Your 'responsibility' to her is more important than our marriage?"

His jaw tightened, a muscle flexing in his cheek. "This is not your concern, Arla. It's my decision as Alpha."

His decision as Alpha. He was using his title, his power, to shut me down. To remind me of my place. An Omega, forever beneath him.

And in that moment, I understood. It wasn't responsibility. It was never just responsibility. He loved her. He had always loved her.

I was just the placeholder. The convenient, well-behaved substitute who filled the space while she was gone.

I could not bring myself to believe that all we had once been was hollow, a lie without purpose. My heart was still trembling with a faint, desperate hope. I wanted to tell him about the pregnancy, hoping it might make him stay.

But I quickly realized it wouldn't work. He saw me as a sister. How could he ever want a child from a woman he didn't love?

I couldn't gamble Bryce's feelings on my unborn child. I couldn't. I couldn't tell him. I had to keep my child hidden.

I reached for the pen on his desk. My hand was shaking so badly I could barely hold it. I didn't bother reading the generous terms he'd offered. I flipped to the last page and scrawled my name.

Bryce seemed taken aback by my swift compliance. A flicker of something unreadable crossed his face before the mask of indifference slammed back down.

I pushed the signed agreement across the desk toward him. Without another word, I turned and walked out of the study, each step an agony.

Back in our-my-bedroom, I collapsed onto the bed, burying my face in the pillows to muffle the sobs that tore from my throat.

I didn't know how long I had been lying there when my phone vibrated on the nightstand. It was a text from my best friend, Cori.

"Arla, you need to see this."

She had sent an image. A screenshot of a social media post.

"Have you seen what Cade Sterling posted? Who's that woman with Bryce? She looks familiar."

Cade Sterling was one of Bryce's inner circle. My fingers trembled as I tapped the image to enlarge it.

The photo was taken at an upscale restaurant. Bryce was turned slightly to the side, his handsome features half hidden in shadow. A woman with long dark hair leaned into him, her head almost resting against his shoulder. She was smiling, her face glowing with triumphant satisfaction.

It was Kyla Landry.

I checked the timestamp. It had been posted thirty minutes ago.

It was clear now. When Bryce got back, he went to her. He only came home to give me the divorce papers. While I had signed the agreement, and while I had cried alone in our bed, he had been out celebrating with her.

I couldn't help but zoom in on the picture and study the possessive way Kyla looked at him. It was the look of a woman who believed she had claimed him.

A cold hand seemed to clamp down on my heart, stealing the air from my lungs.

Another message from Cori arrived: Arla, are you okay?

I was too drained to reply. The phone slipped from my numb fingers and landed with a soft thud on the plush carpet.

I curled into a ball, a sharp, twisting pain starting in my lower abdomen. The stress, the heartbreak-it was reaching the baby. I wrapped my arms tighter around myself, as if I could shield us both from the wreckage of my life.

But that couldn't stop the lies, couldn't stop the coldness in Bryce's eyes. I realized I couldn't just stay curled up like this. I couldn't let my child learn to surrender before it was even born. That wasn't protection.

I had to climb out of the wreckage. For the baby. For myself.