The Alpha’s Hidden Legacy

Seth’s voice sliced through the air like a whip. “How long, Aimee? How long have you known?” he demanded, eyes blazing with fury.

I instinctively stepped back, hands lifted in surrender. “Just an hour ago. I swear, Seth. That’s why I kept you from going into the study.”

His jaw clenched, the tendons in his neck straining. “You shouldn’t have stopped me! I needed to see it for myself. To show them that betraying me comes at a cost.”

“You would’ve exploded!” I shot back, my voice trembling with frustration. “Your father is dying, Seth. Do you really want his final memories of you to be chaos and yelling and broken trust?”

He recoiled like I’d physically struck him, but the fire in his eyes refused to die out. “They shattered the trust first, Aimee. Carolyn and Florence? My own brother?”

I didn’t reply. There was no justification. No comfort I could offer that wouldn’t sound hollow.

A bitter laugh escaped his lips. He raked a hand through his hair, pacing like a caged animal. “And you want me to just stand here? To sit on my hands while they play house behind my back?”

“For now?” I said softly. “Yes. Just until we decide how to move forward. You can’t burn everything down while your father’s on his deathbed.”

He stared at me, breathing heavily. The rage in him simmered, but something gentler flickered underneath. After a long pause, he gave a reluctant nod. But the rigid line of his jaw told me the storm inside him hadn’t passed.

Without another word, he brushed past me, his footsteps pounding down the hallway like war drums.

I leaned against the wall, my body sagging with exhaustion. “What the hell do we do now?” I whispered into the silence. But there was no answer—just the oppressive weight of everything falling apart.

---

Later that night, I sat in my father’s study. The room still held echoes of power and command, but he was only a fragile echo of the man he used to be. His eyes, though, still pierced through everything.

“You want to end the bond with Alpha Florence?” he repeated, voice thin but laced with interest.

I nodded, my fingers tightening on the hem of my sleeve. “Yes. He betrayed me. He’s been… with Carolyn.”

The silence that followed was suffocating. It filled the room like fog. My father exhaled slowly, eyes closing. When he opened them, the rage I expected was nowhere to be found.

“Aimee,” he said, his tone deliberate, “if Florence has broken your trust, leave him. But don’t let bitterness become the cornerstone of your future. Let them be together, if that’s what they’ve chosen.”

His words felt like a slap. “Are you… siding with them?”

“I’m not siding with anyone,” he answered calmly. “I’m asking you to choose peace over vengeance. This family’s seen more than its fair share of destruction.”

I bit my tongue, holding back the tears. “Fine,” I said, standing abruptly. “Thanks for the advice.”

---

I didn’t make it far before running into Florence. He was leaning casually in the hallway, as if nothing in the world had changed.

“There you are,” he said, like he’d been looking for me. “Start planning Carolyn’s birthday. She’ll want everything flawless.”

I stared at him, stunned. Not a single word about my birthday—just two weeks ago. No gesture. Not even a half-hearted greeting. But here he was, already fussing over Carolyn’s celebration.

“Alright,” I murmured, forcing my face into neutrality.

He nodded and walked away without a backward glance. I watched his retreating figure, my throat tightening with unsaid words.

When he was gone, I pulled the small stick from my pocket. Two pink lines. Clear. Unforgiving.

I was pregnant. With Florence’s child. And I couldn’t let him find out—not like this.

I had to leave. Leave him. Leave all of them.

---

That night, I was trying to lose myself in sleep when the door creaked open. Carolyn waltzed in like she owned the place. My breath caught.

She was wearing my dress.

“What the hell, Carolyn?” I snapped, sitting upright.

She spun slowly in front of the mirror, a sly smirk playing on her lips. “Don’t I look amazing? Just thought I’d borrow it.”

“That dress belonged to Mom,” I said through clenched teeth. “She gave it to me.”

She waved a dismissive hand. “We’re sisters. We share.”

“No,” I hissed, standing up. “We do not share everything. Take. It. Off.”

Carolyn folded her arms, defiance radiating from her posture. “You’re being dramatic.”

My patience snapped. “If you won’t take it off, I will.”

When she didn’t move, I reached forward and tugged. Hard. The fabric tore down the side with a loud rip.

Carolyn gasped, stumbling backward. “What the hell is wrong with you?” she screeched.

Before I could respond, the door slammed open, and Florence barged in. His eyes darted between the scene: Carolyn clutching the torn dress to her chest and me standing there, breathless with fury.

Her expression morphed in a heartbeat. She looked up at Florence, her lip trembling. “She attacked me,” she whispered. “I just wanted to borrow the dress, and she—”

“You liar!” I shouted. “You’re twisting everything!”

But Florence’s glare was already locked on me, his voice ice-cold. “Have you completely lost your mind, Aimee?”