I Hid His Heir from My Alpha

Alessandra POV

The paper trembled in my hands, the crinkle of the medical sheet sounding like thunder in the silent, oppressive luxury of the Alpha's suite.

Positive. Five weeks.

I pressed a hand to my flat stomach, a wave of nausea rolling through me. An heir. I was carrying the Stonecrest Pack's future Alpha.

For two years, I had been Demetri Hamilton's wife in name, his secret shame in public, and his dutiful bedwarmer in private. A marriage orchestrated by his dying father, a bond he resented with every fiber of his being. But this... this pup could change everything. It was the blessing of the Moon Goddess, proof that our frayed, neglected mate bond was real.

The bathroom door opened, steam billowing out, carrying the scent of rain-soaked pine and ozone—him.

Demetri walked out, a towel low on his hips, water droplets clinging to the hard planes of his chest. He was breathtaking, a lethal predator carved from marble, and my wolf purred instantly, pathetic in her adoration.

"Demetri," I started, my voice trembling. I stepped forward, the paper burning against my palm. "I need to tell you—"

He froze. His eyes, usually a stormy grey, glazed over. Mind-link.

The air around him grew heavy, the static of a powerful Alpha erecting a mental wall. I was shut out. Again. I watched his jaw tighten, a flicker of urgency crossing his stoic face. The link cut, and he was moving before I could blink, shedding the towel and grabbing his clothes.

"I have to go," he stated, his voice devoid of emotion.

"Now?" I glanced at the clock. "It's midnight. Demetri, please. Tomorrow is my grandmother's birthday. You promised you might—"

"Something came up," he interrupted, buttoning his shirt with sharp, precise movements. He didn't look at me. He never really looked at me. "Go to sleep, Alessandra. Do not wait up."

It wasn't a request. The command in his tone, the subtle weight of his Alpha authority, forced my wolf to lower her head in submission. I stood frozen by the bed, the pregnancy report crunched in my fist, watching my husband walk out the door without a backward glance.

Sleep was a ghost that refused to haunt me.

Two hours later, I sat in the dark, the cold light of my phone illuminating the tears drying on my cheeks. The notification had popped up moments ago.

FASHION ICON ISADORA PACHECO RETURNS WITH MYSTERY BILLIONAIRE.

My thumb hovered over the screen, shaking. I tapped the article. The photo was grainy, taken outside the private airport terminal, but I would know that silhouette anywhere. The broad shoulders, the commanding stance that screamed power.

Demetri.

He hadn't left for pack business. He had left to pick her up. The woman he had loved before duty shackled him to me.

A desperate, stupid hope flared in my chest. *Maybe it's not what it looks like.* I closed my eyes, reaching for the thin, frayed thread of the mate bond that connected