My Husband Exposed The Alpha Who Poisoned My Womb

The private waiting room on the Upper East Side smelled of lavender and expensive sanitizer, a stark contrast to the sterile, terrifying hospitals of my past. I sat in the plush velvet chair, my hands unconsciously hovering over my still-flat stomach. A small, secret smile touched my lips.

River didn’t know yet. I wanted to surprise him tonight with the ultrasound photos. After everything Trenton had put me through—the years of gaslighting, the tampered vitamins, the 'accidental' losses—this baby felt like a miracle. My wolf, Luna, purred in the back of my mind, curling around the new spark of life within us. For the first time in years, I felt safe.

That safety shattered with the sound of crashing doors.

"There she is! The homewrecker!"

The shrill voice cut through the clinic’s hush like a serrated knife. I froze, my heart hammering against my ribs. Freya Wilson marched into the room, her stilettos clicking sharply on the marble floor. Behind her, a cameraman with a blinding rig light and two hulking bodyguards followed, crowding the serene space.

"Freya?" I stood up, my instincts screaming at me to run, but there was nowhere to go. "What are you doing here? You can't be in here."

Freya didn't look at me; she looked at the camera lens, her face twisted into a mask of righteous indignation. She was livestreaming. "You all see this? This is Marilyn Adams. The woman who thinks she can sleep with my fiancé, get pregnant with his bastard, and ruin my life!"

"No," I whispered, the blood draining from my face. The accusation was so absurd, so vile. "Freya, stop. This isn't Trenton's child. I haven't seen Trenton in months. Please, turn the camera off."

"Liar!" She stepped closer, invading my personal space. The scent of her perfume—cloying, expensive roses—made me gag. "Trenton told me everything! He showed me the messages! You’re trying to trap him back into a bond you rejected!"

"I am married!" I cried out, my hand going to my neck where River’s mark was hidden beneath my scarf.

"To who? Some imaginary sugar daddy?" Freya laughed, a cruel, brittle sound. She snapped her fingers at the bodyguards. "Get this whore out of my sight. I want her on the street where she belongs."

Panic flared hot and bright. "Don't touch me!"

One of the guards, a Delta with dead eyes, lunged forward. I tried to dodge, but he was faster. He grabbed my arm, his grip bruising.

"Let go!" I screamed, clawing at his hand.

"Drag her out!" Freya shrieked, playing to her audience.

The guard yanked me hard. I stumbled, my feet tangling in the rug. He didn't stabilize me; instead, he shoved. I went flying backward, my hip slamming into the sharp corner of the receptionist's mahogany desk before I hit the floor with a bone-jarring thud.

Time seemed to suspend.

A sharp, tearing pain ripped through my lower abdomen. It wasn't just physical; it was a soul-deep severance. Luna let out