The door clicked shut behind him, and the silence of his room wrapped around Alex like a noose. His hands trembled uncontrollably, his breath coming in shallow bursts as fury coursed through his veins like fire. His entire body buzzed with the kind of rage that made his skin feel too tight, like he might rip apart from the inside out.
How dare they!
The audacity, the nerve of his family—his own flesh and blood—demanding that he sell himself, offering up his body like a sacrificial lamb. After all the years they spent dismissing him, mocking him, treating him as though he were nothing more than a mistake, they suddenly found him useful. Now that they were desperate, now that the fortune built on the backs of generations was beginning to slip through their greedy fingers—they remembered he existed.
Alex paced across the room, then back again, his fingers raking through his hair. His pulse was a thunderstorm in his ears. How long had they seen him as nothing more than a backup plan? A bargaining chip? Was this the first time they'd considered offering him to some rich, entitled alpha—or had they just never needed to before?
That was it, wasn't it?
The only thing that had shielded him from being thrown to the wolves was the illusion of untouchable wealth and social dominance. So long as the Mastersons were perched at the top of the societal food chain, draped in old money and cold reputation, they could afford to ignore him. But now that the empire his grandfather and great-grandfather had built was beginning to crumble—now that the vultures were circling—the family was scrambling. Looking for anything, anyone, to trade for one more gasp of power.
Even him.
But, haven't they called me back for this? To throw me into Damien's arms for their benefit? Thought Alex remembering his first conversation with his family upon return.
He laughed bitterly. Why was he still so enraged? Why was he still so surprised?
But wait...it wasn't just about him now.
What if they found out?
What if his family somehow discovered the truth—that he had already been involved with Damien Sandbrook? That Damien had already marked him?
That he was carrying Damien's child?
Alex's stomach lurched.
They would use it. Of course they would. Twist it into something that benefited them. They'd offer him up like cattle at auction if it secured their position in society. And if they knew about the pregnancy? If they knew Damien was the father?
They'd chain Alex to him, smiling through their teeth while they sold him off under the guise of alliance and duty.
His breath caught in his throat as a new wave of anxiety crashed over him.
And Damien. Alex's hands curled into fists.
Had he already reached out to Alex's father, brokering some backroom deal like he was a parcel to be passed around?
Alex shook his head violently, unable to stop the rising panic.
He had believed—stupidly, naively believed—that maybe there was a glimmer of regret in Damien's actions. A flicker of remorse. That maybe, just maybe, Damien had been trying to make amends for what he did, for the way he had hurt him. Alex had started to let himself hope. Let himself believe there was something human under all that cold, alpha dominance that craved revenge.
But what if it had all been a lie?
What if Damien was just another wolf in a tailored suit, smiling while plotting to sink his teeth back into Alex? What if all his concern, his gestures, his sudden attentiveness—had just been manipulation?
A sharp cry broke from Alex's throat, half pain, half rage.
"That fucking bastard!" he screamed, the words ripping from his chest like a wound torn open. The sound echoed off the walls, empty and raw.
Tears streamed down Alex's cheeks, hot and relentless, as he collapsed to the floor in a graceless heap. The sobs ripped out of him, uncontainable and raw, shaking his entire frame as he instinctively wrapped his arms around his belly.
The baby.
A fresh wave of panic surged through him. How was he supposed to tell Damien? How could he even begin to speak those words aloud—that he was pregnant with the man making deals behind his back with his father?
His heart raced as his mind spiraled. Damien had the influence, the wealth, the connections. He could do whatever he wanted. If he decided to take the baby—his baby—no one would stop him. Who would come to Alex's defense?
Certainly not his family.
They'd probably hand him over with a smile, congratulating themselves on a crisis averted and a profitable connection sealed.
Alex's breath came in shallow gasps, his vision blurring, dizziness making the room spin around him. He couldn't think straight, couldn't breathe, couldn't escape the crushing fear pressing down on his lungs.
He forced himself to move—slow, trembling movements dragging him off the floor and toward the bed. He collapsed onto the mattress and curled up on his side, hugging his belly again like it was the only anchor he had left. The sheets felt cold and stiff beneath him, and even though his body was burning up, he shivered.
"Shhh," he whispered to himself between broken breaths. "You're okay. You're okay. You're not alone. I've got you. I'll protect you."
He had to pull himself together. If not for himself, then for the tiny, innocent life inside him—completely dependent on him for safety, nourishment, and comfort. There was something more fragile than even his fractured heart growing within him now. He couldn't afford to fall apart, not completely.
But it was hard.
What did Damien even want from him now? Hadn't he taken enough?
Was it the bond? Was that what kept drawing him back to Alex? Some primal, subconscious instinct that refused to let go? Or was it the baby?
Dr. Addison had warned him—had said that sometimes, after an alpha marked someone, even partially, they could become irrationally possessive. Overwhelmingly protective. But if Damien was so protective… why did he act like this? Why did it feel like being near him was just another form of captivity?
Was this really what "protection" looked like? Secrets and control and walking on glass?
Alex pressed his face into the pillow. He couldn't trust anyone. Not his family. Not Damien. Not even himself, not when his feelings were all tangled up with pain and longing and fear.
His stomach growled faintly, a weak reminder that he hadn't eaten since the day before. But even as hunger gnawed at the edges of his awareness, the thought of eating—especially anything Damien had brought—made his nausea spike. The sight of the untouched breakfast takeout left by the door earlier that morning still lingered in his mind. He hadn't dared to touch it. The idea of putting that food in his mouth made him feel physically ill.
He closed his eyes and let the exhaustion wash over him, finally giving in to the pull of sleep. Just for a while. Just to escape it all.
When Alex woke again it was almost noon. The sharp pang of hunger had returned, now accompanied by a gnawing emptiness in his chest. He sat up slowly, disoriented. The room looked exactly the same, but everything inside him felt different—heavier, more tired.
When he opened the door, he wasn't surprised to find another takeout bag hanging from the doorknob, just like the one from that morning. Damien's idea of care, no doubt. A gift wrapped in manipulation.
Alex didn't even hesitate. He took that bag, and the one from breakfast, downstairs and offered it to two maids he passed by in the hallway.
"Here," he said softly, managing a tired smile. "It's untouched. Please, take it."
They looked surprised, but accepted it with a grateful nod, clearly not accustomed to kindness from anyone under this roof.
With the cold morning behind him, Alex stepped outside, wrapping himself in a thick coat as the fresh air kissed his cheeks. He didn't know where he was going yet—just that he couldn't stay inside any longer. He needed to breathe something other than tension.
As he wandered the streets, searching for a place to eat, his phone buzzed in his pocket.
Leo.
"Hi, it's Leo. If you're not busy, want to meet for lunch? I found some information on Damien Sandbrook."
Alex stared at the screen, heart skipping a beat. His fingers hovered over the screen for a moment before he quickly typed back:
"Sure. Text me the location."
He slipped the phone into his coat pocket curious to know what Leo had found out.