Brandon Pov

Brandon Miller hadn't been this undone in a decade.

The hallway outside the ICU felt too quiet for the kind of storm that was building inside his chest. Glass walls. White floors. The soft beep of monitors. But all he could hear was the rush of blood in his ears the moment he saw her.

Aaliyah.

Ten damn years, and she only grew more breathtaking, she was better. Fiercer. More beautiful. Her back was straight, and her hand gripped tightly around the tiny fingers of a little boy lying in the hospital bed. A boy with caramel skin and wild curls. A boy who, in every fiber of Brandon's being, He knew he was his son. Wolves can always smell their Kids.

He hadn't even needed the test.

The scent hit first strawberry and late summer jasmine. The bond pulsed the second she walked into the room, and his wolf had gone deathly still.

He turned away from the glass before his chest caved in completely. His shoes echoed down the corridor as he strolled into the empty consultation room they'd reserved. He needed to breathe. To think. To remember the moment he let the only good thing in his life walk away because he was too afraid to fight for her.

Brandon collapsed into the leather chair like the weight of ten years had just dropped on his shoulders. He tilted his head back and let the memory take him.

The last time he saw her, she had been about to leave. She had

barely pulled her coat on, that flimsy red thing hanging off her arm, hair wild, eyes full of confusion and betrayal. The elevator doors had closed before he could say anything. Before he could explain. Before he could even admit he knew.

He had always known.

The night they met wasn't supposed to mean anything. He hadn't even planned to go to the club. The Noir Flame was the kind of place you only went to when you wanted to forget who you were, and that night, forgetting had been the goal.

He'd left home in a fury, the kind of fury only Alpha bloodlines could carry. Luna Calista and Alpha Jack, his parents, had staged a dinner that turned into a setup. A boring but pretty res head girl sat across the table quietly, educated. Just the kind of political marriage they wanted. Just the kind of cage Brandon hated. He argued and said no. Told them he wasn't going to marry for territory. Told them he'd die before living a lie like they did. Alpha Jack growled something about duty. Luna Calista whispered something about lineage. He exploded.

"If I end up in a Marriage of convenience like you two, kill me yourself."

That had been the last thing he said before storming out. He drove blindly, rage swallowing every thought, until he ended up at the one place that didn't ask questions.

Desmond was already there. Shawn showed up ten minutes later. They were all young then, stupid with money and power, untouchable in every sense of the word. Brandon had just turned twenty-three. He wasn't Alpha yet. But the title was waiting, the weight of it already sinking into his skin.

The harem girls danced around them, all made up and with painted

them not until she walked in.

He didn't recognize her name when the madam introduced her. He didn't care. She was new. Fresh. Brought in by her stepsister, who'd been trying to get into his pants for months. So had the best friend. He'd turned them both down without much thought.

So when they pushed Aaliyah into his lap, giggling and teasing, he assumed she was just like them. A plaything.

But the moment her skin brushed his, everything stopped. The scent.

The bond.

The pull.

His wolf roared inside him. His body went hot and sharp all at once. She was his mate. His fucking mate.

And he didn't stop it because he was a coward.

He let it happen. Loved every moment he spent in her arms. He let her believe it was just for a few nights. He let Desmond have his turn a& Let Shawn have his they are used to sharing women after all.

He pretended not to care, not to feel, not to know.

Because if he did let himself care, then it would become real. And at twenty-three, Brandon was terrified of the real. Real meant change. Real meant power he wasn't ready to claim. Real meant defying the bloodline and every expectation that had crushed him since birth.

So he watched.

He watched her fall asleep Night after night beside him, her lashes fluttering, her fingers curled near his chest. He watched her laugh at Shawn's bad jokes. He watched her argue with Desmond over books. She was vibrant. Soft. Fire all at once.

And then she was gone.

No note. No number. No goodbye. He searched. God, he searched.

Called the club. Threatened the madam. Paid the best friend off. Put a trace on the stepsister. Nothing. Aaliyah had vanished into thin Air.

And when the prophecy came a few months later, he knew he'd made the worst mistake of his life.

"The Alpha's salvation will not come from the bloodline, but from the fire born outside it. She will arrive cloaked in betrayal, bearing the child who will awaken the blood of kings."

He hadn't needed a name. He already knew.

And now, ten years later, she was sitting outside that hospital room, holding his son's hand. Brandon hadn't even realized he was crying until he tasted salt.

He stood, ran a hand through his hair, and walked back into the hallway. The closer he got, the harder it was to breathe.

Aaliyah finally turned, sensing his presence. Their eyes locked.

Didn't cry. Didn't smile.

She was like a woman who'd been broken once and refused to ever face that again.

And Brandon knew then...

This time, if she ran, he would turn the Entire Earth over to find her and bring her back.