Claimed By The Alpha

The dream started in her old house—but this time, it wasn’t just a false memory. It was actually hers. A day she had lived.The sun had been bright outside, pouring warm light into the quiet home she hadn’t stepped foot in for years. After her parents’ funeral, Ryleigh returned to her parents home. Grief had a way of pulling you toward familiar things, even if they hurt to touch.The apartment in the city had become unbearable. Too loud. Too empty. Too full of reminders that life had kept moving while hers had stopped.She was folding her clothes into neat piles, transferring her life piece by piece into her parents’ bedroom. The master closet was larger than the one in her childhood room, and though it felt invasive at first, something in her needed to be close to them. Needed to belong again.She slid hangers along the rod, clearing space beside her father’s old winter coat and her mother’s silk blouses, still smelling faintly of lilac.Then, tucked behind a stack of shoeboxes, some

The hospital room was quiet, its sterile calm a fragile barrier between Ryleigh and the unknown life waiting outside. For two days, she'd been here—under observation, under care—but more importantly, out of Margaret’s reach.Dr. Derek hadn’t been overly warm, but there was a steady calm to him that made her feel less like a prisoner and more like… a person. He didn’t press her with questions. He treated her physical injuries with a cool professionalism, and though their conversations were short, his voice never held judgment or superiority.In this place, she hadn’t had to fight. She hadn’t had to flinch every time a door opened.But nothing safe lasted long.That morning, she sensed the change before it happened. The nurse’s voice was tighter. The air around her stilled. Then the knock came. Sharp. Measured.Dr. Derek entered first, clipboard in hand, but his jaw was tight. “You’re being discharged.”Behind him stood a tall man in black. Rigid, silent, and unmistakably part of Margar

The day of the dinner started early and carried the weight of tension in every corner of the house. Ryleigh hadn’t seen Margaret since the night before, but her presence lingered like a shadow—heavy and sharp. Orders had filtered down quickly: floors needed to be scrubbed until they shone, silver polished until it gleamed, and not a single speck of dust was to be seen.Ryleigh spent most of the morning sweeping, wiping, scrubbing. She didn’t complain. Hard work was familiar. It gave her something to do, something to focus on that wasn’t the confusing blur of her captivity. Still, by the time Natalia appeared and told her it was time to retire to her room, her arms ached and her stomach was a hollow pit.She sat on the narrow bed and picked up a small book Natalia had lent her the night before—an old, worn copy of Wuthering Heights. Ryleigh flipped through it, trying to lose herself in the words, but her mind kept drifting back to the main hall. Who was this guest? Why did it matter so

The hall outside Alpha Damien’s office was quiet—eerily so. Ryleigh had only meant to pass through on her way to Margaret's room, a stack of freshly folded towels in her arms. She wasn’t prepared for the door to swing open suddenly, or for Alpha Damien to step into her path with that maddening, confident smirk painted across his face."Well, well," he said smoothly, eyes flicking down to the towels and then back up to her face. "What are you doing lurking outside my office?"Ryleigh stiffened. "Just passing through," she replied, not meeting his eyes. Being this close to him made her uneasy—not just because he was the Alpha, but because he was... too much. Too intense. Too magnetic. Too dangerous.He took a step closer, close enough that she had to tilt her chin up to look at him. His presence radiated heat and power, like standing too close to a fire. “You always seem to be working,” he murmured, his voice low and silky, teasing the shell of her ear as he leaned in. “Do you ever take