Rejected and Pregnant with Alpha Twins

~Selene’s POV~

"Congratulations, Luna Ashford. You're going to be a mother."

Dr. Priya Noel's voice is still ringing in my ears as I step out of the private clinic and into the pale afternoon light.

I stop on the pavement, pressing one hand flat against the cold stone wall to steady myself, the other instinctively falling to my stomach.

A mother.

I've waited two and a half years for this. Two and a half years of quiet hoping, of mornings where I'd stare at negative tests and force a smile before heading downstairs to make Caden his coffee. Two and a half years of swallowing the ache every time a pack member's mate cradled a newborn at a gathering.

And now, here it is.

A tiny, impossible miracle growing inside of me.

I want to laugh. I want to cry. I want to call Caden right now, hear his voice go rough with that specific tenderness he reserves only for me, hear him say something ridiculous and wonderful like he always does when something matters to him.

My driver, Marco, is waiting at the curb. He opens the rear door with a respectful dip of his head the moment he spots me.

"Home, ma'am?" he asks.

"Home," I confirm, sliding inside.

The word settles over me like a warm blanket.

Home. Blackwell Manor, sitting at the top of Cresthaven Ridge, surrounded by dark pines and the rich, earthy scent of pack territory. It never truly felt like mine in the beginning — that sprawling stone estate with its high ceilings and cold portraits of Caden's ancestors staring down at every hallway.

But time and love have a way of carving out spaces where you belong. Now, every room is imprinted with some memory of us. The kitchen where I'd stay up too late reading while he worked. The balcony where he'd pull me against his chest on cold nights and rest his chin on my head without saying anything at all.

I lean back against the leather seat and breathe.

Tonight will be special. I will cook for him — something slow and warm, something that fills the manor with a scent that wraps around him the moment he steps through the door. I'll place the results report in a little box, tied with ribbon. I know exactly how his face will look when he opens it.

He wants this just as badly as I do. He's never said it in grand words, but I know Caden. I know the way his jaw tightens whenever another Alpha boasts about his sons training on the field. I know the way his eyes linger on children at pack events, always just a second too long.

This baby will change everything.

This baby will be the beginning of the rest of our lives.

I smile the whole way home.

---

By seven o'clock, the table is set. Candles lit. The slow-roasted lamb he loves, the one with rosemary and that particular sea salt he orders from overseas, is resting on the rack. The little velvet box sits at the centre of his place setting like a secret waiting to be discovered.

The housekeeper, Mrs. Gale, peeks into the dining room and blinks at the scene.

"Oh, Luna. You've outdone yourself."

"Go home, Mrs. Gale," I tell her, smiling. "Take the evening."

She leaves with a knowing look and a quiet laugh, and I'm alone in the warmth and candlelight.

I check the clock.

Eight o'clock.

I sit down and wait.

Eight forty-five. I reheat his plate.

Ten past nine. I blow out one candle that's burned down too far.

Ten fifteen. I pour myself a glass of water and sit at the table again, staring at the velvet box.

I tell myself he's busy. There have been problems at the northern border recently — rogue activity, disputes with the Hollowcrest Pack over territory lines. Some nights don't belong to us. I know this. I've always known this.

When the front door finally opens at nearly eleven, I rise from the chair and smooth my dress.

The moment he enters the hallway, something shifts in the air.

Caden looks exhausted, yes — his tie loose, his dark hair slightly dishevelled — but it's his eyes that make me pause.

They're flat.

Not tired-flat. Not stressed-flat.

Decided.

He looks at the candles, at the set table, at me standing in the doorway of the dining room, and something flickers across his face that I can't quite name.

"You cooked," he says.

"I wanted tonight to be special. I have something—"

"Sit down, Selene."

His voice is quiet. Controlled. The voice he uses in board meetings and territory hearings. Not the voice he uses with me.

My pulse stutters. "Caden—"

"Sit down. Please."

I sit.

He doesn't join me at the table. He stands near the fireplace, his back half-turned, one hand pressing flat against the mantel. The fire throws amber shadows across the hard line of his jaw.

"Vivienne is back," he says finally.

The name lands in the room like something dropped from a great height.

I go very still.

He reaches into the inside pocket of his jacket and pulls out a folded document. He sets it on the table in front of me without looking at my face.

My hands tremble as I open it.

PETITION FOR DISSOLUTION OF MATING BOND AND MARRIAGE CONTRACT.

The words blur. I blink. Read them again.

"No," I whisper. It's the only word I have. "No, Caden, you can't—"

"It's already drawn up. The alimony is fair. You'll want for nothing."

The velvet box with the ultrasound report is sitting right there, three feet from his hand. He hasn't noticed it. Or maybe he has, and he simply doesn't care.

I press my lips together so hard they ache.

"Look at me," I say. My voice barely holds. "Please. Just look at me."

He does.

And for one terrible, stretched second, I see it — a crack, something raw and deep — before the Alpha walls slam back into place and his expression becomes stone.

"Sign the papers, Selene."

My hand folds over the velvet box. I pull it off the table and into my lap, beneath the cover of the tablecloth, where he cannot see it.

He cannot know. Not now. Not like this.

Not when the man standing in front of me is a stranger wearing my husband's face.