The Alpha's Accidental Mate

Marisol's POV

The coffee shop smelled like burnt espresso and broken promises.

I saw Marcus through the window before I went in. He was doing that thing with his phone—picking it up, putting it down, checking the time. Guilty people always fidget. Three years studying wolf behavior in the wilderness taught me to read body language, and his screamed exactly what I'd suspected since he called yesterday asking to "talk."

The bell jangled when I pushed the door open. He looked up, tried to smile, failed miserably.

"Hey." I slid into the booth across from him. Our booth. The one where he'd told me he loved me for the first time, back when I still believed in things like forever. "Let's just get this over with."

"Mari, come on. Don't be like that."

"Like what? Tired? I just spent three years tracking wolf packs through the Montana wilderness. I'm exhausted, Marcus. So whatever you need to say, just say it."

He did the thing where he ran his hand through his hair. Another tell. "I met someone."

There it was. The words I'd been expecting still hit like a punch to the gut.

"How long?"

"Does it matter?"

"How. Long."

"Six months." He couldn't look at me. "I didn't mean for it to happen. You were gone, and I was lonely, and she was just... there."

Six months. I'd been emailing him about migration patterns and pack hierarchies while he was sleeping with someone else. The humiliation burned worse than the heartbreak.

"Who is she?"

His silence told me everything.

"Marcus. Who?"

"Lena."

For a second, I couldn't breathe. Lena. My best friend since college. The girl who'd helped me pack for Montana, who'd promised to check on Marcus, who'd sent me care packages and chatty emails about her boring office job.

"You're fucking kidding me."

"Mari"

"My best friend? My maid of honor?" My voice was getting loud. People were staring. I didn't care. "How long have you been screwing my best friend, Marcus?"

"Keep your voice down."

That's what did it. Not the cheating. Not even Lena's betrayal. The fact that he was worried about strangers judging him while my entire world crumbled.

I stood up. "We're done. Completely done. Don't call me. Don't text me. Don't exist in my direction ever again."

"Your stuff is already packed," he said quietly. "Lena moved in last month. Everything's in the spare room."

I walked out before I could throw something.

The street was too bright, too loud, too normal. How was everyone just walking around like my life hadn't just imploded? I stood there on the sidewalk, shaking, trying to remember how to breathe normally.

My phone buzzed. Lena's name lit up the screen: Please let me explain.

I blocked her number. Then Marcus's. Then I just stood there like an idiot, homeless and heartbroken, with nowhere to go.

Another buzz. Unknown number this time.

"Hello?"

"Dr. Vega? This is Dr. Rhodes from Meridian Fertility. Your doctor sent over your file. I'd like to discuss some options with you."

Right. The appointment. The other catastrophe I'd been trying not to think about.

Last week, Dr. Chen had used words like "severe endometriosis" and "significant scarring" and "your chances of conceiving naturally are extremely low." I'd been so focused on getting through the Marcus situation that I'd shoved the fertility news into a mental box labeled "deal with later."

Apparently, later was now.

"I'm sorry, this really isn't a good time"

"I understand this is difficult," Dr. Rhodes said, her voice kind but professional. "But I had a cancellation this afternoon, and after reviewing your case, I think we should talk sooner rather than later. Would two o'clock work?"

I had nothing else to do. My apartment was contaminated with Marcus and Lena's relationship. My research position didn't start for another week. I was thirty-two, single, possibly infertile, and completely alone in a city that suddenly felt hostile.

"Sure. Yeah. Two o'clock."

She gave me the address. I hung up and started walking.

The thing about betrayal is that it doesn't just break your heart. It breaks your ability to trust your own judgment. I'd spent three years in the wilderness, confident that my life back home was stable. I'd believed Marcus when he said he missed me. I'd trusted Lena with my relationship. I'd been so completely, catastrophically wrong about everything that mattered.

And now my body was betraying me too. Because apparently, the universe had decided I needed to lose everything all at once.

The Meridian Fertility Center was downtown, all glass and steel and expensive-looking furniture. The kind of place that charged thousands of dollars to maybe, possibly, give you what your body was supposed to do naturally.

The receptionist was aggressively cheerful. "Dr. Rhodes is ready for you! Just through those doors."

Dr. Rhodes was younger than I expected, maybe forty, with neat locs and the kind of face that probably made patients feel instantly comfortable. She smiled when I walked in, gestured to a chair.

"Dr. Vega. Thank you for coming on such short notice."

"Marisol is fine." I sat down, suddenly exhausted. "And honestly, I'm not sure why I'm here. My insurance barely covers a regular checkup, much less fertility treatment."

"Let's talk about your options first, then worry about logistics." She pulled up something on her computer. "Your case is challenging, but not impossible. Have you considered alternative paths to parenthood?"

"Like what? Adoption takes years, and I'm single now, so that's probably off the table anyway."

"I was thinking more along the lines of assisted reproduction using donor material."

Donor material. Sterile words for someone else's genetic contribution to my maybe-baby.

"You mean sperm donation."

"Yes. Combined with IVF, your chances improve significantly. We have an extensive donor database, all screened, all documented. You'd have complete control over selection criteria."

Control. That word hit different after the morning I'd had.

"How much does something like that cost?"

She named a figure that made my stomach drop. I made decent money as a researcher, but not that much money.

"We do have a program," she continued, watching my face. "Experimental, but showing remarkable results. We're working with some very unique donors, and in exchange for participating in the study, the costs are significantly reduced."

"How reduced?"

"Seventy percent."

I stared at her. "What's the catch?"

"No catch. Just comprehensive monitoring throughout the pregnancy, some additional testing. We're studying genetic compatibility markers, trying to improve success rates. You'd be helping advance the science while building your family."

Building my family. Two hours ago, I'd thought my family would include Marcus. Now I was sitting in a sterile office, discussing purchasing sperm from a stranger.

But what other choice did I have? Wait around hoping to meet someone new, fall in love, get married, try to conceive naturally with my damaged reproductive system? I'd be thirty-five by then, maybe older. My window was closing.

"I need to think about it."

"Of course." Dr. Rhodes handed me a folder. "Take your time. But Marisol? Don't wait too long. Time isn't always on our side."

I left with the folder clutched against my chest, feeling like I was carrying the weight of a decision I wasn't ready to make.

My phone buzzed again. Marcus this time, message coming through even though I'd blocked him: Can you pick up your stuff this week? We need the spare room.

They needed the room. The spare room in the apartment I'd paid half the rent on for two years before leaving for Montana.

Something hardened in my chest. Some small, fierce part of me that was done being hurt, done being disappointed, done waiting for life to work out the way it was supposed to.

I pulled out my phone and called Dr. Rhodes back.

"I'm in," I said when she answered. "Sign me up for your program."

"Wonderful. Can you come back tomorrow to start the paperwork?"

"I'll be there."

I hung up and stood there on the sidewalk, the folder pressed against my chest, the city moving around me like nothing had changed.

But everything had changed. I just didn't know how much yet.