CHAPTER 5 – THE BABY GAMBLE 

LUTHER’S POV

“Alpha Luther, our polling numbers are slipping.”

Marcel’s voice was sharp, clipped, like he’d been rehearsing this speech in the mirror. He stood in front of me with that ridiculous navy tie strangling his neck, papers in hand like they were holy scripture.

“Voters want confidence in their Alpha,” he pressed on. “And confidence means an heir. A Luna. A first lady. Without that, they don’t see stability.”

I pinched the bridge of my nose. Gods, politics was a slow form of torture.

“You know Amanda and I just got divorced,” I muttered, dropping into the leather chair that probably cost more than her entire settlement. “She was never my Luna. Hell, I only married her because my fated mate... Rogue Alpha’s daughter, vanished when we were kids.”

The memory still stabbed like glass. All that was left of her were those green eyes and that soft, familiar laugh I could never forget. 

Marcel didn’t even blink at the reminder of my tragic love story. “That’s exactly why we need a fix, Alpha. How about pulling the trigger on the surrogacy plan? We can spin it as a modern solution...”

“No.” I immediately cut him off. “My pup cannot be carried by some weak omega. I will not dilute my bloodline for political points.”

Marcel shifted, biting his lip like he wanted to argue but valued his head on his shoulders more. “Then we need someone strong. Someone who can be seen as perfect Luna material.”

He paused, then smiled. “What about Elara Salamanca?”

I raised a brow. “Hector’s daughter?”

“Yes. Salamanca’s only child. Smart, educated, comes from good stock. She’d make a perfect match... and she’s desperate enough to say yes.”

I leaned back in my chair, studying Marcel like he’d just suggested I marry a corpse for better headlines.

“Elara Salamanca,” I repeated slowly, letting the name roll on my tongue. It tasted like dust.

Marcel perked up like a dog who thought he’d finally brought back the right stick. “Yes, Alpha. She’s respected. Refined. Elegant...”

“Boring,” I interrupted, my voice flat. “She’s Hector’s daughter. Which means she’s his carbon copy in heels. And if I wanted to spend my nights listening to someone lecture me about ‘responsibility,’ I’d hire another advisor.”

Marcel’s mouth twitched, but he didn’t argue. He knew better.

Truth was, Elara checked every box on paper. Wealth. Power. Pedigree. The kind of Luna the public would eat up like candy. But the idea of her standing at my side made my skin crawl. She wasn’t fire. She wasn’t chaos. She wasn’t her.

And moon goddess, I needed her.

Not Elara’s stiff smile or her designer gowns. Not her rehearsed speeches or her hollow eyes. I needed the girl with green eyes who laughed like the world wasn’t already broken. The one I lost before I even knew how to hold onto her.

“Alpha Luther,” Marcel tried again, voice low like he was treading on thin ice, “you don’t have to like her. You just have to marry her.”

I barked out a laugh, sharp and cold. “Marcel, if I marry a woman I don’t like, I’ll end up killing her before the polls even open. And then what headline will they run? ‘Alpha Luther...widower, murderer, reelected?’”

Marcel didn’t laugh. He never did. But I could see the calculation ticking behind his eyes, already plotting how to spin me into a family man, whether I wanted it or not.

I stood, straightening my jacket, the conversation done in my mind. “Find me someone better than Elara Salamanca,” I ordered, voice like steel. “Or prepare a miracle. Because I won’t chain myself to a woman I can’t stand just to make the voters sleep better at night.”

Marcel opened his mouth, then wisely shut it.

I dismissed him with a flick of my hand, but as the door closed behind him, I felt it again... that hollow ache gnawing at my chest.

The polls wanted a Luna. My advisors wanted a Luna. The world wanted a Luna.

But what I wanted? She was gone.

And that was the cruelest part of it all.

---

AT THE FERTILITY CLINIC 

SIENNA'S POV

I couldn’t stop shaking.

The night air bit against my skin as I stumbled out of my car, my phone still clutched in my hand. Dr. Philip’s voice echoed in my ears... calm, and professional, like he hadn’t just heard a woman falling apart.

I hated myself for dialing him. Hated myself more for meaning it when I said I wanted a donor.

But what choice did I have? Nigel had poisoned me. Piper had stolen him. My future had been ripped away.

And the one thing I refused to let them take from me was motherhood.

Tears blurred the glowing clinic sign ahead. My feet moved on their own, dragging me toward the glass doors like I was already bound by fate.

The receptionist looked up, too perky for this hour. “Miss Monroe? Dr. Philip said you might come.”

I nodded, and followed her in. The smell of antiseptic hit me the second I stepped into his office. Cold and damn clinical. Like hope wasn’t welcome here unless you could pay for it in blood... or, in my case, debt.

Dr. Philip adjusted his glasses, his voice calm, rehearsed, like he’d had this conversation a hundred times already.

“Miss Monroe, are you absolutely sure you want to do this? It’s over fifty thousand dollars for insemination, and even then… nothing is guaranteed.”

Fifty thousand. That number didn’t just echo, it screamed like a damn alarm clock at 3 a.m. My credit cards were already on life support, my savings were a comedy show, and my rent? One tantrum away from throwing me on the street. But honestly? None of that mattered. The fire in my chest was louder than all the math in the world.

I squared my shoulders, meeting his careful gaze. “I’ll go into more debt if I have to. I don’t care. I want this baby. And I want him to be one hundred percent mine.”

And there it was... my truth, loud, messy, and unapologetic. Served hot, no chaser.

A slow smile tugged at Dr. Philip’s lips, like he admired my recklessness. He reached into his drawer and pulled out a glossy folder, sliding it across the desk. The weight of it thudded like a gavel.

“Then let’s give you options,” he said smoothly. “Here... this is the city’s most eligible noncommittal bachelors. Even a few billionaires. Take your pick.”

I flipped it open, glossy pages full of men who looked like they’d never had to beg for anything in their lives. Chiseled jaws, expensive watches, eyes that said trouble and you’ll regret this later. Every one of them was picture-perfect, like a catalog of sins wrapped in Armani.

I rolled my eyes, tossing the folder back on his desk. “I don’t care about money or pedigree. Just as long as he’s smart... and handsome. That’s all I need.”

And maybe a little reckless. Maybe someone who carried danger in his veins, the kind that would make my kid unstoppable. But I didn’t say that part out loud.

Dr. Philip chuckled, snapping the folder shut. “Noted.”

The nurse appeared then, her smile way too cheerful for someone about to shove science into my uterus. “We’ll prep you now, Miss Monroe.”

I followed her down the sterile hallway, my pulse pounding like war drums. With every step, I felt the weight of what I was doing. This wasn’t just a procedure. This wasn’t just a gamble.

This was me telling the universe: Screw destiny. Screw Nigel. Screw Piper. I don’t need a mate. I don’t need anyone.

I lay back on the crisp white sheet as the nurse prepped me, attaching monitors, her hands clinical and efficient. “You might feel a little drowsy,” she said kindly, pressing the mask over my face.

A little drowsy. Yeah, right. My eyelids grew heavy instantly, the world slipping away like water between my fingers.

The last thought that crossed my mind before the darkness pulled me under wasn’t fear, or money, or even Nigel.

It was this:

This baby will be mine. And no one will ever take that from me.

If Nigel didn’t want my baby… I’ll make sure someone else gives me one.