The Cruel Alpha: Shouldn't Let You Go

"If you don't sign these papers, don't expect to leave this room alive!"

I looked in the direction of the voice and saw the man pushing past the doctor to yank off my oxygen mask, shouting at me with venomous intensity.

Those bloodshot eyes matched the same murderous gaze from when he tried to die with me in the car. This frighteningly familiar scene was something I would never forget, even if I were reduced to ashes.

In my previous life, I had stood my ground until the very end, never backing down. I had used my last ounce of strength to tear those divorce papers to shreds. I had stubbornly held on until after leaving the delivery room when I submitted a formal complaint to the college.

That decision was one I regretted for the rest of my life.

"I'll sign," I muttered, forcing myself to sit up as I took the documents from Tristan Barnes' hand. Under his suspicious gaze, I scrawled my signature across the divorce papers with shaky handwriting.

He snatched the documents back and examined them carefully before he threatened, "Bridget Pearce, you'd better not be playing any tricks! Out of whatever remains of our marriage, I'll arrange for someone to take care of you during your postpartum recovery and cover those expenses, but beyond that…"

He tossed the oxygen mask onto my body and hissed, "You won't get a single penny from me!"

With that, he left with the papers without looking back.

When I was 25, I had ignored my advisor's objections, dropped out of academia, and married the penniless Tristan. After the wedding, I easily secured a position at the college with my impressive credentials and spent my free time publishing countless research papers under Tristan's name.

During our five years of marriage, I had helped him become an associate professor with tenure at the college, supporting his rise from having nothing to having everything. Yet, five years of marriage only earned me coverage for postpartum care expenses.

I laughed bitterly at the reality.

After Tristan left, I was transferred from intensive care to a regular room, and the nurse brought me my daughter, Victoria Pearce. I watched as Victoria struggled to grip my index finger, and this strengthened my resolve to personally change both our fates this time around.

Late that night, the howling wind outside made it impossible for me to sleep. I clearly remembered locking the doors and windows, but sudden fear dilated my pupils. I dragged my aching body to the side of the bed only to discover that the crib was empty. Just before falling asleep, Victoria had been sleeping peacefully right there.

"Mrs. Barnes, what are you looking for?"

I whirled around toward the window, where a woman in a hospital gown with a slightly swollen belly was holding something out toward the open air. Looking closer, I realized with horror that it was Victoria.