All Chapters of Alpha’s Regret: His Luna, His Heirs, His Redemption: Chapter 11 - Chapter 20

POV: Luther The council chamber was a cage, and I was the beast they wanted to chain. Smoke curled from the braziers in the corners, heavy and bitter, clinging to the carved stone walls. Banners of Red Moon hung limp, weighed down by the cold dawn light that filtered through narrow windows. The air tasted of dust, tea, and disapproval. Every elder was present. Grey heads, sharp eyes, heavy robes stitched with the sigils of their houses. They sat like vultures around the table, cups steaming before them, hands folded as though they hadn’t been rehearsing this moment for months. I sat in the Alpha’s chair—my chair now—and let them look their fill. Silence stretched. Too long. Too heavy. My jaw ticked, and still none of them spoke. It was my father who finally broke it, his voice smooth as a blade sliding free of a sheath. “You’ve returned trained, hardened, tempered. But you come home alone.” His gaze held mine, cold and unflinching. “The pack waits for a Luna. Still, you hav

POV: Olivia The city didn’t smell like pine or pack. It smelled of exhaust and coffee, hot pavement and too many people breathing the same air. Noise was constant—horns, music spilling from cracked windows, the rumble of trains underground. At first, it made my head ache. Now, it was almost a comfort. Noise was easier to hide in. Aria’s apartment sat above a bakery that opened before dawn, filling the stairwell with the warm scent of bread. The first night I arrived, she pressed her spare key into my hand and hugged me so hard the breath fled my chest. “You’re safe here, Liv,” she said. “Whatever you need—we’ll figure it out.” And she meant it. By the second morning, she’d arranged everything. A false ID in a name that wasn’t mine. Papers that said I belonged here. Loose coats from thrift shops to hide the swell of my stomach. Safety nets I didn’t understand but trusted, because Aria had never once lied to me. Still, I lay awake at night, one hand over my belly, the hum o

POV: Olivia The gel was cold against my skin. I flinched, fingers tightening on the thin paper sheet beneath me as Hana adjusted the wand across my stomach. The clinic smelled sharp, sterile—antiseptic and plastic masks. Too clean. Too human. Nothing like the wild air of the packlands. “Relax,” Hana murmured, her smile soft, practised. She’d been Aria’s friend in school, now a doctor in this city. I trusted her because Aria did. Still, my body wouldn’t obey. My shoulders were stiff, my heart hammering like it might break free. “I don’t know how to,” I whispered. Aria squeezed my hand from the chair beside me. “Breathe, Liv. Just breathe.” I tried. The breath shuddered in and out, uneven. Then—thump-thump, thump-thump. The sound filled the room, steady and sure. My vision blurred. Hana’s smile widened. “There’s one heartbeat. Strong.” My throat closed. One. My child. Real. Alive. The wand shifted. Hana frowned, leaning closer to the screen. “And… there’s another.” Two. I g

POV: Olivia The first cramp ripped me awake. It wasn’t like the others. This one felt sharp and deep, tearing me apart from the inside. A scream tore from my throat before I could swallow it. Aria bolted upright from the couch. “Liv?” “It’s too soon,” I gasped, clutching my belly as another wave slammed through me. “Aria—it’s too soon!” She didn’t argue. She grabbed her keys, shoving her arm under mine. “We can’t wait for an ambulance. We’re driving.” The world blurred into pain and headlights. Every bump in the road sent me crying out, my nails clawing into the seatbelt. “Stay with me!” Aria’s voice was steady even as she flew through the empty streets. “Breathe, Liv. Just breathe!” By the time she screeched into the hospital’s drop-off, my vision was swimming. She half-dragged me inside, shouting for help until nurses rushed forward. Hana was there—thank the Goddess. She snapped on gloves with steady hands. “Get her prepped. Now!” The room exploded into white lights, metal

POV: Olivia The laptop screen mocked me with its blinking cursor. For days, I’d avoided it. Every time I thought about opening the app’s code, bile rose in my throat. I didn’t want to see more error logs, more one-star reviews, more proof that I had wasted nights I could have spent sleeping—or holding my children instead of a keyboard. I didn’t want to see another reminder that maybe the elders had been right. Maybe I was nothing. Weak. Broken. A girl playing Luna in a world where strength decided everything. But Aria wasn’t having it. She shoved tea into my hands, shoved Daisy into my lap, and shoved the laptop open with a snap. “Fix it or delete it,” she ordered, sharp as her courtroom voice. “But stop pretending you don’t care.” I wanted to argue. To tell her I didn’t have the energy. That four babies were enough, that the world didn’t need one more app buried in the void. But the words stuck. Because the truth was—I did care. Too much. So I tried. That night, after