《Rejected By My Hockey Alpha》全部章節：第 211 章 - 第 220 章

Penelope pov "Exactly," Viktor agrees without shame. "That's natural order. You're proving why it's necessary, look at the chaos your elevation caused. Attacks. Conspiracies. Packs divided. All because one Omega thought she deserved power.""I was not born an Omega," I say, my voice dropping low. "Your beloved former Alpha is the one who brought my family down to Omega status. He destroyed my parents to hide his own transgressions."Viktor laughs. It's a slow, ugly sound that fills the space between us."Once an Omega, always an Omega," he says. "Marcus deemed your family worthy of that status, so that's where you stay. That is what a strong Alpha does. He sees a threat and he eliminates it cleanly." He tilts his head, looking me over with open contempt. "Unlike that weakling you've got wrapped around your finger now."The words hit exactly where he intends them to."Timothy is twice the Alpha Marcus ever was," I say."Is he?" Viktor's smile doesn't waver. "Because from where I'm sta

Timothy's POVWe moved out at midnight. Three teams, twelve fighters total, plus Liam's four-man unit running independent support on the northern ridge. Radio silence from the moment we left the staging point. Earpieces only, one channel, Ethan's voice as command.The mining compound sat in a bowl between two ridgelines, accessible by a single road from the west and a rocky service path from the east. Viktor had chosen it well. The approach gave his perimeter guards a clear sightline in three directions, which meant we came in from the fourth—straight down the eastern slope in the dark, moving slowly, one careful step at a time.Kael was close to the surface the whole way down. I could feel him like a second heartbeat, faster than mine and steadily louder. I kept him back, but only just. I needed him ready.We reached the perimeter fence at twelve forty-two. Two guards, rotating pattern, eighteen-second gap between passes. Ethan's voice came through the earpiece: Main team in position

Penelope's POVThe hardest part of recovery was the days that looked fine from the outside. I could smile across a council table and follow the agenda and make good arguments about trade policy, and then drive home afterward with my hands gripping the steering wheel too tightly because a truck had pulled up alongside me at a red light and the driver had gray hair and for one fractured second my whole nervous system had screamed Viktor. It wasn't Viktor. It was a man in his sixties with a grocery bag on the passenger seat.I didn't tell Timothy about that one instead I told the counselor on Thursday."You're managing," Dr. Osei said, in the measured tone she used when she meant something more than the words. "But managing isn't the same as healing, are you letting people see the hard days?""Timothy sees them," I said."Your husband isn't a therapist," she said, not unkindly. "He's a resource, not a treatment. The people around you can support you, but they can't do this for you.""I k

Timothy's POV Our third anniversary fell on a Thursday, which meant Penelope had a council subcommittee meeting in the morning and I had two territory calls in the afternoon, and we'd agreed a week earlier to do the actual celebration on Saturday when neither of us would be busy. That morning, I woke up early and watched the light filter through the curtains—a habit I’d kept since the second year. There was no crisis; I just wanted to appreciate the peace. She slept facing me, looking younger than her years. I got up quietly, made coffee, and checked the morning report. Twelve territories were now using the democratic model, three more were discussing it, and trade revenue was climbing. Even the hockey franchise had a new deal that I knew would make Penelope happy. Soon, I heard her moving around.She came out in sweatpants and one of my old Frostfang practice shirts that she'd claimed months ago and never given back. "Coffee," she said. "Counter," I said. She poured a cup and

Timothy's POVAround nine that night, a storm rolled off the mountains, turning the sky a bruised green-gray and rattling the window frames. Penelope had been restless all day, her movements careful and constant as she tried to find a comfortable position that didn't exist. By seven, the book in her lap was just a prop; by eight, her focus had shifted entirely to the timer on her phone, tracking the rhythm of a storm of her own."Contractions," she said, when I asked."How far apart?" I asked."Eight minutes," she said. "It's fine, we have time.""We're going now," I said."They said to wait until""Penelope," I said.She looked at me for a moment, then looked at the rain sheeting down the back window, then looked back at me. "Fine," she said. "Get the bag."The hospital was a fifteen-minute drive, but I made it in ten—a move Penelope later teased me for, though I have no regrets. The staff were ready for us, moving her through intake and the initial exams with practiced speed. The mi