All Chapters of The Alpha's Surrogate : Chapter 41 - Chapter 50

SIENNA’S FLASHBACKIt started like any other night — the kind of night that pretends to be harmless.The moon was out, soft and lazy behind a sheet of drifting clouds, and the road stretched ahead like a silver ribbon through the woods. The windows were rolled down halfway, and the wind kept tugging strands of my hair out of place. Nina was in the passenger seat, humming along to a song on the radio and munching on chips she swore she wasn’t going to eat.We were supposed to make a quick run to the East Ridge border — drop off a pack of moon herbs for Beta Lorne. Nothing dangerous, nothing exciting. Just a sister errand.But Nina never let anything be boring.“So,” she said, crunching loud enough to make me glare, “how’s your little love story going?”I rolled my eyes. “Don’t start.”“Don’t start what?” she grinned, kicking her feet on the dashboard. “You’re the one texting him every two seconds. Nigel this, Nigel that. ‘Oh, he sent me a moon emoji, maybe he means—’”I groaned, trying

SIENNA’S POV“I’m sorry… I’m not in the mood,” I said, forcing my tone to stay even, even though my nerves were a mess under my skin.The air in the room felt heavier. The candles burned low, their flames barely breathing. The faint scent of iron and incense mixed in the air — sharp, strange, and suffocating.Across the table, Cosette tilted her head slowly, like a cat watching a mouse it wasn’t sure whether to play with or devour. Her smile didn’t reach her eyes. “Not in the mood?” she repeated softly, like she couldn’t believe what she’d just heard. “A true Luna would never say that. A true Luna would understand the importance of a blood ritual.”I swallowed, trying to hold my ground. Her voice had that same velvet poison that could turn even a threat into something that sounded graceful.“I understand the importance,” I said, keeping my chin high, even as my heart kicked against my ribs. “I just… need a moment.”Cosette’s expression sharpened, her lips curving into a slow, cold smi

SIENNA’S POVLuther’s voice didn’t have to rise. It just existed, and the room rearranged itself around it.Cosette’s grip fell away like a string had been cut. The vial stayed upright in her hand, but the confidence — the vicious certainty — drained from her face in an instant. My jaw ached from how tightly she’d been holding it. My skin felt raw where her nails had dug in.I didn’t move.Not because I was scared.Because I was still burning.The air in the chamber shifted — like the walls themselves stepped back to make room for him. The flames in the candelabras trembled. Even the portraits on the wall seemed to watch him instead now, instead of us.Luther walked in, each step slow, measured. The kind of slow that meant danger. His coat brushed the floor. His boots sounded heavier than normal. Like the earth acknowledged him.His eyes went to Cosette first.Not me.And I felt that — like something sharp sliding under my ribs — but I stayed still. Silent. Breathing steady. The pain

LUTHER POVSienna signing that contract wasn’t just business to me.Most people think everything I do is calculated, political, strategic—cold. Sometimes they’re right. But that paper wasn’t about property or power. It was about binding her to me in a way I could not be written out of.It was commitment.Even if she didn’t understand it, even if she thought it was just some agreement to stay under my roof and carry my child—she was stepping into my life. My world. My war.She doesn’t trust me. I’m not blind. I feel it in her silence, in the sharpness of her tone when she speaks, in the way her eyes flick to exits without realizing she’s doing it. She watches me like I might turn into something dangerous at any moment.Maybe she’s not wrong.But what she never acknowledges is this: she followed.She stayed.She could have run a dozen times.And she didn’t.That matters more than either of us is ready to say.Bringing her to my room wasn’t an act of possession—not the way she fears. It

Sienna POVI turned.The voice belonged to a woman behind the reception desk.She was maybe in her early thirties, pretty in that quiet, expensive way. Her hair was pulled back into one of those sleek buns that never have flyaways, like gravity itself respected her. A thin gold chain sat at her collarbone, subtle but clearly real. Her blouse was pressed to perfection—white, soft, not the cheap stiff kind. And her perfume… light, clean, citrus with something floral. Controlled. Everything about her was controlled.She didn’t smile, not really. Just that polite work expression people wear when they’re paid to be approachable but not accessible.Her eyes skimmed me—taking me in, assessing. Not judging. Just… observing. The way a gatekeeper looks at someone who hasn’t yet proven they’re allowed past the door.“Yes?” she prompted softly.I swallowed, keeping my voice steady.“No, I’m with Mr. Lavigne. I’m Sienna… Sienna Monroe.”The name slipped out awkwardly. Like I wasn’t sure I was supp