All Chapters of FATED TO MY STEPBROTHER ALPHA.: Chapter 21 - Chapter 30

Braxton's pov. "No," Scarlett said, her voice clear and unwavering through the night air. "Micah is my son, and his father is long gone.” When she said that, my heart twisted in my chest until I could barely breathe. I stood silent in the deep shadows just outside the balcony archway, concealed by the heavy stone pillars of the north gallery. I had secretly followed behind Mireille, afraid she might cause Scarlett trouble or force a confrontation she wasn't ready for. I had seen the way Scarlett had looked down at her faded clothes in the hallway, the raw vulnerability in her eyes when Mireille appeared, and my wolf had been clawing under my skin ever since. Listening to her flatly deny my blood…my boy…sent a dangerous, white-hot fury rushing through my veins. "You really think you can erase me that easily, Scarlett?" I muttered under my breath, my knuckles whitening against the stone wall. I leaned my back against the carved pillar, forcing myself to stay rooted in pl

“What do you mean, have another baby?”My voice cracked in the cool night air as horror swept over me. I shoved Braxton off with every ounce of strength left in my arms, stumbling backward against the balustrade. I quickly pulled up my faded jeans, my hands shaking so violently I could barely fasten the button. My thighs were slick, and I could feel the warm, warmth of him inside me, a sickening reminder of what had just happened on this cold balcony.Braxton stood, hauling up his dark denim trousers and adjusting the sleeves of his red shirt. He didn't look like an unapproachable tyrant in a formal suit right now—he looked like a dangerous, unpredictable man driven completely by raw instinct.He stepped closer, his expression softening as he reached out. He touched my cheek tenderly, his thumb brushing a stray strand of hair away, before taking my left hand into his large palm."Let's go back to the way we were..." he said gently, his dark eyes pleading. "Let's build a family,

Scarlett's POV I hated Braxton for what he'd done to me. I hated myself even more for being afraid that he might not come back.The oak door of the bedchamber felt less like a barrier and more like a tomb. Outside, the storm had settled into a steady, freezing drizzle that tapped against the glass like restless fingers. Every minute that ticked by on the mantel clock made my stomach twist tighter.I stood near the washbasin, my hands gripping the porcelain rim so hard my knuckles turned white."Sit down, Scarlett," Mireille said, her voice soft but firm as she wrung out a damp cloth. "You're pacing like a caged animal, and you're going to reopen that cut.""I can't sit," I said, turning to face her. "He’s been out there for hours, Mireille. Bram should have been back by now.""Bram knows the eastern woods better than anyone," she replied. "If anyone can bring him to his senses, it’s Bram."She stepped over to dab the wet cloth against my cheek. The stinging cold made me flinch, b

Mireille's pov.I had spent years pretending I didn't see the way Braxton looked at Scarlett’s photos, and now Scarlett. Now I finally understood why it had always hurt.The morning light coming through the high stained-glass windows of the grand corridor was cold and gray. I held a tray of fresh linen and tea in my hands, but my fingers were so stiff they barely clamped around the silver handles.Every footstep I took toward the guest quarters felt like dragging iron chains across flagstones. Last night, when Bram came stumbling back with bloody shoulders, I had seen the look on Scarlett's face. And later, when the window glass shattered and the beast stood on the balcony without tearing her to pieces, the bitter truth had finally settled in my chest like lead.I wasn't a fool. I knew the pack politics, and I knew what my title was supposed to mean.But standing in front of her door, the heavy silver tray felt like a joke.I pushed the door open without knocking.Scarlett was si

Scarlett's POV.Braxton had finally stopped forcing me to stay near him. Somehow, that made leaving harder.Two weeks had passed since the night the glass shattered and the shift broke in the northern ravines. In those fourteen days, the atmosphere inside Grimholt Villa had shifted completely. Braxton no longer backed me into corners. He didn't grab my wrists, he didn't bark demands, and he kept a strict distance whenever we occupied the same hallway or space.He had granted me total freedom within the estate walls. I was no longer a prisoner, yet the quiet space he created between us felt heavier than any iron chain he had ever wrapped around my wrists.I sat on the edge of the stone fountain in the courtyard, watching the late afternoon sun cast long shadows over the manicured grass. The breeze was brisk, blowing my red hair across my face, but I barely felt the cold.A few feet away, Micah was squatting near a patch of clover, clutching his favorite wooden wagon—now fully repa