Alpha Petrova
he said.
Helena entered alone, her expression composed but serious. “Alpha,” she said. “She has arrived.”
“Who?” he asked, though I could see the question was rhetorical.
“Your former favorite,” Helena said, and the words landed like a stone.
My grip tightened on the notebook. Former favorite. Before I could process that, Helena added, “She has your son with her.”
Son. The word hit me harder than I expected. Alexander had a son. Four years old. The revelation made something shift inside me, an odd, unfamiliar ache that I could not explain.