The Alpha President's Regret

#Chapter4 Ex-wife

Aaron's POV

Cameras flash on the red carpet when Emma and I step out of the presidential purple limousine at the Press Gala. The vehicle is garish for my tastes, but it comes with the Moon House, and image is important. Reporters call our names, but I only manage the same “aloof and arrogant” look the media has made me famous for since I became a politician.

My mind is elsewhere anyway.

Two months. It’s been two months since my wife – ex-wife – left me. I’d ordered my men to follow Mae, worried that my fragile Omega mate might run into trouble. Her assertions that she could make it on her own were entertaining until I realized how naively serious she was.

She’d gotten into a car when my men lost her. Simply vanished. Like her sister had eight years ago.

The car’s plates had been tampered with, and my men reported the driver displayed skilled counter-surveillance tactics – a pathetic excuse that I made sure my men knew was unacceptable.

Though both details flag my suspicions that Mae has gotten involved in something complex and dangerous.

My feet move forward across the red carpet with Emma at my side as my mind cycles through my relentless search for Mae over the past two months. I’m used to minimal sleep as the Werewolf President, but I usually sleep at least a few hours. Now I’m losing night after night of sleep worrying about Mae, and my body is finally beginning to protest.

Emma slips her arm through mine, and I barely spare her a glance. To the public, it looks like I’m keeping my focus on the flashing cameras and shouting reporters ahead, but I know the truth.

Emma Ashford should have been my wife: the ideal Ashford daughter, my perfect match, my first love. Her disappearance was my responsibility, and it tore me apart. To have her return to us, to me, after all these years, is a miracle.

Yet here I am, dodging her kiss for Mae’s sake as she leans toward me.

Hopefully, the cameras didn’t catch that. 

I hadn’t even realized, as the years passed one by one, how I slowly came to accept Mae as my wife. How comfortable I grew next to her, unwittingly allowing a useless Omega mate into my carefully curated life of power and influence.

And while I slowly let Mae seep into my every breath like a lethal fungus, she was planning her escape.

My blood simmers with fury, and I actively talk my wolf down, though I’m confused by the new, strange twinge of regret just under the surface of my anger.

“President Kensington!” My focus turns to one reporter while the rest of the press falls quiet.

“What do you think of your potential rival, Henry Whitmore, in the upcoming election? It’s been reported that his new secretary has recently helped secure substantial funding for his campaign.”

It doesn’t matter that this is the first I’m hearing about Henry’s recent funding, though I make a mental note to interrogate my team later about why they didn’t inform me of this. When you come from a family of politicians, diplomacy and thinking on your feet are as easy as breathing.

“I look forward to working with Mr. Whitmore no matter who wins. Afterall, we’re all here to serve the country of Lacertia.”

I’m vaguely familiar with Henry Whitmore, the playboy bachelor whose name is more commonly found in the tabloids than the newspaper. The Democratic Party he’s typically associated with has been gaining momentum in the public, but Henry is not a real threat.

Though he will be annoying to run against. Like a gnat that won’t leave you alone. I’ll find out in tonight’s news if the media picked up on the barely concealed disdain in my answer about him.

Stepping off the red carpet and into the Werewolf Natural History Museum where the gala is held this year, my chest flutters with hope as my wolf picks up a subtle scent I know well. I had no idea how badly I missed her scent, how much I’ve been craving it.

Like a drug, the scent draws me toward her. Without a second thought, I drop Emma’s arm out of mine, scanning the crowd until I see a familiar figure.

Well, sort of familiar. Holy Makah, she has never looked like that. 

I fight to keep myself composed as I watch Mae walk the red carpet I just came from. Her golden hair is swept up in a way that bares her delectable neck and frames her full lips. She’s wearing a dress I’ve never seen on her before, and it’s hugging her figure in a bold, breathtaking way.

She looks taller and stronger than I remember. Maybe it’s how straight she’s standing, her new posture radiating confidence.

Maybe she’s always looked like this, but I’ve never fully seen her.

The deep gold of her dress somehow brings out the violet color in her eyes that’s only found in Omegas. I used to cringe at the sight of her violet gaze, disappointed by the constant reminder of her inferiority.

But tonight, those same eyes mesmerize me.

Call to me.

As Mae steps into the building, my wolf is quick to bring my attention to the many men whose eyes linger on Mae as she passes. Ours, my wolf reminds me, prodding me to mark our territory.

One after the other, the men admiring Mae notice my icy stare. I watch as each one shivers and quickly averts their eyes away from her, offering a respectful nod in my direction.

Good.

Forgetting my own date completely, I follow Mae. As an Omega, her scent has always been faint, but our bond intensifies it in a way I had forgotten. I drown in her scent that smells fuller, richer, awakened, my wolf chomping at the bit for me to get my hands on her.

Mate, he reminds me relentlessly. MATE, he shakes against my rib cage.

My blood pumps, heart racing and c**k hardening at the intoxicating sight and smell of her. I forgot how entrancing our mate bond is, how inevitable she feels when she’s nearby. I ache to touch my mate whose absence has been eating me alive for two months.

She rounds a corner, and I stop cold, my stomach twisting as she approaches another man.

Henry Whitmore.

Abruptly pulled out of my desire for my mate, my surroundings come back into focus. Grabbing a champagne flute off a passing tray, I hover at a table of hors d’oeuvres, pretending to examine the food options.

Instead, I’m really watching Mae with Henry. How she laughs with him, her face lit up in a way I’ve never seen. How bright she shines, hinting at a genuine joy I realize she never had with me.

As if simply speaking with Henry brings her more happiness than she’s ever known.

More happiness than she ever had with me.

Every trace of regret inside me vanishes, my anger returning full force as I put two and two together.

When Mae excuses herself, I down my flute of champagne. Depositing it on a passing empty tray, I discreetly follow my ex-wife’s scent down a hallway and into the restroom.

With a click, I lock the door behind me.