After Pregnancy, Alpha Rejected Me

Chapter 5 This is a Mistake!

(Almira’s POV)

I’m currently sitting at the edge of my bed with my laptop balanced on my knees, staring at the screen.

Lysander Hitwell.

Maybe it’s just me, but that name sounds so sexy like him. His name alone sends a chill down my spine, and not in a good way. Well, maybe a little in a good way. I don’t know. My emotions are all over the place right now.

I don't know how long I’ve been staring at my laptop. It’s probably long enough to call myself a psychopath.

The pictures on the business site don’t help. He looks like he just stepped out of a magazine—broad shoulders, sharp jawline, dark hair always perfectly styled. And those eyes. I can’t even look at them for too long without feeling like I’m shrinking into myself.

How did this happen? Of all people, why him? Why the guy who’s so far out of my league it’s laughable?

It was yesterday when I found out that I was pregnant. Now, I’m back here in my house, shoving my face with gummy worms that I found hidden in the kitchen cabinets. I think these are my dad’s—he likes to hide the good stuff from me.

I scrolled down, while my cheeks were full of sweet candies. There it is—his contact information. His office address. My heart pounds as I stare at it.

Rich’s greatest advice was to search him up online. The poor guy still has no idea who got me pregnant, but he’s been supportive. I promise to tell him the truth when things get better.

Right now, I’m just a little confused about what's the next step to take.

I shouldn’t have left that morning without saying anything. But what was I supposed to do? Wake him up and say, “Hey, great night. By the way, I’m just a random Omega who makes minimum wage and has zero plans for the future. Bye!”

Yeah, no.

I slam the laptop shut and toss it onto the bed. This is ridiculous. “What am I even thinking?” I muttered to myself, running a hand through my hair. I can’t just show up at his office and tell him I’m pregnant. He’d probably laugh in my face. Or worse, call security to escort me out.

I still remember how he sided with my ex-boyfriend when he found us arguing. He even fired me!

But then, a nagging voice in my head won’t leave me alone.

“He deserves to know his baby.”

Rich really knows how to get stuck in your head like a f*****g gum under the table. I wished I could just sleep and forget that Lysander Hitwell got me pregnant.

“Arghh!” I groaned, flopping back onto the mattress. “Why does it even matter? It’s not like he’d care.”

What if he really doesn't? Do I just walk out and be cool about it?

“Oh, okay. You don't want your baby? No problem.”

I can already feel the embarrassment sinking through me. This is what I get for asking for a bottle of whiskey instead of a margarita. I should have listened to that freaking waiter the first time.

As much as I hate having to see the man I badmouthed again, I still can’t shake the feeling that it’s the right thing to do.

Lysander deserves to know. Whether or not he cares about me, he has a right to decide if he wants to be in this baby’s life.

I can’t make that decision for him.

Besides, a little parental help would be nice. I’m his broke baby Mama with no job in her hands.

My stomach churned. “What if he hates me?” I whispered to the ceiling like it would talk to me.

The thought stings more than I expected.

It’s not like I have any delusions about us being some fairy-tale couple. The only reason that night happened was because we’re both under the control of alcohol. It’s not like he fell in love with me or something.

I know I probably sound like a lunatic pessimist, but I’m just being realistic.

I know what I am—a broke Omega with nothing to offer. But still…

I sat up and grabbed the laptop again, opening it with shaky hands. His address stares back at me. “Okay, Almira. You can do this,” I whispered.

Inserting the last gummy worm in my mouth, I grabbed my coat and sled my bag over my shoulder.

I head for the door with conflicting emotions inside. There's a part of me saying that this is a bad idea, but the other says it is the right thing to do.

Whatever.

Let's just do it.

“Alright, Hitwell,” I muttered under my breath. "Let’s see how this goes."

I just hope I don’t regret it.

*****

“You call this a building? This is more like a skyscraper!” I blurted to myself. I think a few walking people in the street heard me, but who cares?

I’m more busy dropping my jaw to this wonderful giant standing in front of me. I’ve never stood in front of one before, and I never thought I’d feel this small in a good way.

I stood on the sidewalk for a long moment, staring up at it like it's my first time in the City. Its silver exterior is gleaming in the sunlight, bright but not blinding, and the unique architecture makes it look like it belongs in some futuristic city.

This is owned by Lysander Hitwell?

I felt the pounding of my heart getting worse. One more luxurious thing I see, and I might just pass out at the facade of the MW Group building.

There are people moving in and out of the revolving doors like clockwork—both men and women in tailored suits, polished shoes clicking against the ground. They look so important, so professional. It’s very far from the environment I grew up in where a mere two inches heels and pencil skirt can make you look professional.

I clutched my bag tighter and took a shaky breath. Inside are all the proofs and evidence I could ever need to prove my pregnancy.

“You can do this, Mira,” I whispered to myself. I can't even convince myself with my small, skeptical tone.

Swallowing my nervousness, I stepped through the doors. I haven't even lasted five seconds inside, and I immediately feel out of place.

The lobby is grand—high ceilings, marble floors, a sparkling chandelier hanging above. I feel everyone’s eyes on me, or at least it feels that way. Maybe it’s my imagination. Or maybe it’s because I look like I just wandered in from the street looking for a place to piss.

I’m really too hard on myself.

I approached the security guard near the entrance. “Excuse me,” I said, my voice barely above a whisper. “Where can I find… Lysander Hitwell?”

The guard raised an eyebrow. His gaze sweeps over me, from my scuffed sneakers to my plain jacket. I feel the judgment in his eyes. He doesn't even have to say a word for me to know that he thinks lowly of me.

“You’re looking for the CEO?” he asked, like he couldn't believe it.

I cleared my voice.

“Yes,” I said, trying to sound confident, which I failed miserably because I think I heard my voice crack.

He huffed, clearly amused, and gestures toward the reception desk. “Talk to them. They’ll let you know if you can get an appointment.”

“Thank you,” is all I managed to say. I could feel my cheeks burning in embarrassment.

I was about to turn towards the desk and talk to the receptionist when something caught my eye.

Above is a large screen in the center of the lobby. It’s broadcasting some kind of important announcement that requires a big celebration. And there, on the screen, is Lysander’s face.

I froze.

His picture fades to a shot of him standing beside a woman. She’s beautiful, with long, brunette hair and striking features that make her look like a goddess. I think I saw her billboards on the road on my way here. She’s a famous model.

Below, the announcement reads: Congratulations to Lysander Hitwell of the Shadow Weavers Pack and Rachelle Lionheart of the Black Fangs Pack, the future Alpha couple destined to rule the werewolf world!

The blood drained from my face. I can’t breathe.

Am… Am I reading this correctly?

He’s getting married?