Amelia’s POV
The morning is still, the kind of quiet that presses against your skin, making you aware of every heartbeat, every breath. I sit at the long oak table, papers spread before me in neat, deliberate piles. Menu sketches. Guest lists. The names of Alphas and their families, I trust, are written in my looping script. The plans for the party are beginning to take shape, but my mind keeps circling back to one name I haven’t written down yet, Alex.
I tap my pen against the page, my gaze drifting to the window where the autumn sun filters through the trees, painting shifting patterns of light across the wooden floor. My stomach twists, not from nerves of the pregnancy but from the weight of what I’m planning. I’ve learned to trust that twisting. It always warns me when I’m stepping i
