Pregnant by the Enemy Alpha

CHAPTER 4

The room empties faster than I expect it to.

Levi and Lincoln are still arguing when my father stands, the motion sharp enough that it cuts through their voices without him needing to raise his own, and he tells them this discussion is over, that decisions made at this level are not debated endlessly, and they fall silent only because they’ve been trained to. My mother rises with him, smooth and composed, and when they leave together it feels less like an ending and more like a door closing somewhere deep in my chest.

Levi swears again, vicious this time, and Lincoln turns toward me like he might say something else, something comforting, something useful, but I shake my head before either of them can speak.

“Give me a minute,” I say. “Please.”

They hesitate, both of them, torn between staying and respecting the request, and it hurts more than I expect that even now they’re weighing obedience against me.

“We’re not done,” Levi says tightly.

“I know,” I reply. “Just… give me a minute.”

Lincoln nods first, always the one who listens when I ask, and he grabs Levi’s arm, steering him toward the door.

“We’ll be right outside,” Lincoln says.

I watch them leave, then turn and follow the path my parents took, my steps slower now, heavier, like the air itself has thickened. My mother is in her private sitting room when I find her, standing near the window with her back to me, hands clasped neatly in front of her as she looks out over the grounds like nothing in her world has shifted.

“Mom,” I say quietly.

She turns at the sound of my voice, expression calm, already composed, already braced.

“You should be resting,” she says. “You’ve had a shock.”

I almost laugh at that, a sharp, ugly sound that catches in my throat and never quite makes it out.

“I don’t need rest,” I reply. “I need help.”

She exhales slowly, like she’s preparing herself. “Monroe.”

“I’m not asking you to fight him,” I say quickly, stepping closer. “I’m not asking you to choose me over him. I just need help. Guidance. Something.”

She looks at me then, really looks at me, and for half a second I see something flicker in her eyes, something like pain, or regret, or maybe just weariness, and my chest tightens with hope before I can stop it.

“This is a difficult situation,” she says carefully.

“It’s my life,” I reply, my voice cracking despite my effort to keep it steady. “I’m seventeen. I’m scared. I don’t know what I’m supposed to do.”

She closes her eyes briefly, then opens them again, resolve settling back into place like armor.

“You are stronger than you think,” she says. “You’ve always been.”

“That’s not what I’m asking,” I say. “I don’t need to be told to be strong. I need someone to help me stop this.”

Her jaw tightens. “Your father has already decided.”

“I know,” I say, frustration bleeding through now. “That’s why I came to you.”

She turns away from me again, gaze returning to the window. “Standing against him would fracture the pack.”

“And standing by him fractures me,” I say, the words slipping out before I can soften them.

She flinches, just slightly, but she doesn’t turn back.

“My duty is to my mate,” she says quietly. “And to the stability of this pack.”

“So I don’t matter,” I say.

“That’s not fair,” she replies, still not facing me.

“Then explain it to me,” I say, tears finally threatening. “Explain how you can stand there and tell me to be strong while you let him exile me.”

She turns then, slowly, and there’s something tired in her expression that I’ve never noticed before.

“Strength doesn’t always look like action,” she says. “Sometimes it looks like endurance.”

“I don’t want endurance,” I whisper. “I want my mother.”

The silence that follows is heavier than anything my father said in that room earlier. She doesn’t reach for me. She doesn’t argue. She doesn’t deny it.

She just stands there.

“You will survive this,” she says eventually. “I know you will.”

“That’s not the same as helping me,” I reply.

“I can’t do more,” she says, and this time she meets my eyes, and I see the truth there, stark and immovable. “I won’t.”

Something inside me settles then, cold and final, and I understand that whatever love she has for me exists only within boundaries she will not cross.

I nod, because there’s nothing else to do.

“Okay,” I say quietly.

She watches me like she might say something else, something kinder, but she doesn’t, and I turn and leave before I can break apart in front of her.

Levi is pacing the corridor when I step out, fists clenched, fury radiating off him like heat.

“What did she say,” he demands.

“She told me to be strong,” I reply.

His mouth twists. “That’s it.”

Lincoln steps forward, concern etched into his face. “We’re going to talk to him again.”

“You already did,” I say.

“And we’ll do it again,” Levi snaps. “He doesn’t get to do this.”

They storm off before I can stop them, voices low and urgent as they head toward my father’s study, and I follow at a distance, heart pounding, because some part of me still wants to believe that this might change, that someone will finally say the right thing.

I don’t go inside. I don’t need to.

I hear Levi’s voice through the closed door, sharp and furious, hear Lincoln trying to reason, hear my father’s calm replies, measured and unyielding.

“This is final.”

“There are no alternatives.”

“You will not undermine my authority.”

When the door opens again, Levi looks like he might punch a wall, and Lincoln’s shoulders are slumped in defeat.

“He won’t budge,” Lincoln says quietly.

“I know,” I reply, because I already felt it settling into place.

Things move quickly after that.

Too quickly.

There’s no ceremony, no announcement, no dramatic confrontation. Just efficiency. Instructions delivered through intermediaries. A timeline set without my input. A list of what I’m allowed to take and what must stay behind.

“You’ll leave before dawn,” one of the elders tells me, voice neutral, eyes not quite meeting mine. “Your brothers will escort you to the boundary.”

I pack under supervision, folding clothes with shaking hands, every item feeling heavier than it should. My room looks the same as it always has, but it already feels like it belongs to someone else.

Levi stands in the doorway, watching, jaw tight. “This isn’t over,” he says.

I nod, even though part of me knows it is.

No one comes to see me after that. Not my father. Not my mother.

As night settles over the packhouse, I sit on the edge of my bed, hands resting protectively over my stomach, and I finally let myself acknowledge the truth that’s been pressing in on me since the decision was spoken out loud.

No one with power is going to stop this.

Not my brothers, no matter how fiercely they fight.

Not my mother, no matter how much she tells herself she’s doing the right thing.

And especially not my father.

The Alpha.

The man who taught me obedience, loyalty, and silence, and who is now using all three to erase me.

By the time the lights dim and the packhouse quiets, the understanding has settled deep enough that it no longer hurts the way it did at first.

It just exists.

And I know, with a clarity that feels cruel in its certainty, that when I step across that boundary tomorrow, it won’t be because I failed.

It will be because this was never my choice to make.