The Alpha's Exiled Mate

Chapter 14

ARIA

The silence in the car is suffocating.

Then Declan exhales slowly beside me, the tension in his shoulders easing just slightly.

"I apologize," he says, his voice quieter now. Almost gentle. "That was out of line. I shouldn't have asked."

I stare straight ahead, my jaw clenched so tight it aches.

"It's just..." He pauses, and I hear him shift again, like he's searching for the right words. "You remind me of someone I used to know. The way you carry yourself, the way you move. I acted on impulse, and that was wrong. I'm sorry."

My heart slams against my ribs so hard I'm sure he can hear it.

Someone he used to know.

"It's fine," I say flatly. "Don't worry about it."

Three words. Short. Final. I turn my face toward the window, making it clear the conversation is over.

But under my mask, my palms are soaked with sweat. I press them against my thighs, willing them to stop trembling.

Kelly whimpers softly in my mind. He remembers us.

Shut up, I tell her. He doesn't know anything. He can't.

The car moves on. Minutes pass in heavy silence. The driver keeps his eyes on the road. Antony, sitting in the front passenger seat, is smart enough not to speak.

I watch the landscape scroll by outside the window—trees, fields, open stretches of road—and try to empty my mind. Try to focus on the job ahead. Treat the patients. Get paid. Go home to my babies.

That's all this is. A job.

But the question builds in my throat like pressure behind a dam, and before I can stop it, before I can think it through, the words slip out.

"Who was she?"

I keep my tone casual. Bored, even. Like I'm making idle conversation to pass the time.

"The person I remind you of," I add, still looking out the window. "Who was she to you?"

The moment the question leaves my mouth, I want to claw it back.

What are you doing? I scream at myself. Have you lost your mind?

This is the man who chose another woman over me in front of the entire pack. The man who watched me get humiliated, who ordered the pack to hunt me down like an animal. The man whose exile sent me running through the forest, pregnant and terrified, with nowhere to go.

I know exactly who I was to him. I was nothing. A convenience he discarded the moment something better came along.

So why am I asking? Why do I care?

But even as I curse my own stupidity, something small and traitorous flickers in my chest. A spark I thought I'd buried years ago.

Does he still remember me?

He was my first love. My only love, if I'm being honest with myself. Every happy memory I have from before the exile has his face in it. The first time he held my hand behind the training grounds. The way he used to sneak me wildflowers from the meadow beyond the border. The night he told me he didn't need a fated mate because he'd already chosen me.

The sweetest words I've ever heard came from his mouth.

So did the cruelest.

The silence stretches on. Long enough that I think he's not going to answer.

Then, quietly: "Just an irrelevant ex."

The words land like a blade between my ribs.

Irrelevant.

Something inside me goes cold. Not the sharp, sudden cold of surprise, but something deeper. Heavier. The slow freeze of a lake icing over in winter, sealing everything underneath where it can't be reached.

Kelly howls—a sound of pure anguish that reverberates through my entire body. I clamp down on it, shoving her into the back of my mind.

Irrelevant.

That's what I am to him. After three years together, after everything we shared, after he destroyed my life—I'm just an irrelevant ex. Not even worth a proper answer.

Good. Fine. That makes this easier.

I was stupid to ask. Stupid to hope, even for a second, that the answer might be different.

I turn back to the window and say nothing.

Declan shifts beside me. I can feel him watching me, studying the change in my posture, the way my shoulders have gone rigid.

"Your children," he says after a moment, his tone shifting to something lighter. Conversational. "They seem like good kids. The boy especially—very mature for his age."

I don't respond.

"How old are they? Five? Six?"

Silence.

"It must be challenging, raising three pups on your own in the human world. If you ever need—"

"I don't."

The words come out flat and final. I don't look at him. Don't elaborate.

He tries once more. "The little girl with the curls—she has quite the personality. She told me—"

"I'd prefer not to discuss my children."

My voice is ice. Pure, unbreakable ice.

Declan goes quiet.

The car fills with silence again, thicker than before, and this time neither of us tries to break it.

I press my forehead against the cool glass of the window and close my eyes.

Irrelevant.

The word echoes through my mind like a curse, and I let it settle there. Let it harden into armor.

I'll need it where I'm going.

***

The first thing I notice is the trees.

Tall, ancient oaks lining both sides of the road, their branches intertwining overhead to form a canopy that filters the sunlight into shifting patterns on the pavement. I know these trees. I climbed them as a child, hid among their roots when the older kids chased me, sat beneath them reading stolen medical texts long past curfew.

My chest tightens as the car passes through the outer boundary of Crescent Ridge Pack territory.

Kelly stirs, pressing closer to the surface. She recognizes this place too. Every scent, every shadow, every rustle of leaves.

Home, she whispers.

Not anymore, I tell her firmly.

But my eyes betray me, drinking in every detail as we drive deeper into pack land.

The stone wall along the eastern border has been repaired—it was crumbling when I left. The training grounds beyond the tree line look expanded, with new equipment visible through the gaps in the foliage. The road itself has been repaved, smooth and dark where it used to be cracked and uneven.

Everything looks the same. And nothing does.

Six years. Six years since I ran down this road in the opposite direction, bleeding and terrified, with the pack howling behind me.

Now I'm driving back in the Alpha's own car.

The irony would be funny if it didn't make me want to throw up.

The car rounds the final bend, and the main gate comes into view.

Someone is standing there, waiting.

My stomach drops.

Celeste Clarkston stands at the center of the gate entrance, her posture perfect, her chin lifted just so. She's wearing a cream-colored wrap dress that hugs her figure, her dark hair falling in loose waves over one shoulder. Gold jewelry glints at her throat and wrists. She looks polished, poised, every inch the image of a pack's leading lady.

She's flanked by two attendants, both standing a respectful step behind her—close enough to signal her importance, far enough to signal her authority.

She's been waiting. For a while, judging by the way the attendants shift their weight, restless in a way Celeste herself is too practiced to show.

The car slows to a stop.

Beside me, Declan's expression shifts. His jaw tightens, his brow creasing into a frown as he catches sight of Celeste through the windshield. He says nothing, but I see his hand flex against his thigh—a small, involuntary movement of irritation.

The driver opens Declan's door first. He steps out, and I watch through the window as Celeste's smile widens.

Then my door opens, and I have no choice but to follow.

The moment my feet hit the ground, my eyes find Celeste's left hand.

A ring. Gold, with a large diamond that catches the sunlight.

Married.

Of course they are. Of course.

Kelly snarls, low and bitter, but I shove her down.

It doesn't matter. It shouldn't matter. I knew this. I expected this. Celeste got everything she wanted—the Alpha, the title, the ring. And I got an exile and three children I'm raising alone.

That's how this story goes.

Celeste glides toward us, her smile radiating warmth that doesn't reach her eyes. She bypasses Declan entirely and extends both hands toward me.

"Dr. W," she breathes, like she's greeting royalty. "What an honor. What an absolute honor to welcome you to Crescent Ridge. We've heard so much about your extraordinary talents. The entire pack is thrilled that you've agreed to help us."

Her voice is sweet. Musical. Dripping with admiration.

I know this voice. I know exactly what lives underneath it.

I keep my hands at my sides and don't take hers.

"Where is the patient?" I ask.

Celeste blinks, her smile faltering for just a fraction of a second before she recovers.

"Oh, of course. You must be eager to get started. How dedicated—"

"I'd like to see the patient, examine the case, and complete my work as quickly as possible." I keep my voice flat, professional. Empty. "The sooner I start, the sooner I can leave."

Something flickers behind Celeste's eyes. Surprise, maybe. Or annoyance. She's not used to being dismissed.

Declan watches the exchange with a guarded expression, his arms crossed over his chest. He doesn't intervene.

Celeste smooths her dress, her composure clicking back into place like a mask being readjusted. She tilts her head, and her lips curve into a smile I haven't seen before.

Slow. Deliberate. Almost amused.

"Of course, Dr. W. I wouldn't dream of wasting your valuable time." She steps closer, her voice dropping to something softer. More intimate. "After all, you were brought here specifically for me."

I go still.

"Your task," Celeste says, her eyes locked on mine, "is to treat my infertility."