Alpha Doyle
Eighteen.
She was only eighteen.
The thought hit me harder than I expected.
She was younger than all three of my daughters, yet somehow she’d already endured more pain than most people experienced in an entire lifetime.
As I watched Storm standing beside me, I realised something.
She didn’t see it.
She didn’t see the strength inside herself.
But I did.
She had to be strong to survive what she’d endured.
Her father.
Her brother.
Her own pack.
The people who should have protected her had instead abused, tortured and tormented her.
They had made her afraid of the very people who should have been able to keep her safe.
And yet…
She was still standing.
Still fighting.
Still capable of laughing.
Still capable of trusting someone enough to tell them her story.
That
