The Alpha Imposter Wife

Mistake. Please do not read

RHETT POV

“I appreciate you making the time,” Warren said, settling into the chair across from my desk.

I sat down, keeping my movements measured. “The boundary matter. You wanted to discuss it.”

“Among other things.” Warren smiled. Easy. Open. Like we were old friends catching up. “But yes, let’s start there.”

We spent ten minutes on the boundary. Real conversation, actual logistics, numbers, and patrol schedules…specifically the stretch of territory near the Ironridge creek line that had been a soft point for two years. Warren was sharp on the details. I gave him what was fair and nothing more.

Then Warren sat back. He crossed one leg over the other and looked around my study like he was just taking it all in.

“You’ve built something good here,” he said. “Blackwood runs well. You can feel it the moment you arrive.”

“The pack works hard.”

“They do.” Warren nodded slowly. “The Luna’s influence as well, I think. There’s a particular kind of stability in a pack that has strong joint leadership.” He paused. “Your father understood that. That’s why the marriage arrangement mattered so much to him.”

I said nothing. I kept my hands loose on the desk and my face doing exactly what I needed it to do. Which was nothing.

“The Cole family,” Warren said casually. “Interesting bloodline. I did some reading before the visit. History of strong she-wolves.”

“Most families in the region have strong bloodlines.”

“True.” Warren smiled. “I noticed your Luna carries herself differently from how I expected. Based on what I had read about her background.” He tilted his head slightly. “She seemed more settled. More embedded in the pack than someone who came in from outside would usually be at the five-year mark.”

“She works at it.”

“Clearly.” Another pause. “I also couldn’t help noticing the guest in the east wing.”

I looked at him.

Warren held my look. Perfectly pleasant. Perfectly calm.

“Family visiting,” I said.

“Of course.” Warren nodded like that was completely satisfying. “The resemblance is striking. Must run in the family.”

“It does.”

Warren uncrossed his legs. He leaned forward slightly, both elbows on his knees, and smiled at me with that open, friendly face that had absolutely nothing genuine in it.

“You know,” he said, “I have always found twin births in pack bloodlines fascinating. From a historical perspective. The old records have quite a bit to say about it. The way twin wolves carry different weights. Different roles.” He kept his eyes on mine. “Some packs believed one twin always carried more than the other. That the stronger pull was almost impossible to suppress long-term.”

I looked at him.

“Interesting history,” I said.

“Isn’t it.” Warren sat back again. He picked up his coffee cup and took one sip like he had all the time in the world. “I sometimes think the old records get dismissed too quickly. People assume old means irrelevant.” He set the cup down. “I don’t think that. I think old records can tell you exactly what is happening right now if you know how to read them.”

“That depends on the records.”

“It does.” Warren smiled one more time. Then he stood up. “I think that covers the boundary matter. Thank you, Rhett. I appreciate the hospitality.” He buttoned his jacket. “We’ll be heading out this afternoon. I’ll have my team send over the revised coordinates by end of week.”

“Conrad will confirm receipt.”

“Perfect.”

Warren moved to the door. Hand on the frame, he stopped and turned back like he had just remembered something.

“Oh,” he said. “One more thing. I hope whoever was running equipment checks near the east perimeter last night is feeling better this morning. Night air can be rough on the lungs.”

He smiled.

Then he left.

I sat in the study after the door closed.

I did not move for a moment. I just sat in the quiet and let the conversation settle.

Warren had not accused anyone of anything. Every single sentence had been technically about something else. Boundary history. Pack bloodlines. Old records. A polite comment about the weather. Not one accusation. Not one direct statement.

He hadn’t needed one.

That was the point. He hadn’t come into this study to get me to confirm anything. He had come in to watch my face while he talked. To see where the muscles tightened. Where my eyes went flat. Where the pauses came half a second too late.

I was very good at my face. I had been doing this a long time. Years of pack politics and hard conversations and situations where showing anything was the same as losing.

I sat in the study and stared at the wall, running back through every second of the last twenty minutes.

The moment Warren said *east wing*. Had my jaw moved? I didn’t think so.

The moment Warren said *twin births*. Had my eyes shifted? I had held the look. I was sure of that.

The moment Warren said *suppress*. Had anything changed in my face?

I pressed my thumb against the edge of the desk.

That word. Warren had used it so cleanly. Wrapped in historical language, in old records talk, in that pleasant academic voice. *Suppress*. Like it was just a word about old pack theory and not the exact specific thing that had been done to the woman currently living in my house.

Warren knew that word for a reason.

He had not guessed at it. He had come in with it already loaded.

Which meant the scout’s equipment had picked up something from the east garden. Or Warren had a source inside this pack. Or both.

I looked at the closed study door.

The gathering was in four days. That conversation had just told me Warren was not going to wait. He was going to move before the gathering. He would frame it as concern, just like he always did, and he would bring his evidence out in whatever setting gave him the most advantage.

The question was not whether Warren would move.

The question was whether I had been good enough in that room.

Whether anything in my face had given Warren the confirmation he needed.

I sat with that question.

I did not have an answer I fully trusted.