Claimed By My Ex-mate's Father

Two:MARISSA'S POV

The house felt emptier since I confronted Marco. It wasn’t a physical emptiness—Vivian’s laughter stil went all through the walls, and Marco’s heavy footsteps were impossible to miss—but there was something hollow about it. Or maybe it was me.

I sat on the edge of my bed, staring at my reflection in the small mirror propped on the dresser. My face was calm, but my eyes betrayed the storm brewing inside me. Tonight, I wouldn’t let it show.

There was a dinner ceremony at the Alpha’s residence—an annual gathering for the pack’s leaders and their families. A night of subtle politics, alliances, and power plays. Sasha had insisted I come. I wasn’t sure if she was being supportive or just curious to see how I’d hold up.

The idea of seeing Marco and Vivian there, flaunting their new life, made my stomach churn. But then I remembered Donovan’s words: *“You want revenge. I can help you.”*

This wasn’t just a dinner; it was my stage. And I wasn’t going to shy away.

The Alpha’s mansion was filled with a reminder of power. Its towering walls, vast lawns, and intricate iron gates spoke of wealth and control. I stepped out of the car, my heart gave a slight flutter—not from nerves, but anticipation.

I’d chosen a sleek black dress that clung to me in all the right places. My hair was styled simply, letting my features do the talking. If Marco saw me, he’d realize I wasn’t the same woman he betrayed.

Inside, the hall buzzed with chatter. The scent of roasted meats and freshly baked bread filled the air, mingling with the faint aroma of perfume and cologne. Groups of pack members stood around, exchanging pleasantries and quiet gossip.

I spotted Sasha near the drinks table. She waved me over, her bright smile a little too forced.

“Marissa!” she said, pulling me into a quick hug. “I didn’t think you’d come.”

“Why wouldn’t I?” I replied smoothly, reaching for a glass of water.

Sasha’s eyes darted to a corner of the room. I followed her gaze and felt my chest tighten.

Marco and Vivian.

They stood together, the perfect picture of a happy couple. Vivian’s hand rested on her slightly rounded belly, and Marco was saying something that made her laugh. His hand brushed her back—an intimate, familiar gesture that made my blood boil.

But instead of retreating, I smiled. I wasn’t here to cower.

I wandered through the room, keeping my distance from Marco and Vivian but making sure I was visible. Let them see me. Let them wonder.

It wasn’t long before I felt someone watching me.

Turning slightly, I caught Donovan’s gaze from across the room. He stood near the fireplace, a glass of whiskey in his hand, his expression unreadable.

Something about the way he looked at me made my skin tingle. It wasn’t just attraction—there was calculation in his eyes, as if he was always two steps ahead.

Before I could decide whether to approach him, he began walking toward me.

“Marissa,” he said, his voice low and smooth. “I’m glad you came.”

“I almost didn’t,” I admitted. “But then I thought... why let them have all the fun?”

His lips curved into a faint smirk. “That’s the spirit.”

We stood there for a moment, the air between us charged. Donovan wasn’t like anyone I’d ever met. He didn’t just command attention; he owned it.

“Walk with me,” he said suddenly, setting his glass on a nearby table.

I hesitated but followed him as he led me through a side door and into a smaller sitting room. The noise from the main hall faded, leaving only the crackle of a fireplace and the soft hum of distant voices.

“You made quite the impression tonight,” Donovan said, turning to face me.

I raised an eyebrow. “All I did was walk in.”

“Exactly.”

His words hung in the air, heavy with meaning.

“Marco noticed you,” he added, his tone casual but sharp. “He hasn’t taken his eyes off you all evening.”

“Good,” I said, a hint of bitterness creeping into my voice.

Donovan stepped closer, his presence overwhelming in the confined space. “If you want to hurt him, Marissa, you’re going to have to play the game.”

“And what game is that?”

He leaned against the edge of a table, crossing his arms. “The one where you stop reacting and start controlling.”

I frowned, unsure of his meaning.

“Marco expects you to be angry, to lash out, to crumble,” Donovan continued. “But if you show him strength—if you make him see what he’s lost—it’ll drive him mad.”

His words struck a chord, and I felt a flicker of determination.

“And how do you suggest I do that?” I asked, meeting his gaze.

A slow smile spread across his face. “Let me guide you.”

By the time we returned to the main hall, I felt a strange mix of clarity and uncertainty. Donovan’s offer was tempting, but his motives were still unclear. Did he really want to help me, or was I just a pawn in his own game?

The dinner was being served, and the long dining table was already filled with pack members. Sasha waved me over, but Donovan placed a hand on my back, steering me to a seat beside him instead.

I felt the weight of Marco’s stare as I sat down. He was at the other end of the table, Vivian beside him, her expression smug.

As the courses were served, Donovan engaged me in conversation, his voice loud enough for others to hear. He asked about my work, my hobbies, my opinions on pack affairs. At first, I was self-conscious, aware of the attention we were drawing. But as the meal went on, I found myself relaxing.

Marco’s jaw tightened every time Donovan laughed at one of my comments or leaned in to whisper something in my ear.

“You’re enjoying this,” I murmured to Donovan during a lull in conversation.

He smirked. “And so are you.”

He wasn’t wrong.

Marco approached me near the front door. Donovan had stepped away to speak with another Alpha, leaving me momentarily alone.

“Marissa,” Marco said, his tone low.

I turned to face him, keeping my expression neutral. “Yes?”

“Can we talk?”

“There’s nothing to talk about,” I replied, brushing past him.

He grabbed my arm, his grip firm but not painful. “Please.”

I sighed, pulling my arm free. “Fine. Say what you need to say.”

Marco glanced around, making sure no one was listening. “This... thing with my father. What are you doing?”

“Living my life,” I said simply.

“Marissa, this isn’t you,” he said, his voice almost pleading. “You’re better than this.”

I laughed bitterly. “And you’re one to talk? Sleeping with my stepsister while we were still bonded?”

His face darkened. “That was a mistake. But you... you’re letting him use you.”

“Maybe I am,” I said, stepping closer. “But at least I’m doing it on my terms.”

Marco looked like he wanted to argue, but Donovan’s voice cut through the tension.

“Is there a problem here?”

We both turned to see him standing a few feet away, his expression calm but dangerous.

“No problem,” I said quickly. “Marco was just leaving.”

Marco glared at Donovan but said nothing as he walked away.

Donovan watched him go, then turned to me. “He’s predictable, isn’t he?”

“Frustratingly so,” I muttered.

Donovan chuckled, guiding me toward the waiting car. “Let’s go. Tonight was just the beginning.”

I sat on the edge of the massive bed in the guestroom Donovan had assigned me. My thoughts were not stable but one thing was clear: Donovan was right. Marco expected me to fall apart, to beg for answers or closure.

But I wasn’t going to give him the satisfaction.

If Donovan wanted to play games, I’d play. And I’d make sure I won.