Claimed By My Ex-mate's Father

Marissa adjusted her scarf as she stepped out of the office. The chilly wind bit at her cheeks, but she didn’t mind. The day had been long, and she was looking forward to relaxing at home. Marco had promised to cook tonight, something he rarely did. Maybe it was his way of making up for the strange distance between them lately. As she neared the house, Marissa frowned. Laughter—Marco’s laughter—filtered through the partially open window. It wasn’t unusual for Marco to laugh, but the tone of it, paired with the unmistakable giggle of her stepsister Vivian, sent a chill through her. Her grip tightened on her bag as she pushed the door open. The sight in the living room stopped her in her tracks. Marco sat on the couch, leaning close to Vivian. His hand rested lightly on her knee as they laughed at something on his phone. Marissa cleared her throat, and the room fell silent. Both heads turned toward her, guilt flickering in Vivian’s eyes for a moment before she masked it with a sugary smile. “Marissa!” Vivian chirped, standing quickly. “You’re home early.” “I live here,” Marissa said sharply, her eyes fixed on Marco. “What’s going on?” Marco stood, rubbing the back of his neck. “It’s not what it looks like.” “Really?” Marissa crossed her arms, her voice steady but cold. “Because it looks like you’re getting a little too comfortable with my stepsister.” Vivian stepped forward, her tone sickly sweet. “Oh, Marissa, don’t be dramatic. Marco and I were just talking.” “Talking,” Marissa repeated, her gaze shifting to Marco. “Is that all it was?” Marco hesitated, his jaw tightening. “We need to talk, Marissa. Alone.” Vivian glanced at Marco, then back at Marissa. “I’ll give you two some space,” she said, her voice dripping with mock innocence. She brushed past Marissa, her perfume lingering like a taunt. Once the door closed, Marissa turned to Marco, her patience wearing thin. “Well? Explain.” Marco sighed heavily, running a hand through his hair. “Look, Marissa... there’s no easy way to say this.” “Try,” she snapped. “I can’t do this anymore,” he said bluntly. “Vivian is pregnant. It’s my child.” Marissa’s heart felt like it had stopped. She stared at him, unblinking, waiting for him to take it back. But he didn’t. He just stood there, his expression a mixture of guilt and defiance. “You’re joking,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper. “I’m not,” Marco said, his tone firm. “I don’t love you, Marissa. I never really did.” The words hit her like a slap. She swallowed hard, her nails digging into her palms. “And you waited until now to tell me?" “I didn’t mean for it to happen like this,” he said, as if that would make it better. “But Vivian and I—” “I don’t want to hear it,” Marissa cut him off, her voice rising. “You betrayed me, Marco. With my own stepsister!” “It’s better this way,” he said, avoiding her eyes. “You deserve someone who actually—” “Stop,” she snapped. “Just stop.” For a moment, neither of them spoke. Then Marissa straightened, her expression hardening. “You’re right. I do deserve better." “Marissa, I—” “Don’t,” she said coldly. “We’re done.” Marissa didn’t remember much about leaving the house. The cold air burned her lungs as she walked aimlessly, her thoughts a chaotic swirl of anger and pain. Somehow, she found herself outside a bar, the neon sign flickering above the door.She hesitated, then pushed the door open. The dim lighting and steady hum of conversation provided a strange kind of comfort. She slid onto a stool at the bar and ordered the strongest drink they had. By the time she finished her second drink, the initial sting of betrayal had dulled. She stared at the glass in her hand, her mind blank, when a deep voice interrupted her thoughts. “Rough night?” Marissa turned to see a man standing beside her. He was tall, with dark hair and piercing gray eyes. His presence was commanding, the kind that drew attention without effort. “Something like that,” she muttered, taking another sip. He gestured to the stool next to hers. “Mind if I sit?” She shrugged. “Suit yourself.” He sat down, studying her for a moment. “You don’t seem like the type to drown your sorrows.” Marissa snorted. “And what type do I seem like?” He smiled faintly. “The kind that doesn’t let people push her around.” His words struck a chord, and she found herself relaxing slightly. “You don’t even know me.” “True,” he said. “But I’m good at reading people.” Marissa raised an eyebrow. “Is that so?” He nodded, his gaze steady. “And right now, I’d say you’re looking for a distraction.” She hesitated, his words unsettling in their accuracy. But there was something about him—something that made her want to forget, even just for a night. “Maybe I am,” she said finally. He held out his hand. “Donovan.” She shook it, noting the strength in his grip. “Marissa.” The next morning, Marissa woke with a pounding headache. She groaned, pulling the blanket over her head, but the unfamiliar scent of the sheets made her freeze. Slowly, she turned over—and nearly stopped breathing. The man from the bar lay beside her, his face relaxed in sleep. Her mind raced as fragments of the night before came flooding back. The drinks, the conversation, the way his touch had made her forget everything... Panic set in as she carefully slipped out of bed, grabbing her clothes from the floor. She was almost at the door when his voice stopped her. “Leaving so soon?” She turned, her face burning as she met his amused gaze. He propped himself up on one elbow, his hair tousled but his eyes sharp. “I—I should go,” she stammered. “Stay,” he said, his tone more commanding than inviting. “We need to talk.” Marissa hesitated, torn between fleeing and facing the consequences of her actions. “About what?” Donovan’s expression shifted, becoming more serious. “You know who I am, don’t you?” Her stomach dropped. Of course she knew. She hadn’t recognized him last night, but now there was no mistaking it. This wasn’t just any man. This was Alpha Donovan—Marco’s father. Marissa sat stiffly on the edge of the bed, her mind racing. Donovan watched her, his expression unreadable. “Why didn’t you say anything?” she demanded. “You didn’t recognize me,” he said simply. “And I didn’t see the need to introduce myself.” Marissa’s hands clenched into fists. “You knew who I was, though. Didn’t you?” He didn’t answer, which was answer enough. “Why?” she asked, her voice rising. “Was this some kind of game to you?” “Not a game,” he said calmly. “But I won’t apologize, either.” His indifference only fueled her anger. “This was a mistake,” she said, standing abruptly. “Maybe,” he said, his tone indifferent. “But it doesn’t have to be.” Marissa stared at him, unsure ishe was more angry or confused. “What are you talking about?” Donovan stood, his imposing presence making the room feel smaller. “You want revenge, don’t you?” Her breath caught, and he smirked as if he could see right through her. “I saw the way you looked at me last night,” he continued. “You’re not just angry at Marco. You’re angry at the world for letting him get away with it.” Marissa’s jaw tightened, but she didn’t deny it. “You want to make him pay,” Donovan said, his voice low. “And I can help you do that.” She frowned, wary of his intentions. “Why would you help me?” Donovan’s smirk faded, his expression hardening. “Because Marco needs to learn there are consequences for his actions. And because you intrigue me.” Marissa swallowed, her pulse quickening. She didn’t trust him—not completely—but the idea of turning the tables on Marco was tempting. “What’s your plan?” she asked finally. Donovan’s smirk returned, but his eyes remained cold. “You’ll see.” Later that day, Marissa returned home to find Marco waiting for her. His expression darkened as he took in her disheveled appearance. “Where were you?” he demanded. “None of your business,” she shot back, pushing past him. “Marissa—” She stopped, turning to face him. “You don’t get to ask me questions anymore, Marco. You made your choice, remember?” His jaw clenched, but he didn’t respond. “Good,” she said, heading upstairs. “Stay out of my way.” As she closed the door to her room, Marissa couldn’t help but smile. Marco had no idea what was coming.