HE WANTED AN OPEN MARRIAGE, SO I CHOSE HIS THREE ALPHA BEST FRIENDS

ZIRAH "We did everything we could, Mrs. Sinclair. But your daughter... she's gone." Nine words. That's all it took to destroy me. I remember the doctor's face. The way his lips moved slowly like he was afraid the words would cut him too. The way he couldn't look me in the eyes. The way the clipboard trembled slightly in his hands. But nothing he did could soften the blow. My baby girl. My Naia. Six months old. Six months of tubes, monitors, beeping machines, and prayers that never reached the ceiling. She was born with a hole in her heart. A tiny, cruel defect that made every breath she took feel like a war she was slowly losing. I fought beside her every single day. I slept in hospital chairs until my back screamed. I pumped milk between board meetings. I memorized every medication, every dosage, every nurse's shift schedule. I knew the sound of every machine in that NICU better than I knew the sound of my own husband's voice. And last night, her heart gave out. It happened fast. One moment her tiny fingers were wrapped around mine, warm and soft. The next, the monitor flatlined and nurses rushed in, pushing me aside like I was nothing. Like I wasn't her mother. Like my body hadn't carried her for nine months and bled for her and lived for her and breathed for her. I called Declan. My husband. The man who promised to love me through sickness and health, through better and worse. He picked up on the fourth ring. "Naia's crashing," I whispered, barely holding it together. "They're taking her into emergency surgery. Please come. Please, Declan." There was a pause. Then music. Laughter in the background. A woman's voice, muffled but close. "I can't right now, Zirah. Handle it. You're good at that." Handle it. Like our daughter was a task on a to do list. Like her life was an inconvenience sitting between his dinner plans and whatever else he had going on that night. She died at 3:47 a.m. I was alone. No husband. No family. Just me and the silence that swallowed the room after the last beep faded into nothing. And now here I was. Twelve hours later, dressed in black, not just because I buried my daughter this morning but because I couldn't feel color anymore. I couldn't feel anything except a hollow ache where my chest used to be. I should have stayed home. I should have been lying on the nursery floor, holding her blanket, screaming into it until my throat gave out. But Declan had made it clear. Today was important. His words from this morning still echoed in my skull. "The Blackridge investors are coming in today. You need to be there. I don't care what happened, Zirah. Pull yourself together and show up." What happened. Like our daughter dying was a minor setback. So I showed up. Because that's what Zirah Sinclair does. She shows up. She holds things together. She runs the company while her husband plays Alpha in name only. Crestfall City sits between two territories. One human, one wolf. It's the kind of place where you can smell danger before you see it. Where pack law runs deeper than government law and dominance isn't earned through money alone. Power here is primal. You either have it in your blood or you bow to those who do. Our company, Sinclair Holdings, sits right at the border of both worlds. A real estate empire I built from the ground up while Declan smiled for cameras and shook hands. On paper, he's the CEO. In reality, I'm the spine that holds everything standing. I parked the car outside the building and sat there for a long moment. My hands wouldn't stop shaking. My eyes were swollen and dry at the same time, like my body had run out of tears but hadn't gotten the message yet. I forced myself out. The city moved around me like nothing had changed. Cars honked. People walked. A group of shifters on heavy black motorcycles roared past, their wild scent cutting through the morning air. Sharp. Untamed. I didn't flinch. I walked into the building like I wasn't falling apart inside. The lobby went quiet the moment I stepped through the glass doors. Conversations stopped. The receptionist's fingers froze above her keyboard. Her eyes softened with pity she didn't dare speak out loud. Everyone knew. In Crestfall City, word travels faster than wind. They all knew Zirah Sinclair buried her baby this morning and still walked into work wearing heels and a straight back. They probably whispered about it in the break room. Maybe some of them felt sorry for me. Maybe some of them thought I was heartless. I didn't care. My heels echoed against the marble floor as I moved toward the elevator. Every step felt heavier than the last, like my grief was pooling in my legs, dragging me down. But I kept walking. Chin up. Shoulders straight. Spine like iron. That's the only way I know how to survive. I should have gone straight to the boardroom. The investors were probably already seated. Declan was probably already putting on his fake charm, smiling that smile that fooled everyone except me. But my feet carried me in a different direction. Toward his office. I don't know why. Maybe I needed to see something human in his eyes. Maybe I needed him to hold me, just once, and tell me he was hurting too. Maybe I just wanted proof that somewhere inside that man, there was still a piece of the person I married. I reached the door to the executive wing. The hallway was empty and too quiet. My hand hovered over the handle. Something in my gut twisted. A warning. A whisper from deep inside me telling me not to open this door. That whatever was behind it would break whatever was left of me. But Riley Sinclair doesn't run. I pushed the door open. And the last piece of my world shattered.