Pregnant For The Alpha I Never Met

Taking risks

Millie-Rose POV

The first thing I did the moment the bus lurched forward was toss my phone out the window. Alpha Braham’s possessive words echoed loudly in my mind, and I wasn’t willing to risk him tracking me down. The phone was a connection to the life I was fleeing, and if I wanted distance…real distance, I had to sever every trace.

I lost all sense of time almost immediately. Hours blurred into each other, melting into one long, shapeless stretch of motion. Faces changed, landscapes shifted, and yet the exhaustion clung to me like a second skin.

There was no telling how long I’d been on the road; if someone had asked me to bet my life on it, I would have failed. All I knew was movement; bus to bus, then train after train, each ride longer and more draining than the last.

If I had to guess, I must have boarded at least six different buses and a handful of trains. The shortest ride was easily six hours long. Six hours of rattling windows, stiff unforgiving seats, aching legs, and that peculiar silence shared by strangers forced into uncomfortable proximity.

I didn’t have a destination in mind. I only wanted to put enough distance between me and every memory, every person, and every mistake attached to my old life.

So I rode day and night switching vehicles at every terminal, following signs I couldn’t fully understand, guided by nothing but impulse and fear.

Eventually, the endless jumping from one place to another delivered me to a town I didn’t even know existed. It felt like stepping out of the world I recognized and into some forgotten corner that time itself had abandoned.

I stayed long enough to realize I needed a temporary plan. And a place to rest.

It took me a painfully long while to find someone who could string enough English words together for me to understand them. My high-school Spanish had carried me through exams, but survival was a different territory entirely. Most of the locals spoke too fast for my comprehension, and my mind was already foggy from fatigue, so I struggled to keep up.

After enough fumbling attempts, I finally understood the teenage boy who paused long enough to help. I was in a town called Sonoran, a dusty border settlement straddling the line between Mexico and the United States. Here, the border wasn’t some dramatic monument. It was a fading chain-link fence running beside an empty two-lane road, both neglected, both forgotten.

I knew instantly I couldn’t survive long in this place. I needed somewhere less exposed. Thankfully, I found a truck driver traveling to a nearby town and convinced him to let me ride along. It was only a mile away, but the difference was astonishing—like stepping from a ghost town into a place faintly clinging to life.

I found a motel miraculously, though every sign was in Spanish and I had to guess what each meant. Inside, I was hit instantly by the thick scent of stale cigarettes, industrial cleaner, burnt coffee, and something rotten lingering in the walls.

“Necesito un habitación,” I muttered, forming the words carefully, hoping they landed correctly.

The receptionist took my $50 without question and pointed toward a door a few feet away. The key clinked onto the counter, and that was that.

Inside, the room looked as if it had survived a war. Every time I sat on the bed, it squeaked loud enough to announce my presence to the entire hall. The walls were thin, and the dusty windows were so filthy I could barely see through them.

After a few minutes of staring at the stained ceiling, I grew restless. Sleep was impossible. My mind was too loud, too crowded. So I wandered into the motel bar, drawn by the dim lights and the low hum of voices. Smoke hung thick in the air, and the bitterness of cheap alcohol stung my nose. I sat at the counter, ordered a cold drink, and rested my head against my hand.

I hadn’t even taken my first sip when I caught fragments of a conversation between a man with a hairy face and the bartender.

"Quiero vender mi casa y salir del pueblo, ¿sabes? Siempre he soñado con viajar por el mundo…”

I didn’t intend to eavesdrop, but the words drifted clearly enough. My Spanish wasn’t great, but I understood vender and casa. He was selling a house.

A house!!!

A place to stay. A place to hide. A place to breathe.

After days of sleeping on buses, after hours of suffocating fear and uncertainty, the idea hit me with startling force. Maybe it was time to settle, just for a while, so the baby growing inside me could have stability, even if temporarily.

The bartender responded, speaking rapidly. "¿Por cuánto quieres vender la casa? Tal vez puedo ayudarte…”

Then the man answered in a gruff voice, “Diez mil dólares… estoy desesperado…”

Ten thousand dollars. A price that screamed urgency.

This was my chance.

“Te pagaré… eight thousand dollars por la casa,” I blurted, my voice higher than intended but loud enough to stop both men mid-conversation.

I didn’t even know I could still recall enough Spanish to make a coherent offer. I silently congratulated myself for the attempt.

“And before you ask—no, I don’t speak Spanish fluently, and yes, I’m from out of town,” I added quickly.

The hairy-faced man studied me, switching into crooked English.

"No want be rude, señora… but what someone like you do here, in place like this?"

“I’m here to buy a house,” I said bluntly. “Are you selling, or not?”

He squinted. “I take solo cash… and need check… your background... Is normal before take money, cariña.”

My heart slammed painfully against my ribs.

A background check would expose everything; the scandal with Silas and Martha, the breakup, the pregnancy, the agency drama, and worst of all, Alpha Braham. News traveled fast in small towns. Paparazzi traveled even faster. I’d be running again before sunrise.

“I’ll give you an extra thousand dollars if you skip that part,” I whispered urgently. “I’m not a criminal. I’m not hiding from the law. I just… need a place.”

“But… senora…”

“Please. I’m harmless. I swear.”

My voice cracked, not intentionally, but it was real. Raw. Exhaustion, fear, and desperation finally surfaced after days of pushing them down.

He exchanged whispers with the bartender. I couldn’t make out the words, but I prayed silently for the universe to cooperate, at least just once.

Finally, he turned back to me.

“If you have money now now, I take you there now now.”

Relief flooded me so fast it was dizzying. I reached into my bag, hands shaking slightly, and counted out the bills. He checked each note with exaggerated care before nodding.

“Shall we leave now?” I asked, trying and failing to hide my eagerness.

“First, your name. Is normal. Can’t let stranger enter my car.”

I hesitated, then forced confidence into my voice. “My name is Millie.”

“Gerald,” he said, smiling. “Nice to meet you, miss.”

………

The ride to what would become my new home was quiet enough to let my thoughts spiral.

Gerald tried making conversation, but my mind was too tangled to participate. Thankfully, “Millie” didn’t ring any alarm bells for him. Leaving off my last name was the smartest thing I’d done all day.

My thoughts drifted…unwelcomed…back to Silas, to Martha, to the humiliation of being the last to know about their betrayal. Then to the shocking revelation of being pregnant with a werewolf Alpha’s child, an Alpha whose last name I still didn’t know, whose world I barely understood, and whose influence terrified me enough to flee thousands of miles.

I was trying to start over with nothing but a backpack, fear, and the tiny life forming inside me. I couldn’t expect my mind to simply forget all that.

I stared out the window, trying to imagine what came next. Maybe I’d change my name completely. Dye my hair. Cut it short. Become someone unrecognizable. Someone safe.

Gerald said something, but his voice was muffled. My thoughts had drowned everything else out.

“I’m sorry,” I said quietly. “Did you say something, Gerald?”

“Yes, Millie,” he replied, eyes flicking to me through the rear-view mirror.

“Could you repeat it? I didn’t catch it.” I asked, leaning forward for better clarity.

“No problem, Mille.” His smile was oddly warm, almost too friendly. “I’ve heared something… about story of one actriz and her fiancé. I don’t know if you’ve heared it too.”

My stomach dropped.