The Alpha's Rejected Mate and Secret Twins

Two red lines. Aria's hands wouldn't stop shaking. She gripped the sink so hard her nails scraped the porcelain. Pregnant. The word kept slamming into her brain, over and over. She pressed a hand to her stomach—flat, empty-looking—but there was something in there now. Something real. Damon's baby. For a second, just a second, warmth spread through her chest. Maybe this would change things. Maybe he'd finally look at her the way he looked at... at anything he actually wanted. But then her stomach twisted. Hard. Because she remembered the contract. The one she signed two years ago. The one that said "This arrangement is temporary and non-binding." She remembered the cold apartment he kept her in. How he never stayed the night. How she wasn't allowed to call him unless he texted first. He doesn't love you, Aria. She knew that. She'd always known that. But a baby... that was different. That was blood. Wolves cared about blood, didn't they? She shoved the test into her pocket and grabbed her coat. She had to tell him. --- The elevator ride to the top floor felt like drowning. Aria's heart was pounding so loud she could hear it in her ears. By the time the doors opened, her palms were slick with sweat. Damon's office door was half-open. She stepped inside. He was standing by the window, drink in hand, staring out at the city like he owned it. He probably did. He didn't turn around. "Damon." Her voice came out smaller than she wanted. He took a slow sip of whiskey. Still didn't look at her. "You're early," he said. Flat. Like she was a delivery he wasn't expecting. "I... I needed to see you." Finally, he turned. His golden eyes swept over her. Not warm. Not cold either. Just... assessing. Like she was a stock he was deciding whether to sell. "Good," he said. "Saves me a phone call." He walked to his desk, opened a drawer, and pulled out a small black box. Aria's breath caught. A box. Her brain went into overdrive. *Is he—? No. He wouldn't. Would he?* Damon slid the box across the desk toward her. "Go ahead," he said. "Open it." Her hands were trembling again as she reached for it. She flipped the lid. A necklace. Diamond. Gorgeous. Cold as ice. Not a ring. "It's beautiful," she whispered. Her throat felt tight. "It's a parting gift." The words didn't land at first. She stared at the diamonds, brain struggling to connect the dots. "Parting...?" "Our contract ends today." Damon sat down, leaning back in his chair like this was a business meeting. "I'm getting engaged. Publicly. To Princess Elena of the Royal Pack." Aria's stomach dropped. "Engaged?" "The announcement goes live tomorrow. My PR team's already drafted the statement." He said it so casually. Like he was talking about a merger. "But..." Her voice cracked. "Damon, we've been together for two years—" "We've been fuckingfor two years, Aria. That's not the same thing." The vulgarity hit her like a slap. She flinched. "You knew the terms," Damon continued, swirling his drink. "You signed the contract. No strings. No commitment. And definitely no—" He paused, eyes narrowing. "—no expectations." Aria's hand moved to her stomach. Instinct. Protection. Damon noticed. His gaze dropped. Locked onto her hand. The air changed. "Aria." His voice went dangerously quiet. "Are you pregnant?" Her heart stopped. She wanted to say yes. She wanted to scream it. Wanted to see his face change, wanted him to stand up and pull her into his arms and tell her everything would be okay— But the look in his eyes wasn't hope. It was fury. "I asked you a question." His Alpha aura flared. The pressure hit her like a freight train. Her knees almost buckled. "No," she lied. The word ripped out of her. "No, I'm not." Damon stared at her. Hard. Searching. Then he relaxed. Took another sip. "Good. Because if you were, I'd have you in a clinic within the hour." He opened another drawer, pulled out a checkbook, and scribbled something. He tore the check free and tossed it onto the desk. It landed next to the necklace. "Five million," he said. "For your discretion. And for being... compliant." Aria stared at the check. Five million dollars. The price of two years of her life. "The Princess arrives in an hour," Damon said, checking his watch. "I need you gone before then. I don't want her picking up your scent." Your scent. Like she was a stain. A stain he needed to scrub out before the real woman arrived. Aria's chest felt like it was caving in. But she didn't cry. She couldn't. Instead, she stepped forward. Picked up the check. Then the necklace. "Thank you, Alpha." Her voice was eerily calm. "You're very generous." Damon's brow furrowed. He'd expected tears. Expected her to beg. "Glad you understand," he muttered. Aria turned toward the door. Her legs felt like lead. Her vision was blurring. But she kept walking. Don't look back. Don't look back. She reached the door. Grabbed the handle. And then, quietly, almost to herself: "I hope she makes you happy." She didn't wait for a response. She walked out. The door clicked shut behind her. In the hallway, Aria pressed her back against the wall. Her knees finally gave out. She slid to the floor, clutching the check and the necklace in one hand, her stomach in the other. He doesn't want us. The thought was so clear. So final. He would've killed this baby. She looked down at her belly. Nothing to see yet. But it was there. A tiny heartbeat, somewhere deep inside. "It's okay," she whispered. Her voice broke. "We don't need him." We don't. She wiped her face. Stood up. And started walking. Away from Damon. Away from the Dark Moon Pack. Away from everything.