The Alpha I was Forced to Betray

I told myself I could do this.That coming back would be simple. Temporary. Controlled. A few days—that was all it needed to be. Long enough to stand at the edge of a grave, say goodbye to the one person who had never looked at me like I was something broken, and then leave before the past had the chance to catch up to me. That was the plan. It sounded reasonable when I was still hours away, when the road stretched out in front of me and the town was nothing more than a memory I could keep at a distance. It sounded manageable when I could pretend time had done what I needed it to do—blur the sharp edges, dull the weight of everything I left behind. But plans always feel easier when they don’t involve reality. The second I crossed the boundary line, I knew I had made a mistake. Nothing looked different at first. The same roads. The same quiet stretches of land. The same underlying tension that had always made this place feel like something more than just a town, but it felt wrong. Or maybe that was just me. My grip tightened slightly on the steering wheel as I drove, my gaze catching on familiar landmarks I hadn’t seen in years. Nothing had changed—and somehow everything had. I hadn’t been back since the day I left. Since the day everything fell apart. I swallowed slowly, forcing my breathing to stay even. Controlled. You can do this. It’s just a funeral. Just a few days. You don’t have to see him. The thought came automatically, instinctively—like my mind was trying to protect me from something it already knew I wouldn’t be able to avoid.Because no matter how many times I told myself that, no matter how carefully I tried to plan this out—There was no version of this where I came back and didn’t see Nico Thorn. The name alone was enough to make something tighten in my chest. I hadn’t said it out loud in years.Hadn’t let myself think it too clearly, either. It was easier that way. Easier to pretend distance meant something. That leaving had created space between who I used to be and who I was now. But the closer I got, the more that illusion cracked. By the time I pulled into the long gravel drive leading to my childhood home, it was already gone. The house looked smaller than I remembered. Not different—just smaller. Like time had shrunk it. Or maybe I had outgrown it in ways I hadn’t noticed until now. The paint was more worn. The porch quieter. The air heavier with something I didn’t need to name to understand. Grief had a way of settling into places like this. I turned off the engine but didn’t move right away. For a moment, I just sat there, my hands still resting on the wheel, my gaze fixed on the front door. This is it. There’s no turning around now. I let out a slow breath and forced myself to move, pushing the door open and stepping out onto the gravel. The sound beneath my shoes was too loud in the quiet, each step grounding me further in a reality I couldn’t avoid. The door opened before I could knock. My mom stood there, looking exactly how I remembered—and completely different at the same time. Older. More tired. Her eyes softened the second they landed on me, and something in my chest tightened again, sharper this time. “Isla.” My name sounded fragile in her voice. I didn’t hesitate. I stepped forward and wrapped my arms around her, holding on a little tighter than I meant to. “I’m glad you came,” she said quietly. “I had to.” She pulled back just enough to look at me, her gaze searching, like she was trying to find something she wasn’t sure was still there. Then she stepped aside. “Funeral’s tomorrow,” she said gently. “The pack will be there.” My stomach tightened. “I figured.” She hesitated, just for a second. “You should be prepared. Things are… different now.” I met her gaze. “I know.” And I did. Even if I hadn’t seen it yet. Even if I hadn’t felt it fully. I knew exactly what had changed. Who had changed. And there was no version of this where I avoided him. Not anymore.