Fated Tragedy

8. Appointments with Alek

It was my sister who finally broke the silence, her words rushing out with brutal honesty that made every eye in the room turn toward her.

“Alpha Alek… will my sister be able to come home, or will the house be evicted, as her ex-husband is claiming? According to the divorce, there was no mention of Zebasthian, and now he’s repulsed by my sister for keeping him secret. But Alpha, he is a monster, he—”

The name cut through me like glass. My chest seized, my skull roared.

“Stop!” The scream ripped from my throat before I could stop it, raw and desperate. My head pounded so violently it felt like it would split open. The machines around me shrieked in alarm, their beeping like knives in my ears. “Shut up! Just shut up! Please! Stop!”

Tears blurred my vision, my breath coming in ragged sobs. And then… Alek moved.

Not with anger, not with scolding, but with a presence so commanding, so achingly beautiful, that the room seemed to fall under his spell. He rose from his chair with the ease of a man born for grand stages. His movements were fluid, almost musical — the same grace that, I had heard whispered, spilled from his fingers when he played the violin, or pressed the keys of a piano, or coaxed a melody from a saxophone.

And in that moment, it wasn’t just an Alpha speaking. It was a poet performing. A prince defending.

He lifted a hand, silencing the chaos with nothing but his bearing. When he spoke, his voice carried like the low notes of a cello, rich and steady, wrapping the room in calm.

“There will be no eviction. No stripping of dignity. No monster’s lies will take her home or her honor. Not while I stand here.”

His eyes swept over my family, commanding their faith as easily as he would an audience hanging on his words. Then his gaze returned to me, softening as though every vow he spoke belonged to me alone.

“You are safe,” he said, and I believed him. For once, I believed.

The weight of his defense, the artistry in the way he carried himself — precise, deliberate, almost too perfect — made me break. I sobbed, not from fear this time, but from the unbearable relief of being protected, not by duty, but by something that felt dangerously close to love.

“Miss Stree, I’m sure your worries over the situation are valid,” Alek said, rising to his full height, his tone even yet commanding. “But how I conduct this process is entirely my responsibility, and it will take the time it needs. Once it is clear how to move forward, you will all be updated. For now, please know Miss Toth is in the best hands within the Cyber Claws Pack House. None of you have acted against me, but I do request that you all comply with the investigation and give your full statements about why Michail Toth continues to suffer from past concussions and other issues that were never documented. If you wish to visit her, you may, once the doctor approves.”

His words were not shouted. They didn’t need to be. He spoke like a man who had practiced both music and speech, every syllable placed with precision, as if this moment itself were part of a performance. It was authority wrapped in elegance, and even my family, stubborn as they could be, nodded in quiet agreement.

The door opened then, and a nurse entered with a wheelchair.

My family crowded close to say their goodbyes. My mother bent down last, pressing a card into my hand before kissing my forehead. She left me with a smile so wide and bright it made my chest ache. As the nurse helped me into the chair, I glanced up—and saw Alek watching. He hadn’t missed the exchange.

My stomach tightened. I braced for the sharp rebuke I was certain would come. An Alpha’s suspicion. A demand to hand it over.

But instead, Alek surprised me.

He stepped closer, his hand brushing lightly against the arm of the chair, steadying it as though I were made of glass. His voice, when it came, was soft enough to be meant only for me, carrying none of the weight of Alpha command—just the warmth of a man.

“Keep it,” he said. “Whatever she gave you—it’s yours. A daughter needs her mother, even when she thinks she doesn’t. Don’t fear me, Michi. Not over love.”

The words pierced through me, leaving me speechless. For the second time that day, I felt tears gather in my eyes—not from pain, but from the way he seemed to understand me without needing me to explain.

Alpha Alek—the man every woman dreamed of—had spoken not like a ruler, but like someone who had chosen, in that moment, to be only mine.

The nurse wheeled me toward the ambulance, and Alpha Alek kept stride with us, never once falling behind. Appointment after appointment, he followed, silent but steady, his presence as constant as the air I breathed.

It almost felt like being carried, as though I were a little child again. Every detail of my care was seen to, no matter how small. And that thought… it pulled me straight back to when I used to take Zebasthian to his appointments.

He had always wanted to be in my arms, clinging to me, crying until I whispered and held him close enough for him to calm. Once he understood I wasn’t letting go, he would settle and let the doctors do what they needed. The ordinary, simple procedures had terrified him, yet my arms always gave him the courage to endure.

The memory stabbed through me, and all at once my heart crumbled. I cried, helpless and ashamed, because no one could give me back my pup.

And yet… when I dared to glance up, Alek was watching me.

Not with annoyance, not with judgment. His eyes softened, and in them I saw no Alpha’s cold detachment, no irritation at my tears. What I saw unsettled me even more—it was the gaze of someone who carried my grief as if it were his own.

He slowed his steps, keeping just close enough that I could feel the warmth of his presence. His hand brushed the wheelchair lightly, steadying it—not because the nurse had lost control, but because he needed me to know I wasn’t going through this alone.

Alek was an Alpha, yes. A leader, a ruler. But in that moment, he was something else entirely. He was a man who played the part of every girl’s dream, a Prince Charming written into flesh. He was the kind of Alpha who could hold the weight of an entire pack, and still notice the way my shoulders shook when I cried.

And it frightened me.

Because I had never been cared for like this before—not by Doniel, not by my father, not by anyone.

And I didn’t know how to believe it was real.

The grief surged, tears spilling before I could stop them.

Alek must have noticed—he noticed everything. His steps slowed, his posture shifting with such ease it seemed rehearsed, though I knew it wasn’t. He didn’t tell me not to cry. He didn’t ask why. Instead, his presence wrapped around me like a melody, steady and certain.

“Breathe, Michi,” he murmured, his voice low, smooth as the notes of a violin. “One step at a time.”

The words shouldn’t have meant so much, yet they steadied me. When he looked at me, it wasn’t pity I saw. It was something else. Something deeper, like he was carrying a promise I couldn’t yet see.

He placed his hand lightly on the back of the chair, guiding it with a care so precise it felt like art. And when he spoke again, his tone was almost casual, but I felt the weight in it.

“You’ve given so much of yourself already. That kind of love… it doesn’t just vanish. It grows again, in its own time.”

I stared at him, startled. He wasn’t telling me I’d be a mother again. He wasn’t making promises he couldn’t keep. But the way he said it, as if he already knew the truth of it, sent a warmth into the hollow place inside me.

For the first time since losing Zebasthian, I let myself believe—not in certainty, but in possibility.

Alek walked beside me like the world’s perfect Alpha, a prince out of storybooks, and yet what he gave me was more powerful than any grand gesture. He gave me the smallest, most dangerous gift of all.

Hope.

Feeling the tears run down my face, I heard the voice of the most angelic man I had ever heard.

It made every artist I’d ever listened to on the radio sound like children in comparison. His tone was velvet and sunlight, richer than anything human could produce. And when I turned my head, I saw Alek—walking beside me as I was being taken back to the ambulance—his lips moving, his gaze locked only on me.

He was singing.

The words were simple yet breathtaking, each note carrying a devotion that made my chest ache. He sang of me, as though I were a poem made flesh, every detail of me refracted through beauty itself:

*“Red-brown fire, your hair in the light,

Olive eyes that turn sorrow bright.

Small and soft, yet stronger than stone,

Delicate flower I’d call my own.

Every star envies the glow that you bear,

Every dawn bends to the warmth in your care.

Though fragile you seem, my heart only sees,

The strength of a soul that brings kings to their knees.”*

His voice soared with each line, yet never harsh—every syllable wrapped around me like silk, turning the sterile world of doctors and appointments into something almost holy.

I wept harder, not from pain, but from how utterly impossible he was.

It was hours full of appointments after that, endless hands checking, testing, writing, the drone of questions I could hardly answer. At some point I must have dozed off, worn thin by exhaustion and by the storm of emotions Alek had stirred in me.

When I woke again, it was not to beeping machines.

It was to the most beautiful melody of a piano being played.

A full, haunting song—woven from the lullaby of his voice, now carried on keys. His music filled the room, and for a moment, I forgot every scar, every loss, every fear.

I simply listened, my heart trembling, as if he had written the music only for me.

I tried to move, but the moment I shifted, the piano stopped. Alek was on his feet in an instant, crossing the room toward me with urgency that didn’t feel like duty—it felt personal.

“What do you need, Michi? How are you feeling?” His voice was soft, coaxing, as if even my smallest discomfort mattered to him.

Before I could answer, he was already moving again, pouring water into a cup and bringing it to me with the same care as before. As I drank, I caught sight of myself and froze. I was no longer in the clothes I’d worn to the hospital. My hair was clean, my body freshly washed, and I was dressed in soft, comfortable bedclothes.

Alek noticed my surprise immediately.

“I asked the nurse to help you take a shower and change,” he explained gently. “I wanted you to rest without feeling weighed down. And…” He paused, a faint smile tugging at his lips, “I also asked Lyra to stay with you. She’ll help you through the struggles you won’t share with anyone else.”

I blinked, stunned. His thoughtfulness left me speechless. Not everyone could afford the assistance of a Lyra.

Lyra.

The name alone carried meaning—taken from the constellation and the ancient lyre, a symbol of music and healing. The little chihuahua-sized companion was more than just a robot. She was a therapist built for the grieving, for those drowning in the loss of loved ones. Many whispered about how rare and precious it was to have one.

And Alek had arranged it for me.

My throat tightened, not from sorrow this time, but from something dangerously close to gratitude—and hope.