Rejected In Nairobi, Claimed With The Alpha's Baby.

CHAPTER 4: HER FIRST SHIFT.

The black Range Rover came at exactly 6:00 AM, just like Mark promised.

Aisha had not slept all night. After Mark left the boutique, she had gone back to her small one-bedroom flat above a duka in Bamburi. She had packed one suitcase — two of her best kitenge dresses, Zara's clothes, Zara's pink blanket, her sewing scissors, and the small photo album with only three pictures inside.

Zara was confused but excited. She kept asking, "Mommy, are we going on an airplane? Are we going to Nairobi to see the tall buildings?"

"No, baby, we are going in a big car," Aisha said, trying to smile.

At 6 AM, the car horn hooted softly. Aisha looked out the window and saw not a big scary convoy, but one clean black Range Rover with tinted windows. The driver was a young man in a simple black t-shirt, not a scary guard in a suit.

He came upstairs and carried their suitcase without saying much. He smiled at Zara and said, "Jambo, princess."

Zara hid behind Aisha's leg, her silver eyes dim.

The drive from Mombasa to Nairobi was nine hours. Zara slept for four of them, woke up and asked "Are we there yet?" twenty times, ate three mandazis Aisha had packed, and finally fell asleep again on Aisha's chest, drooling a little on her dress.

Aisha didn't sleep. She stared out the window at the changing landscape — coconut trees becoming dry bush becoming hills. She thought about Mark's words: _packs, Alpha, gold eyes, female heir._

She had Googled "werewolf Kenya" at 2 AM last night and only found stupid American movies. Nothing prepared her for this.

At around 3 PM, the car entered Nairobi. The air was cooler, the traffic was crazy, matatus honking everywhere. Zara woke up and pressed her face to the window.

"Mommy, so many cars! Mommy, that building touches the sky!"

Aisha's heart hurt. She had run away from this city with nothing. Now she was coming back in a billionaire's car.

The car didn't go to a hotel. It went past Westlands, past Parklands, past Lavington, and finally turned into a huge black gate in Karen.

KAREN. The place where only old money families lived. Where each house sat on one acre of land with big trees.

The gate opened automatically. Inside, it wasn't a house. It was a compound. A big white mansion in the middle, surrounded by smaller houses, a garden with roses, a swimming pool, and high walls with security cameras.

The car stopped. The front door of the mansion opened.

Mark was standing there. He had changed out of his suit into simple grey sweatpants and a white t-shirt. His hair was messy, like he hadn't slept either. Behind him stood an older woman in a beautiful leso, her hair in short grey curls. She was smiling warmly.

Aisha got out slowly, holding Zara. Zara's silver eyes were wide.

"Welcome home," Mark said quietly.

"Home? This is not our home," Aisha said, but her voice was not angry. She was tired.

The older woman stepped forward. "You must be Aisha. I am Margaret. Mark's mother. Welcome, my daughter."

Aisha stared. She expected a cold billionaire mother who would hate her. But Margaret's eyes were kind. She opened her arms.

Aisha didn't know what to do. Then Margaret gently hugged her, and Zara, squeezed between them.

"You are so brave," Margaret whispered in Aisha's ear. "Raising our heir alone. Thank you."

Aisha started crying before she could stop herself. All the stress of the last 24 hours came out.

Margaret just held her.

Inside the mansion, everything was warm wood and soft carpets, not cold glass like Aisha expected. Margaret led them to a small but beautiful cottage at the back of the garden. It was separate from the main mansion.

"This will be your house for 90 days," Margaret said. "So you have privacy. No one will disturb you. There is a small kitchen, two bedrooms, and a garden where Zara can play safely. My gardener's children also play here. They are normal children, they will not stare at her eyes."

Aisha looked inside. It was more beautiful than any house she had ever lived in. There were fresh flowers on the table. There was a small pink bed for Zara.

Zara ran inside immediately and jumped on the pink bed. "Mommy! My own bed!"

Mark stood at the door, not coming inside, respecting the boundary. "The deal," he said. "Let's make it clear so you feel safe."

Aisha wiped her tears and turned to him, trying to be business-like.

"90 days," she said. "I work in your HQ in Westlands. You teach me how to run a big fashion company. You pay me 200,000 shillings per month, as you promised, directly to my M-Pesa, not cash. My boutique in Mombasa stays open, Mrs. Otieno manages it. Zara stays with me, not in some training camp."

"Agreed," Mark said.

"And," Aisha added, remembering the most important thing, "you don't force Zara to call you anything. And you don't tell anyone she is your daughter without my permission. Especially your father."

Mark's face tightened at the mention of his father. "My father already knows. My mother told him last night. I couldn't hide it. He felt the pack link when I saw her."

Aisha's heart dropped. "What?"

Margaret put a hand on Aisha's shoulder. "Joseph is old school, but he is not a monster. He cried when I told him, Aisha. He cried. He has waited 20 years for a female pure Alpha. He wants to meet her tomorrow morning. Just for five minutes. He will not take her. I promise you, with my life, I promise."

That night, Aisha couldn't sleep in the soft, expensive bed. She lay awake listening to the crickets in the Karen garden and Zara breathing softly in her pink bed.

At 2:37 AM, Zara started whimpering in her sleep.

Aisha sat up immediately. "Zara? Baby?"

Zara's little body was shaking. Her eyes were closed, but silver light was glowing bright under her eyelids, lighting up the whole room. Her hands were clenched into fists. Her temperature was rising.

"Mommy... forest... running... so many..."

Aisha touched Zara's forehead — it was burning hot. "Mark! MARGARET! Someone help!"

Within seconds, Mark burst into the cottage wearing only sweatpants, his own eyes glowing silver bright, lighting up the dark room. He didn't ask. He knew.

"Her first shift is coming," he said, his voice panicked. "It's too early! It's too early! She is only three!"

"What first shift? What is happening to my daughter?" Aisha shouted, crying.

Margaret came running with a cold towel and a small wooden box.

Mark knelt next to Zara's bed and placed his big warm hand on her tiny forehead. He started humming — a low, deep humming, almost like a wolf's lullaby.

"Shhh, little wolf, shhh. It's okay. Daddy is here. You are not alone. Breathe with me, princess. Breathe."

Zara's shaking slowed. Her glowing faded slightly. She opened her eyes — bright silver — and looked at Mark, then at Aisha.

"Daddy, it hurts," she whispered.

Aisha froze. Zara had called him Daddy. Without being told.

Mark's eyes filled with tears. "I know, princess. I know. First shift always hurts. But you are strong. You are a Mwangi."

He looked at Margaret. "Get my father. Now. Only he knows how to stop an early shift. If she shifts at three, her bones... she is too small."

Margaret ran out into the night.

Aisha held Zara's hand, her own tears falling on Zara's pink blanket. "My baby, my baby, Mommy is here."

Zara looked at her mother, her silver eyes slowly dimming as Mark kept humming.

"Mommy, don't cry," Zara whispered, her voice sleepy again. "Daddy makes the hurting stop."

Outside the cottage window, deep in the Karen forest, an old wolf howled — long and sad. Joseph Mwangi had woken up and felt his great-granddaughter's first pain through the pack link.

The 90 days had not even started, and Zara's Alpha blood had already woken up.