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

CHAPTER 6: VANESSA'S SECRET.

Westlands HQ. Mwangi Group Tower. 9th Floor.

Aisha had never been inside such a tall building.

The elevator was glass. It moved so fast her ears popped. When the doors opened on the 9th floor, she saw a whole world she only saw in movies — women in expensive suits typing on two big screens, men in ties carrying coffee, a big sign that said MWANGI FASHION DIVISION - DRESSING AFRICA.

Everyone stared when she walked in wearing her simple blue kitenge dress and flat sandals, holding a small handbag she had sewn herself.

Margaret walked next to her, proudly holding her arm. "Everyone, this is Aisha Wanjiku. She will be the new Assistant Manager for our new line, Zara Collections. She owns a successful boutique in Mombasa and will teach us about coastal fashion."

Aisha's hands were sweating. Zara Collections. Mark had named the whole new fashion line after their daughter without telling her.

A young woman came forward — mid-twenties, neat braids, kind eyes. "Hi, I'm Grace, the office manager. Karibu! Your desk is here."

It was a small desk near the window, but it was hers. There was a computer, a notebook that said AISHA MWANGI - wait, Mwangi? She looked at Margaret.

Margaret winked. "Temporary name tag. For security. So people respect you. Not everyone knows you are... you know... mother of silver eyes."

Aisha sat down. The computer screen was already on. There was a Post-it note stuck to it, in Mark's messy handwriting:

_You said you wanted to learn big business. Start by fixing this mess. - M_

Attached was a printed sales report. The Zara Collections line — even before launch — had already lost 3 million shillings because the fabric supplier in Eastleigh was delivering late and bad quality.

Aisha forgot her nervousness. This was fabric. This was what she knew.

She picked up the phone and called the supplier, speaking in fluent Swahili and Sheng, the way real tailors in Nairobi spoke. "Boss, hii kitamba unaniletea ni chafu. Unadhani mimi ni mgeni?"

Within 20 minutes, she had negotiated a new delivery for tomorrow morning, half price.

Grace stared at her, mouth open. "You just saved us 1.5 million in one call. Mr. Mark has been trying for two weeks and they kept hanging up on him!"

Aisha smiled for the first time that day.

At 1 PM, Mark came to the 9th floor for a meeting. He was in a full black suit, looking like the serious CEO everyone feared. When he saw Aisha working, laughing with Grace over fabric samples, he stopped walking.

His assistant whispered, "Sir, meeting in 5 minutes..."

Mark didn't move. He was watching Aisha.

Vanessa was watching him watch Aisha.

Vanessa had arrived at 12:30 PM without anyone inviting her. She was sitting in Mark's private office on the 10th floor, legs crossed, wearing a red dress, waiting for him. She had a file in her hand — a file she had been holding for three years.

When Mark finally entered his office at 1:15 PM, Vanessa stood up and smiled sweetly.

"Mark, darling, you left your phone at home yesterday. Wanjiru gave it to me. I was charging it for you."

She placed his personal iPhone on his desk.

Mark frowned. "I didn't leave my phone at home. I had it."

"Maybe you forgot, you've been so stressed with... the new guests," Vanessa said, her gold eyes glinting. "By the way, who is the new girl on 9th floor? The one in kitenge? She looks familiar. Like that waitress from Serena?"

Mark's jaw tightened. "Vanessa, what do you want?"

Vanessa opened the file she brought.

"I want to talk about loyalty," she said, her sweet voice turning cold. She pulled out a printed photo.

It was a photo of Aisha, eight months pregnant, standing outside a small clinic in Kongowea, Mombasa. She looked tired, poor, holding her belly.

Mark's breath caught.

"Three years ago, after you humiliated that waitress, my uncle Peter's men followed her," Vanessa said calmly, like she was discussing weather. "Because we thought she might try to blackmail you. We found out she was pregnant. We told your father. Your father said, 'Let the waitress go. The child will not survive without money. It will be a lesson.'"

Mark's silver eyes started glowing faintly with anger. "You what?"

"Oh, don't look at me like that," Vanessa laughed. "I was 22 too. I was scared. I was supposed to marry you. Then this waitress girl gets pregnant? My family would have been embarrassed. So yes, we watched. And when she gave birth, we saw the baby's eyes. Silver. We knew immediately it was Mwangi blood."

She pulled out another paper — a clinic receipt.

"We paid the doctor at Kongowea clinic 50,000 shillings to tell Aisha that her baby had a rare eye disease and would need expensive medicine every month, so she would be scared and never come back to Nairobi. That doctor is my cousin."

Mark's hands clenched into fists. The glass water cup on his desk cracked.

"YOU DID WHAT?" he roared, his voice no longer human, his silver eyes blazing bright, lighting up the whole office.

Vanessa stepped back, but she was smiling. "I did what any Alpha female would do to protect her future pack. I protected our bloodline from being polluted by a waitress."

"You let my daughter almost die? You let Aisha suffer alone, thinking her baby was sick, with no money?" Mark shouted, his whole body shaking, his wolf trying to come out.

At that moment, the office door burst open.

Aisha was standing there, holding a fabric sample, with Grace behind her. "Mark, the supplier said—"

She stopped when she saw Mark's glowing silver eyes and Vanessa holding the clinic receipt.

"What is happening?" Aisha asked.

Vanessa quickly tried to hide the papers, but Mark was faster. He grabbed the file and threw it at Aisha's feet.

"Read it," he said, his voice broken. "Read what she did to you. To Zara."

Aisha knelt and picked up the papers. Her hands shook as she read the Swahili handwritten note from the doctor: _Tell the mother the child has eye disease, needs monthly drops 10k. Make her fear._

Her eyes filled with tears. She remembered that day. Zara was two weeks old. The doctor had said, "Your baby has a serious eye problem, the silver color is disease. You need to buy these drops every month or she will go blind." Aisha had cried for three days and borrowed money from Mrs. Otieno to buy the fake drops — which were just salty water.

"You..." Aisha looked up at Vanessa, her whole body trembling. "You made me think my baby was going blind? I didn't sleep for months! I thought it was my fault!"

Vanessa rolled her eyes. "Oh please, it was just—"

Aisha slapped her. Hard. Across the face.

The sound echoed in the 10th floor.

Grace gasped.

Vanessa held her cheek, her gold eyes blazing gold now, bright and angry. Her nails grew longer.

"You little human—" she growled and raised her hand to hit Aisha back.

But she never got the chance.

Mark moved so fast he was a blur. He grabbed Vanessa's wrist mid-air, his silver eyes glowing brighter than ever.

"If you ever touch her again," he growled, his voice deep like a wolf, "If you ever come near Zara again, I will forget you are a woman and I will forget our families were ever friends. I will tear your pack apart with my own hands. Do you understand me, Vanessa Kenyatta?"

Vanessa's gold eyes dimmed with fear. She pulled her hand back.

"This is not over," she whispered, tears of anger in her eyes. "My uncle Peter will hear about this. The treaty is broken. You chose a human waitress over an Alpha alliance. Your grandfather will not allow it."

She grabbed her bag and ran out, her red heels clicking fast.

The office was silent.

Aisha was still on the floor, holding the fake clinic receipt, crying quietly.

Mark knelt next to her, his eyes back to brown, his hand hovering, not touching, asking permission.

"Aisha, I didn't know," he whispered. "I swear, I didn't know they did that to you. If I had known you were pregnant... I would have left everything and come to Mombasa."

Aisha looked at him, tears streaming. "She made me think my baby was sick, Mark. My baby who already had no father. I thought God was punishing me."

Mark finally touched her shoulder gently. "No one will ever make you feel like that again. I promise. Zara will never need fake medicine again. She is perfect. Her eyes are perfect."

From the doorway, Grace was still standing, shocked. She had seen everything — the glowing eyes, the growling, the slap.

But instead of running away, Grace walked in and closed the door.

"Is Zara okay?" she asked Aisha softly. "Is the little girl with silver eyes okay? I saw her photo on Mark's desk. She is beautiful."

Aisha and Mark looked at each other. Grace knew.

Mark nodded slowly. "She is okay. But she needs to be protected. Can we trust you, Grace?"

Grace smiled. "My grandmother was from the old Turkana pack. I know what silver eyes mean. I will not tell anyone. And Aisha," she looked at Aisha, "that slap was amazing. I have wanted to slap Vanessa for two years."

Aisha laughed through her tears.

At 6 PM, when Aisha returned to the Karen cottage, Zara was awake and playing with Margaret in the garden. She ran to Aisha.

"Mommy, you came back!"

Aisha picked her up and hugged her so tight.

"Mommy, are you crying?" Zara asked, touching Aisha's cheek with her tiny hand. Her silver eyes glowed softly.

"No, baby," Aisha whispered, kissing her silver eyes. "Mommy is just happy. Your eyes are perfect. You hear me? Perfect."

And from the main gate, a black car with Runda plates was watching the cottage. Inside, Peter Kenyatta, Vanessa's uncle, was on the phone, his gold eyes glowing.

"She hit Vanessa? The human hit an Alpha? And Mark defended her? Good. Now we have a reason to challenge. Call the council. The Mwangi pack broke the alliance treaty. They have a female heir and they hid her. Under old law, we can claim the child."

The secret was out.