THE ALPHA KING BROUGHT HIS PREGNANT MISTRESS HOME ON THEIR ANNIVERSARY

He was checking emergency radios when she entered.

She didn't bother with greetings.

"Was your father ordered to kill me?"

Rowan went completely still.

Celeste held out the document.

"Jonathan Hale. Warden elimination authorization. Nineteen years ago."

He looked at the page.

His face changed.

"Where did you get this?"

"Does it matter?"

"Celeste—"

"Did he accept the assignment?"

Rowan closed his eyes briefly.

"Yes."

The answer struck her like a physical blow.

She stepped backward.

"Then everything you've told me—"

"Let me explain."

"No."

Her voice cracked.

"You told me your father helped save my life."

"He did."

"You left out the part where he was sent to murder me."

Rowan didn't attempt to approach.

He stood on the opposite side of the room, hands visible, giving her space.

"My father was a Crown Guard officer," he said. "Voss assigned him to your mother's house after learning she possessed documents proving the Council had falsified royal succession records."

Celeste stared at him.

"He thought he was arresting a traitor. When he arrived, the property was already burning."

"Who started the fire?"

"We believe Voss's private security team."

"And my father?"

"He was searching for you."

Celeste's grip tightened around the document.

Rowan continued.

"Jonathan found your mother trapped near the east staircase. She'd been injured trying to reach your bedroom."

Celeste remembered smoke.

A woman's scream.

Then strong arms lifting her through darkness.

"Your mother told him what the Council had done," Rowan said. "She showed him the order to kill you. My father refused."

His voice lowered.

"He carried you outside. Then went back for her."

Celeste's throat tightened.

"Did he get her out?"

"No."

Rowan looked away.

"The staircase collapsed. He came out through a rear window with severe burns. Your mother didn't survive."

Celeste pressed her fist against her mouth.

For nineteen years, she'd dreamed of that fire.

Sometimes she heard her mother's voice.

Sometimes she remembered being lifted from the bed.

She'd never known the face of the man who saved her.

"Why didn't you tell me?"

"Because I was afraid you'd see the order before you understood what happened."

"I did see it."

"I know."

She looked at him with exhausted anger.

"People keep deciding which truths I'm strong enough to hear."

Rowan lowered his head.

"You're right."

The admission didn't instantly repair the damage.

But he didn't defend the omission.

"I should have told you everything the first night," he said.

Celeste stared at him.

"Do you have proof?"

"Yes."

He crossed to a locked cabinet and removed an old metal box.

Inside were photographs, letters, and a damaged leather notebook.

"My father kept records after leaving the Guard. He spent the rest of his life trying to expose Voss."

Celeste opened the notebook.

The pages smelled of old paper and smoke.

One entry was dated the night of the fire.

Elara ordered me to take the child and leave her. I refused. She said the future mattered more than her life. I still hear her voice telling me to protect Celeste.

Celeste's eyes filled.

She turned another page.

The assassination authorization was signed by Voss. The operation team entered the house before I arrived. I believe they intended to destroy the archive and every surviving member of the Arden line.

At the bottom, Jonathan Hale had written:

If my son ever meets Celeste, he must tell her that her mother died fighting.

Celeste's knees weakened.

Rowan moved instinctively.

Then stopped.

He waited.

After several seconds, she sat on a wooden bench.

"Your father saved me."

"Yes."

"And Voss tried to kill an eleven-year-old girl."

"Yes."

Celeste looked up.

"Then we don't just need to remove him from power."

Her expression hardened.

"We need to put him on trial."

In Manhattan, Veronica St. James woke to a hand covering her mouth.

She struggled.

A man leaned over her bed.

"Don't scream."

She recognized him.

Mason Kreel.

The scarred Alpha who occasionally accompanied her father's security team.

"What are you doing?" she whispered when he released her.

"Your father sent me."

"At three in the morning?"

"Get dressed."

Veronica looked toward the bedroom door.

"Where's Guthrie?"

"Not here."

"Then I'm not going anywhere."

Kreel's expression remained cold.

"Your father says you're becoming a liability."

Her stomach tightened.

"What?"

"You're to be relocated until the succession matter is resolved."

"I'm pregnant."

"I know."

He looked toward her abdomen.

"That's why we're keeping you alive."

Veronica went cold.

She reached for the emergency alarm beside the bed.

Kreel grabbed her wrist.

"Don't."

For the first time in her life, Veronica St. James understood what it felt like to have no control over the people surrounding her.

Her father had always protected her.

Or so she'd believed.

He'd arranged her education, her board positions, and every political introduction.

When he encouraged her relationship with Guthrie, she'd assumed he was helping her become Queen.

Now she realized she'd been useful because she was carrying a child powerful men wanted to control.

"Please," she whispered.

Kreel released her wrist.

"Five minutes."

He stepped outside.

Veronica stood motionless.

Then she grabbed her phone from the nightstand.

Her first instinct was to call Guthrie.

But his number went straight to voicemail.

She tried again.

Nothing.

Her father had probably anticipated it.

She opened her messages.

One name remained beneath an old charity invitation.

Iris Monroe.

Veronica remembered seeing Iris during a royal foundation event two years earlier.

She also remembered Iris challenging the Council over forced Omega bonds.

Veronica had called her troublesome.

Now she typed with shaking hands.

I need help. My father is taking me somewhere. I'm pregnant. I think they're going to use my baby.

She stared at the message.

Then added something she'd never imagined saying.

Please tell Celeste I'm sorry.

She pressed send.

At Blackwater, Iris's phone vibrated at 3:19 a.m.

She read the message.

Then hurried to Celeste's room.

Celeste was awake, sitting beside the window with her mother's journal.

"What's wrong?"

Iris handed her the phone.

Celeste read the message twice.

For a long moment, she didn't speak.

Then she looked up.

"Do we know where she is?"

"At the penthouse, presumably."

Celeste stared at the screen.

Veronica.

The woman who'd worn her necklace.

The woman who'd smiled while Guthrie announced she was taking Celeste's bedroom.

The woman whose pregnancy had been used to humiliate her.

A bitter part of Celeste wanted to put the phone down.

Let Veronica discover what she'd helped destroy.

Let Guthrie rescue his own mistress.

Then Celeste remembered what it had felt like to stand alone while powerful people discussed her life as though she weren't present.

She remembered Dr. Mercer's prescription records.

The assassination authorization.

The families hiding at Blackwater.

And she understood that whatever Veronica had done, her unborn child hadn't done anything.

"We need to tell Guthrie," Celeste said.

Iris nodded.

"I already tried. His secure number isn't connecting."

Celeste frowned.

"That's unusual."

Rowan entered a moment later.

"There's been a communications disruption around the royal residence. Three guard units have been reassigned without proper authorization."

Celeste stood.

"They're moving Veronica."

Rowan looked at the message.

His expression darkened.

"If Voss has decided she isn't cooperating, he could take her to one of the offshore medical facilities."

"What happens there?"

"We don't know."

Celeste's hand moved protectively toward her stomach.

She didn't need to know.

"Then we stop them."

Rowan shook his head.

"Celeste, you can't go into Manhattan right now."

"I didn't say I was going alone."

"You're pregnant, recovering from inhibitor exposure, and you've used the Voice twice."

"I know."

"The doctor told you to rest."

"I know."

"Then—"

She stepped closer.

"Rowan, I spent five years letting other people decide what was safe for me. I'm not asking to ignore the risks. I'm asking you to help me find a plan that doesn't leave another woman at the mercy of the Council."

He held her gaze.

Then nodded.

"All right."

She exhaled.

"But we do this carefully," he added. "You don't enter the residence. You stay at a secure location with Dr. Chen's emergency instructions, and we use people already inside the city."

Celeste considered it.

Then nodded.

"Agreed."

For the first time, she understood that accepting help wasn't the same as surrendering control.

At 4:06 a.m., Guthrie's phone finally regained service.

He found fourteen missed calls.

Three from Captain Rook.

Six from royal administrators.

Four from Veronica.

And one from Celeste.

His heart slammed against his ribs.

He called Celeste first.

She answered after two rings.

"Where are you?"

It was the first thing he said.

The question came out harsher than intended.

Celeste's response was immediate.

"That's not why I'm calling."

Guthrie closed his eyes.

"Celeste."

"Veronica is in danger."

He went still.

"What?"

"Your Chancellor is attempting to move her out of the penthouse. She contacted someone asking for help."

Guthrie turned toward the security monitors.

The master suite camera showed an empty corridor.

"Veronica?"

"Yes."

"How do you know?"

"Because she sent a message."

Guthrie's stomach dropped.

He immediately activated the internal alarm.

"Rook!"

Celeste continued.

"Guthrie, listen to me."

He froze.

Her voice was different.

Not softer.

Not submissive.

Clear.

Focused.

"Voss is using your child as leverage. Whatever you think you know about him, it's not enough."

Guthrie stared at the monitor.

"Why would you help Veronica?"

There was a pause.

Then Celeste answered.

"Because her baby didn't betray me."

The words cut deeper than any accusation.

Guthrie swallowed.

"Celeste, I—"

"Save her first."

The call ended.

Guthrie stood motionless for half a second.

Then he grabbed his jacket and ran.

Veronica was being escorted through the underground garage when the royal security alarms began sounding.

Kreel swore.

Two vehicles waited beside the private freight elevator.

Veronica had been ordered into the first SUV.

She resisted.

"I want to speak to Guthrie."

Kreel tightened his grip on her arm.

"Get inside."

"You're hurting me."

"Then stop fighting."

A voice sounded across the garage.

"Release her."

Captain Rook emerged from the stairwell with six armed officers.

Kreel turned.

"This transfer is authorized by the Chancellor."

Rook raised his weapon.

"That authorization has been revoked."

Kreel laughed.

"The King doesn't have jurisdiction over Council security operations."

"He does over his own residence."

Kreel pulled Veronica closer.

"Back away."

Rook didn't move.

A vehicle engine roared at the opposite entrance.

Guthrie's black SUV shot through the security gate and stopped hard enough to leave skid marks.

He climbed out before the driver could open his door.

His Alpha presence struck the garage like a pressure wave.

"Let her go."

Kreel hesitated.

Every instinct in his body recognized the king.

But Voss's orders were explicit.

"Your Majesty, this is Council business."

Guthrie walked toward him.

"You're holding the mother of my child against her will."

Kreel's grip tightened.

"Stay back."

Veronica whimpered.

Guthrie stopped.

His eyes shifted from gray to gold.

"If you hurt her," he said quietly, "there won't be enough territory left for you to hide."

Kreel made a calculation.

Then released Veronica.

She stumbled forward.

Guthrie caught her.

Rook's officers moved in immediately.

Kreel was disarmed and restrained.

Veronica clung to Guthrie's jacket, sobbing.

"He's going to kill me."

"Who?"

"My father. Voss. I don't know anymore."

Guthrie held her until she could stand.

Then he noticed the necklace.

Celeste's necklace.

It still hung around Veronica's throat.

Something inside him twisted.

"Take that off," he said.

Veronica obeyed with trembling fingers.

She placed it in his hand.

"There's something inside the clasp," she whispered.

Guthrie looked down.

"The Chancellor wanted me to wear it during the ceremony. My father said the seal mattered more than anything."

Guthrie examined the hidden silver plate.

He recognized the crescent symbol.

He'd seen it in Celeste's medical classification.

His skin went cold.

For five years, he'd believed the necklace was merely a precious family heirloom.

Now he wondered whether his wedding had been arranged around it.

Three hours later, Guthrie stood in an independent medical clinic where Veronica was receiving care.

Her pregnancy appeared stable.

Dr. Chen had arranged for an outside physician to assess her because the royal medical system could no longer be trusted.

A protective detail from the independent judiciary guarded the building.

Guthrie had agreed to surrender all Council-related security decisions to them.

He stood near a window when the door opened.

Celeste entered.

He forgot how to breathe.

She wore a gray coat and flat shoes.

Her hair fell loosely over her shoulders.

She looked tired.

But there was a steadiness in her posture he'd never seen before.

"Celeste."

She stopped several feet away.

"Guthrie."

For an instant, he wanted to cross the room and pull her into his arms.

He didn't.

He'd finally begun learning that wanting something didn't give him the right to take it.

"Thank you," he said.

"For Veronica."

Celeste nodded.

"I wanted to know she was safe."

"She is."

"Good."

Silence settled between them.

Guthrie studied her face.

"Are you okay?"

She gave him a faint, sad smile.

"That's a complicated question."

He looked down.

"I know."

She turned toward the hallway.

"Then I'll let you return to her."

"Celeste, wait."

She stopped.

He reached into his pocket.

The necklace lay in his palm.

"I got this back."

Celeste looked at it.

For a moment, pain flashed across her face.

"Keep it."

"Your mother—"

"That necklace was supposed to represent our marriage."

Guthrie swallowed.

"It did."

"No."

Her eyes filled.

"It represented what I thought our marriage was."

He had no answer.

Then Celeste suddenly pressed a hand against her abdomen.

A wave of dizziness crossed her face.

Guthrie stepped forward instinctively.

"Celeste?"

"I'm okay."

But Dr. Chen, who had entered behind her, looked concerned.

"Sit down for a moment."

Celeste shook her head.

"It's just nausea."

"We should check your blood pressure."

Guthrie stared.

His eyes dropped toward Celeste's stomach.

Then toward the medical folder in Dr. Chen's hand.

A small ultrasound photograph slipped from between the pages.

It landed faceup on the floor.

Guthrie bent to retrieve it.

He saw the patient's name.

CELESTE ARDEN CROSS.

Then the date.

Then the unmistakable shapes on the image.

Two.

He stopped breathing.

His gaze moved toward the printed label.

TWIN GESTATION — 8 WEEKS, 4 DAYS.

For several seconds, the Alpha King couldn't move.

Then he slowly looked up at his wife.

"Celeste?"

Her face had gone pale.

Guthrie's voice broke.

"You're pregnant?"

She didn't answer immediately.

His eyes filled.

"With twins?"

The silence was unbearable.

Finally, Celeste nodded.

"Yes."

Guthrie gripped the photograph as though it were the only thing holding him upright.

He thought of the anniversary dinner.

The tiny gift box he'd noticed in her drawer but never opened.

The words he'd spoken in front of Veronica.

The first confirmed heir of House Cross.

He looked at Celeste.

"When were you going to tell me?"

Her answer came quietly.

"On our anniversary."

Guthrie felt his knees weaken.

He reached for the nearest chair.

Celeste continued.

"I bought two little shoes before I knew there were two babies."

A tear slipped down her cheek.

"I was going to give them to you after dinner."

Guthrie covered his face.

He had imagined himself a powerful man.

A king.

A protector.

A father whose children would inherit an empire.

But on the night his wife had prepared to tell him he was going to become a father, he'd brought another woman into their home and told Celeste to move out of their bedroom.

And now the woman who carried his twins stood before him like someone who had already learned to survive without him.

Guthrie lowered his hands.

"Please," he whispered.

"Let me make this right."

Celeste looked at him for a long moment.

Then she said the words that would haunt him for years.

"You can't make that night unhappen."

She stepped backward.

"And you don't get to turn my pregnancy into another reason I have to come home."

Guthrie remained seated as she walked away.

He didn't follow.

For once, he understood that stopping her would only prove she was right.