Alpha's Regret After the Divorce by Christina novel Chapter 25

Chapter 25

Kira’s POV

The moment Rocco’s voice echoed behind me, a cold shiver raced down my spine, freezing my blood. My fingers lost all sensation, and the files I had clutched so tightly slipped from my grasp, fluttering to the floor like fragile autumn leaves scattered by a sudden gust of wind.

I whirled around, my heart pounding wildly against my chest, each beat threatening to shatter my ribs. There he was—Rocco, standing firmly in the doorway. His eyes blazed with a quiet fury, a simmering anger that sent a chill crawling over my skin.

“You—when did you become a thief?” he asked, his voice low and cutting.

My voice faltered, barely more than a whisper, “You’re… back?” The words felt pathetic, almost ridiculous, since he was right there, closing the distance between us with purposeful strides.

I instinctively took a step backward until the cold steel edge of the safe pressed firmly against my back, its chill seeping through my thin shirt. There was nowhere left to run. My legs felt rooted to the spot, paralyzed by fear.

“How much did you see?” Rocco’s tone dropped to a dangerously soft murmur as he advanced closer.

My mind scrambled, thoughts darting chaotically like insects suddenly exposed to light. I nodded briefly, then shook my head in confusion. “Just… parts of the autopsy report. And some DNA analysis. I didn’t—”

He cut me off sharply, eyes locked onto mine with an intensity that made my skin crawl. In the dim light, his irises seemed almost black, pupils wide with rage—or perhaps something darker, something I couldn’t name.

I swallowed hard, my throat dry and rough like sandpaper. “Because of Lyra,” I whispered, the name feeling strange and heavy on my tongue.

For a fleeting moment, pain flickered across his face—grief, maybe? But it vanished almost instantly, replaced by the cold, unyielding mask of control.

“The medical examiner’s report,” he said, kicking one of the scattered papers with the toe of his polished shoe, “shows that Lyra’s throat was cut with a silver blade before she was thrown into the water.”

My stomach twisted violently. Silver—the most brutal way for a wolf to die. “I saw that,” I managed to say, though the truth was I barely glanced at it.

He continued, his voice eerily calm, “What you might have missed is that she was three months pregnant when she died.”

The room seemed to tilt beneath me, the walls closing in. A pregnant she-wolf, murdered in cold blood. “Pregnant?” I repeated dumbly, my mind struggling to grasp the weight of those words.

“The DNA profile points to the father being Derek Silverstone,” Rocco said, his words falling like heavy stones into still water. “Your father.”

“No.” The denial burst out of me, raw and instinctive. “That can’t be true. My father would never—” He wouldn’t hurt anyone, especially not a pregnant she-wolf. He was the man who taught me to respect life, who read me bedtime stories and checked under my bed for monsters. He couldn’t be the monster Rocco painted him to be.

“Never what?” Rocco’s lip curled, revealing the sharp edge of a canine tooth. “Never sleep with a young she-wolf? Never promise her things he had no intention of keeping? I checked the surveillance footage at the werewolf medical center. Derek was there too.”

My mind raced, desperately seeking another explanation. “My father has always been generous to young wolves,” I argued, clinging to memories of the man who raised me. “He sponsored their education, helped them find jobs, integrate into human society—”

“How noble,” Rocco sneered, his cold laugh slicing through my defenses like a knife. “Is that what he told you?”

“The women your father dated? All were Lyra’s age or younger. Most were Rogues seeking help.” His eyes hardened, grief melting into cold fury. “Many were forced to have multiple abortions. Some lost their ability to ever have pups again.”

A wave of nausea rose in my throat. “No, no, no.”

The father who had taught me to bandage injured birds, who cried when our family dog died, who held me tight during nightmares—could he really be capable of such cruelty?

“The unluckiest ones developed mental illnesses. One even committed suicide,” Rocco’s words landed like brutal blows, each revelation driving another nail into the coffin of my father’s reputation.

I pressed my palm against the wall, trying to steady myself as the room spun slightly, reality shifting beneath my feet. The man who raised me, who taught me right from wrong—could he truly be the monster Rocco described?

Could he?

But why would Rocco lie? What would he gain from this? The thought slithered through my mind, poisonous and persistent.

“I don’t believe you,” I said, though my voice sounded hollow even to my own ears. The words felt like a child’s desperate denial of a terrible truth.

Rocco simply stared at me, his eyes a mixture of hatred and something that might have been pity. The combination made my skin crawl.

“You will,” he said quietly. “Once you accept who Derek Silverstone really is.”