Alpha's Regret After the Divorce by Christina novel Chapter 59

Chapter 59

Kira’s Perspective:

The call with Ethan had just ended, leaving me clutching the phone as my mind whirled with thoughts. “Her baby might still be alive,” I whispered to myself, the words barely audible in the heavy silence of the room. The screen on my phone had gone dark, but the possibilities it had opened up burned brightly in my mind. There had to be a connection—between Lyra, my father, and this missing child.

I sank down onto the edge of the bed, every muscle in my body aching from the ordeal by the river and the capture that followed. Slowly, the puzzle pieces started to come together: Fiona Scott’s sudden and mysterious death shortly after I visited her, Dr. Green’s abrupt resignation, and now the missing baby. If I could locate that child, perhaps I could finally unravel the tangled history between my father and Lyra.

“Thank you, Ethan,” I murmured softly, the room empty except for my voice. At least someone was still willing to stand by me in this nightmare.

Rising, I moved toward the floor-to-ceiling window and pressed my palm against the cold glass. Outside, the night had fully claimed Rocco’s estate. The tall trees swayed gently in the breeze, their shadows flickering across the immaculately kept lawn. In the distance, a lone wolf’s howl pierced the quiet—a haunting, sorrowful sound that mirrored the isolation I felt deep within.

“What a fucking joke,” I muttered, my breath fogging the glass.

Here I was, trapped once more after nearly escaping. My body still throbbed from the river’s cold grip, and yet I was back where I started. At least Lucas had managed to get away—I prayed silently that he was safe.

I needed clarity. Ethan’s call had given me something tangible to hold onto regarding Fiona’s baby, but how could I investigate while a prisoner in Rocco’s mansion? Time was slipping through my fingers, the disease in my chest a relentless reminder of my dwindling countdown.

Maybe direct confrontation wasn’t the answer. Perhaps I had to… play along? The idea made my stomach churn. Could I really pretend to soften toward Rocco after everything he’d done? But if it meant gaining access to the truth about Lyra and my father, maybe it was a risk I had to take.

Turning away from the window, I returned to the bed and curled into myself, hugging my knees close. The mansion around me felt cavernous and cold—a gilded cage I once called home.

Hours slipped by as I drifted in and out of restless sleep. Suddenly, the sharp slam of the front door startled me awake. Heavy footsteps echoed up the stairs, accompanied by the unmistakable scent of whiskey and cigar smoke. Rocco was home—and drunk again.

I froze, listening intently. His footsteps stopped just outside my bedroom door, then continued down the hallway. He wasn’t coming to check on me? That was unusual.

Curiosity overcame caution. I slipped quietly from the bed and crept to the door, cracking it open just enough to peek out. Rocco stood in the dim hallway, one hand braced against the wall for support. His tie was loosened, hanging carelessly around his neck, and his usually immaculate hair was tousled.

“Kira?” he called out, his voice thick with alcohol. “Where are you?”

I pushed the door open a little more, stepping into the shadowy corridor. “I’m here.”

Rocco turned, his piercing blue eyes locking onto mine in the darkness. A flicker of relief crossed his face. He stumbled toward me, and instinctively, I took a step back.

“You weren’t waiting,” he slurred, gesturing vaguely toward the stairs. “You always used to wait for me in the living room.”

The memory stung more than I expected. “That was before,” I said quietly. “Before you chose Kim.”

He waved a dismissive hand, nearly losing his balance as he did. “Let’s not talk about her tonight.”

Without waiting for a response, Rocco pushed past me into the bedroom and collapsed onto the bed with a heavy sigh. I hesitated in the doorway, unsure whether to follow or retreat. Before I could decide, he reached out and grabbed my wrist, pulling me toward him with surprising strength.

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