The Alpha Who Never Loved Me (Serena and Kieran) novel Chapter 101

Chapter 101

Serena

Kieran lifted me from the bed in the morning.

His hands were careful; one arm slid beneath my knees, the other braced my back, his grip firm but measured. He repositioned me upright against the headboard, tucked a pillow behind my spine, adjusted the bindings so my wrists rested at my sides instead of stretched above my

head.

I could sit now. My shoulders ached less, my blood flowed easier, my neck was no longer bent at the wrong angle. But my hands were still bound, still tied to the bedframe, still tethered to this man who refused to let me walk through a door.

He looked at me, checked the fabric around my wrists, nodded once.

The doorbell rang.

Kieran left the room; his footsteps faded down the hallway, down the stairs. The front door opened

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I sat alone on the bed; my heart slammed against my ribs, erratic, wild. The doctor was here. The results were here. The envelope that held the truth about my baby was somewhere in this house, moving closer to me with every

second.

My stomach churned; the nausea pressed up through my throat. The test would confirm what I spent months hiding. Kieran’s blood, Kieran’s DNA, Kieran’s name stamped across every marker the lab pulled from the vial. Once he saw those results, he would never let me go. The divorce would die, my freedom would die, my entire future would collapse into the cage of this marriage.

No magic existed that could change the result.

The door opened. Kieran walked in first; the doctor followed behind him with an envelope in his hand. The doctor glanced at me, at my position on the bed, at the pillows behind my back.

“Good,” the doctor said to Kieran. “You changed her position. That’s much better for her circulation.”

He turned to Kieran, held out the envelope.

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Kieran took it. His fingers tore the seal: the paper ripped

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along the edge. He pulled the document out, unfolded it, read.

His face changed.

The composure cracked first; his brow creased, then his jaw locked, then his nostrils flared. His eyes moved down the page, then back up, then down again. The color left his cheeks; his grip on the paper tightened until the edges crumpled in his fist.

He turned to the doctor. “This is wrong.”

The doctor blinked. “The results are accurate, Alpha. We ran the test twice to—”

“This is wrong.” Kieran’s voice was low, rough, a controlled explosion. “How can I not be the father?”

My heart stopped.

Not the father.

The words echoed in my skull; they bounced off the walls of my mind, ricocheted through every nerve, every

muscle, every cell. Not the father. The test said Kieran 2:56

378

was not the father of my baby.

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Joy flooded through my veins so fast my body trembled; the relief was a wave that crashed through me, swept through my chest, filled my lungs with air I did not know I needed. I pressed my lips together, bit the inside of my cheek, dug my nails into my palms beneath the bindings.

I could not smile. I could not let even a flicker of happiness cross my face because if Kieran saw it, he would know. He would see through me, question why a woman who was supposedly carrying another man’s child. was thrilled by a negative paternity test. I had to play this right.

“I told you.” I kept my voice flat, tired, resigned. “I was touched by another man. You should let me go.”

Kieran looked at me; his face was a battlefield, fury clashing with disbelief, pride warring with devastation. His jaw worked, his fists clenched, his chest heaved. He looked at the paper, then at me, then at the paper again.

“What kind of game did you pull?” His voice cracked. “Why am I not the father of this baby?”

“You’re not the father because you’re not the father.” I held his stare; my pulse raced but my face stayed still, “I 478

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told you, Kieran. Over, over again. But you chose to hear what you wanted to hear.” I tilted my chin. “You wasted your time, my time, everyone’s time with this paternity test.”

The doctor stood by the door; his eyes moved between us, uncomfortable, out of place.

Kieran turned to him. “You can go.”

The doctor nodded, left. The front door closed

downstairs.

Kieran stood at the foot of the bed; his shoulders rose, fell, rose again. His eyes were red-rimmed, his jaw so tight the muscle in his cheek twitched.

“Will you let me go now?” I asked. “I was spoiled by another man. You should be repulsed. You should want nothing to do with me.”

The silence stretched between us; it pressed against the walls, filled every corner of the room.

“Okay,” he said. His voice was hollow, scraped clean of everything. “I’ll let you go.”

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I could not believe it. He was not fighting. He was not screaming, not grabbing my arms, not threatening to burn the world down. He stood there with a crumpled piece of paper in his fist, his face drained of color, his body drained of the rage that kept him standing for days.

But even through the relief that filled my chest, even through the joy I pressed down with every ounce of control I possessed, anger sat beneath it all. He lied to me for months. He chose Sophie over me, defended her, protected her, gave her my home, my ring, my dignity. He could not stomach the thought of another man touching me, but he expected me to swallow his mistress with

grace.

The hypocrisy was a blade; it cut in both directions.

He untied my wrists. The fabric fell away; the air hit my skin, cool, sharp, alive. I rubbed the marks on my wrists, pressed my thumbs into the grooves the bindings left behind.

I stood from the bed. My legs were unsteady; they shook beneath me for three steps before they found their

strength.

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I walked out of the room, down the stairs, through the

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front door.

My mother’s face crumbled the second she saw me.

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