The Alpha’s Secret Obsession Now novel Chapter 38

Sarah’s POV

Grief makes men predictable, and predictable men are easy to maneuver.

I have watched Paul for two days now—forty-eight hours of studying the way he moves through this packhouse like a man walking through fog.

The pack sees their Alpha working tirelessly, coordinating search parties, demanding updates from his trackers with the fierce urgency of a leader protecting his people.

I see the truth they cannot.

Paul is not searching for a troubled servant girl who fled in the night.

The intensity of his desperation suggests something that looks suspiciously like a bond no Alpha should share with a woman who isn’t his Luna.

The signs are subtle enough that most would miss them entirely. His responses come half a second too fast. He paces instead of sitting.

He dismisses conversations mid-sentence when they no longer serve his purpose. The careful control has become a cage, and I can see him pressing against its bars.

I recognize the pattern because I have spent months learning to read him—not as a wife learns a husband, but as a chess player learns an opponent.

Every tell, every weakness, every fracture in that stoic facade has been catalogued in my memory for exactly this kind of moment.

The evening of the second day arrives with no news from the trackers, and I dress for dinner with deliberate care.

The formal dining room glitters with candlelight when I enter, and three senior pack members are already seated at the long table.

Cormac, whose grizzled presence commands respect from everyone in the room; Aldrich, the aging treasurer whose advice Paul values above most; and Helena, the pack’s protocol mistress who oversees every ceremony and ritual.

Perfect witnesses. I chose them deliberately, extending personal invitations earlier today with the explanation that pack unity required visible leadership during this difficult time.

What a joke.

Paul arrives last, his shoulders rigid beneath the dark fabric of his formal jacket.

He takes his seat at the head of the table without meeting anyone’s eyes, and the conversation that follows is stilted and careful—updates on territory patrols, discussions of winter supply chains, the mundane business of pack administration that fills silence without requiring emotion.

I wait until the second course is served before I strike.

“Helena,” I say, turning to the protocol mistress with an expression of gentle concern, “I wanted to ask your opinion on something that has been troubling me.”

Helena sets down her fork with interest. “Of course, Luna. What concerns you?”

“The ceremony.” I let the word hang for a moment before continuing.

“The Luna confirmation ceremony that should follow the wedding. I’ve had the preparations ready for some time now, but we haven’t been able to finalize a date. I wanted to ask whether there’s something I should understand about the delay.”

The silence that falls over the table is immediate and weighted. Cormac exchanges a glance with Aldrich.

Helena’s brow furrows with discomfort like she has been wondering the same thing but lacked the position to ask.

Paul’s attention snaps to me from across the candlelit expanse, and I feel the force of it like pressure against my skin.

“This isn’t the time for that discussion,” he says, his voice carefully measured.

“I apologize if I’ve raised an uncomfortable subject.” I let regret color my tone while my eyes hold his without wavering.

“But the pack has been patient, Paul. A Luna without a ceremony is a title without confirmation. The elders have asked me twice now when we intend to proceed.”

Helena nods reluctantly. “It’s true, Alpha. There have been inquiries. The members of both packs attended the wedding with the understanding that the formal presentation would follow within the traditional timeframe.”

“The timing isn’t right,” Paul says flatly.

Helena’s face brightens with professional satisfaction. “I’ll begin preparations immediately, Alpha. Shall we aim for the end of the month, or would you prefer—”

“Discuss the details with Sarah.” Paul pushes back from the table, his plate still half-full. “I have reports to review.”

He leaves without another word, and the three senior pack members exchange glances that carry a mixture of relief and lingering unease.

I lift my wine glass, letting the burgundy liquid catch the light.

I do not smile. Smiling would be unwise with witnesses still present.

But I settle deeper into my chair with satisfaction because I have just confirmed that every piece remains exactly where I need it on the board.

“If you’ll excuse me,” I say graciously, rising from the table, “I should let the Alpha know how much I appreciate his support. Helena, perhaps we could meet tomorrow morning to discuss the ceremony details?”

“Of course, Luna.” Helena inclines her head with the respect my title demands.

The corridor outside Paul’s office is empty when I reach it, the flickering sconces casting shadows that dance across stone walls.

I can hear his voice through the door—low and clipped, demanding updates about Morgan.

I pull out my phone and navigate to the encrypted messaging app that Thomas installed for me months ago.

The screen glows pale in the dim corridor as I type three words.

Me: Proceed with planning.

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