The Alpha’s Secret Obsession Now novel Chapter 51

The drive from the hospital passes in silence thick enough to choke on.

I sit in the backseat of Paul’s sedan, watching suburbs blur past the tinted windows, pulling together every fragment of courage I can locate in the wreckage of the past twenty-four hours.

The conversation ahead terrifies me more than Thomas did, more than the pregnancy test, more than any of the physical dangers I have faced since fleeing the packhouse.

I have never fought with a friend before.

The realization sits heavy in my chest as Paul guides the car down the narrow road leading to Ricky’s safe house.

The car rolls to a stop, and I force myself to open the door before my courage fails entirely.

The safe house looks exactly as I remember it—weathered siding, pine-needle-covered roof, windows reflecting nothing but trees and sky.

But the silence that greets us carries a different quality now, emptied of the warmth that Ricky’s presence always provided.

Paul and Zane flank me as I approach the front door, their footsteps careful on the gravel, their attention split between the house and the tree line like they expect threats to emerge from either direction.

The door swings open without resistance.

“Ricky?” My voice echoes through the empty foyer, bouncing off walls that absorb the sound without response. “Ricky, I need to talk to you.”

Nothing.

I move deeper into the house, past the living room where we fell asleep watching television, past the bathroom where I indulged in fantasies I should have buried, until I reach the kitchen where everything fell apart.

The back door has been repaired—new wood visible against the weathered frame, hinges gleaming with recent installation. Ricky must have called someone to fix it while I lay unconscious in a hospital bed.

‘She’s not here,’ Nireya confirms, her presence stirring with unease. ‘Her scent is hours old.’

My gaze lands on the kitchen counter, on the single sheet of paper weighted down by a mug I recognize as mine.

I know what you are. Need time to process.

Nine words. Nine words that shatter every hope I had of salvaging this friendship through honest conversation.

The devastation crashes through me first, a wave of loss that buckles my knees and forces me to grip the counter for support. Then the anger rises, hot and familiar, directed entirely at myself.

I could have told her weeks ago. I could have sat her down over coffee in her cheerful kitchen and explained what I was becoming, what the pregnancy meant, why her safe house might not be safe enough to contain the danger I carried.

Instead, I kept secrets because keeping secrets felt easier than confronting the truth.

“Morgan.” Paul’s voice comes from behind me, soft with concern. “What does it say?”

“She’s gone.” I set the note back on the counter with hands that tremble despite my efforts to steady them. “She figured out what I am, and she left because I never trusted her enough to explain it myself.”

Zane moves closer, and I feel his presence on my shoulder like heat from a fire I cannot bring myself to face. “She might come back once she’s had time to process. The note doesn’t say she’s leaving permanently—”

“The note says she knows what I am.” I turn to face them both, and the fury that has been building since I woke in that hospital bed finally finds its target. “Why are you two here?”

Paul’s expression doesn’t change, but I see the tension in his shoulders, the careful way he holds himself like a man bracing for impact. “You’re carrying our child, Morgan. Did you expect us to simply let you vanish?”

Our child. So Elena figured it out and told them about the pregnancy, then.

“I won’t be safe where Sarah is,” I say flatly. “She’ll find a way to hurt me regardless of how many promises you make.”

“Then we’ll remove her.” Paul takes another step forward, and suddenly he’s too close. “I’ll send her back to your father’s pack tonight if that’s what it takes to bring you home.”

“No, you won’t.” I laugh, and the sound carries no humor. “Sending Sarah back means breaking the treaty. Breaking the treaty means war. And you won’t sacrifice your entire pack for me, Paul—we both know that.”

He doesn’t argue—can’t argue—but his hand finds my elbow anyway, warm through the thin fabric of my sleeve.

Zane moves at the same moment, his fingers brushing against my lower back with a gentleness that contrasts sharply with Paul’s possessive grip.

The dual contact sends heat flooding through my system, and without warning I’m back in that bathtub, back in that fantasy where both of them touched me at once and I didn’t have to choose.

My body responds before my mind can intervene—pulse quickening, breath catching, warmth pooling low in my belly with an urgency that has nothing to do with anger and everything to do with want.

‘Well,’ Nireya observes dryly, ‘this is certainly one way to handle emotional conflict.’

I pull away from both of them with a force that sends me stumbling backward toward the stairs.

“I need to be alone,” I manage, and my voice comes out rougher than I intend. “I need to think, and I can’t do that with both of you standing close enough to—just stay down here. Please.”

I don’t wait for their response.

My feet carry me up the stairs two at a time, fleeing from the men whose touch still burns against my skin and the feelings I am absolutely not ready to confront.

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