The Alpha’s Secret Obsession Now novel Chapter 56

Half an hour is not enough time to wash away evidence of what happened on the living room floor.

I stand beneath the shower’s spray until the water runs cold, scrubbing at skin that still carries Paul’s scent despite the soap and the heat and the desperate need to erase what cannot be erased.

The smell clings to me like a second skin—musk and cedar and something distinctly him, woven into my pores at a molecular level that no amount of washing can reach.

Zane will know the moment he walks through the door. He’ll scent his brother on me and understand exactly what transpired while he performed Beta duties at the packhouse.

The thought makes my stomach twist into knots I don’t know how to untangle.

I check my phone while drying my hair, scrolling through the string of messages I’ve sent Ricky over the past twenty-four hours.

None of them show as read. The silence stretches across the screen like an accusation, each unanswered text a reminder that I destroyed something precious through cowardice and poor timing.

Me: I’m sorry I didn’t tell you sooner.

Me: Please let me explain.

Me: I know what you saw must have been terrifying, and I’m so sorry.

Me: Ricky, please. Just let me know you’re okay.

The words sit there, delivered but unacknowledged, and I set the phone face-down on the bathroom counter because staring at the evidence of my failure only makes the knot in my chest pull tighter.

By the time Zane’s car crunches up the gravel drive, I’ve dressed in clothes that don’t smell like sex and arranged my features into something I hope resembles composure.

Paul waits by the front door, his posture carrying the rigid tension of a man who doesn’t want to leave but knows he must.

The door opens, and Zane steps inside carrying the weight of whatever crisis summoned his brother home.

His eyes find me immediately.

I watch his nostrils flare—subtle, almost imperceptible, but I’m looking for it now. The recognition passes across his features in a flicker of emotion too quick to name, and then it’s gone, buried beneath a neutral expression that reveals nothing.

He knows. Of course he knows.

“The eastern patrol reported unusual activity near the boundary markers,” Zane says, his attention shifting to Paul. “Nothing confirmed yet, but the scent signatures don’t match any pack in our registry.”

“Rogues?” Paul’s voice carries the sharp edge of Alpha concern.

“Possibly. Cormac wants your authorization to extend patrol routes into the disputed territory, but he won’t move without direct orders.”

They continue discussing logistics I barely follow—patrol schedules, boundary protocols, communication chains that mean nothing to someone who spent eleven years scrubbing floors instead of learning pack operations.

I stand in the corner of the living room like furniture, present but irrelevant, and try not to notice the way Zane carefully avoids looking in my direction.

The conversation feels endless and insufficient all at once.

When Paul finally moves toward the door, he pauses long enough to cup my face in his hands and press a kiss to my forehead.

“I’ll be back as soon as I can,” he murmurs against my hair. “Zane will keep you safe until then.”

Then he’s gone, and the silence he leaves behind is deafening.

The tension crystallizes the moment the car engine fades into distance.

Zane stands by the window, his back to me, his shoulders carrying a rigidity that speaks louder than words. The space between us feels charged, electric.

He doesn’t mention the smell.

‘Or maybe we were so overwhelmed by Paul’s intensity that we couldn’t sense anything else.’ Nireya pauses, and when she continues, her voice carries something almost like wonder. ‘Two mates, Morgan. Does that terrify you or thrill you?’

Both. Neither. I don’t know.

The axe continues its rhythm below, and despite my determination to rest, I find myself drifting toward the window.

‘Go on,’ Nireya encourages, her amusement sharpening. ‘I imagine he’s quite appealing when he’s operating heavy tools with all that frustrated energy.’

“I’m not going to spy on him like some lovesick teenager,” I say aloud, as if speaking the words will make them true.

‘You’re not spying. You’re observing. There’s a significant difference, and the view from this window happens to be excellent.’

I pull back from the glass with more force than necessary, irritation flaring at my wolf’s relentless prodding.

But she’s planted the image in my mind now—Zane’s shoulders flexing beneath his shirt, his jaw tight with concentration, his hands gripping the axe handle with the same careful strength that touched me so gently in the garden.

The memory sends heat curling through my belly, and I hate myself for the response.

This is ridiculous. I pace the small bedroom, listening to the steady thwack of the axe, counting the minutes as they stretch into nearly an hour. I can’t hide up here forever.

‘Talk to him, Morgan.’ Nireya’s approval carries genuine warmth. ‘The silence is helping no one, and I’m tired of watching you spiral.’

She’s right. I hate that she’s right.

I take a breath, square my shoulders, and open the bedroom door.

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