The Alpha’s Secret Obsession Now novel Chapter 58

My brain refuses to process the confession.

I’ve spent weeks telling myself this exact outcome was impossible—that Morgan’s feelings for Paul eclipsed whatever spark existed between us, that I was fooling myself by believing the connection ran both ways.

Now she’s standing in front of me, tears tracking down her cheeks, offering everything I wanted and nothing I know how to accept.

“Prove it.” The demand leaves my mouth before conscious thought can intervene.

Morgan’s expression shifts from vulnerable to guarded in the space of a heartbeat. “Excuse me?”

“You heard me.” The jealousy I’ve been suppressing for hours surges forward, toxic and undeniable.

“You say you love us both, but words are easy, Morgan. Prove that I’m not just the consolation prize you’re settling for because Paul had to leave.”

Her eyes flash with anger that makes her look more alive than she has since I arrived. “How dare you—”

“How dare I what? Ask for evidence that your feelings are real?” I step closer, invading her space the way I never have before.

“I’m the spare, remember? The backup brother, the second choice, the one everyone overlooks. Forgive me for wanting some assurance that this isn’t just another situation where I get the scraps.”

“You’re being cruel.” Her voice shakes, but she doesn’t back down. “This isn’t you, Zane.”

“Maybe you don’t know me as well as you think you do.” The words taste bitter on my tongue, but I can’t seem to stop them.

“Maybe the gentle, patient version of me is just as much a performance as your devoted servant routine was back at the packhouse. We all wear masks, don’t we, little omega?”

The title lands like a slap.

I watch Morgan’s face cycle through shock, hurt, and something that looks dangerously close to fury. Her hands ball into fists at her sides, her jaw tight with emotion she’s fighting to contain.

“Don’t call me that.” The command comes out low, vibrating with warning.

“I am the firstborn daughter of Alpha Richard, the rightful heir to the Silver Moon Pack, and I will not be diminished by a man who’s too insecure to accept that someone might actually choose him.”

“Choose me?” The laugh that escapes my throat carries no humor.

“When exactly did you choose me, Morgan? In the garden? Or maybe when you spent weeks avoiding any conversation about what happened between us because acknowledging it might complicate your feelings for Paul?”

“That’s not—”

“Or perhaps you chose me when you let my brother fuck you while I was twenty miles away, completely oblivious to the fact that the woman I love was falling into his arms the moment my back was turned.”

The confession slips out before I can catch it.

The woman I love.

The admission hangs in the air between us, naked and undeniable.

Morgan’s expression transforms, the anger flickering with something that looks terrifyingly like hope.

But I’m too far gone now to pull back, too deep in the spiral of jealousy and hurt to remember how to be gentle.

“You want to know the worst part?” I continue, my voice dropping to something raw.

“I knew it would happen. I knew the moment Paul decided to come after you that I’d end up here—standing in his shadow again, watching him take what I wanted, telling myself that being close to you in any capacity was better than not having you at all.”

“Zane—”

“The spare.” I laugh again, and the sound scrapes my throat.

Her fingers twist in my shirt, pulling fabric taut across my shoulders, and the small violence of it makes something feral surge behind my ribs.

Morgan struggles against my grip, her free hand pressing against my chest like she means to push me away. I hold firm, refusing to release her, refusing to let her retreat into the safety of distance and denial.

Then something in her breaks.

I feel the moment she stops fighting—the tension draining from her muscles, her mouth opening beneath mine, her fingers curling into the fabric of my shirt to pull me closer instead of push me away.

The surrender tastes like victory and absolution in equal measure. My hands find her waist, gripping the soft curves I’ve dreamed about for weeks.

I walk her backward across the clearing, our mouths never separating, until her back meets the stacked woodpile with a solid thump that makes her gasp against my lips.

The logs shift slightly beneath the pressure, rough bark scraping against the fabric of her shirt.

“Zane—” My name comes out broken, breathless.

“Still want to slap me?” I pull back just enough to meet her eyes, my hands still bracketing her hips against the wood. The challenge in my voice surprises us both.

Her chest heaves against mine with each ragged breath. Then her mouth curves into something fierce and wanting.

“I want to do a lot of things to you right now,” she breathes, her nails raking down my chest through my shirt. “Slapping you isn’t even in the top five.”

The confession ignites something primal in my chest. I kiss her again, deeper this time, my body pressing hers into the woodpile as my hands explore her curves.

She arches into me, her fingers raking through my hair, her hips rolling forward to meet mine with a friction that makes us both groan.

________________