Unmatched Wife: Not His To Claim Anymore novel Chapter 52

Chapter 52

BIANCA

“Louis,” I said gently, crouching to his eye level. “I’m not going far, sweetheart. I’d still see you all the time. I’d still help with dinosaur sandwiches and LEGO projects. I’d just be living in my own space.”

His lower lip trembled dangerously. “But why? Don’t you like living here? Don’t you like us?”

“Of course I do. I love living here. You and your dad have been so wonderful to me. But I’m better now, and adults need their own homes-”

“Adults also need family,” Louis interrupted with alarming wisdom for someone who still believed in sandwich–traumatized LEGOS. “And we’re your family now. Right, Dad?”

Rivera’s gaze met mine over Louis’s head, and something in those depths made my breath catch. “Right,” he said quietly. “If Bianca wants to be part of our family, she is. No matter where she lives.”

The words were careful, leaving me an out, making it clear the choice was mine. But there was something underneath them–a question, maybe, or a hope he wasn’t quite ready to voice.

Before I could figure out how to respond, Rivera’s phone rang. He glanced at the screen and his expression shifted immediately -not worry exactly, but a sudden sharp focus that transformed him from relaxed single dad to something harder, more commanding.

“I need to take this,” he said, already moving toward his office. “Louis, finish your breakfast. Bianca, I’ll be back in a few

minutes.”

The door to his office closed, and through it, I heard his voice drop to that tone I’d noticed before–authoritative, absolute, the kind of voice that expected immediate obedience.

Not the voice of an investor or property manager.

The voice of someone with real power.

“Dad has important phone calls sometimes,” Louis said, returning to his pancakes with unconcern. “He says it’s boring adult stuff about money and buildings and things that aren’t interesting.”

“Is that what he tells you?”

Louis nodded, already distracted by trying to build a tower out of his remaining pancake pieces. “Uh–huh. But sometimes I hear him use his Alpha voice, and that’s not very boring at all. That’s his super serious voice he uses when people aren’t listening good enough.”

Alpha voice. The phrase sent a chill down my spine.

I’d heard Alpha commands before–Matthew had used them on me often enough. The magical compulsion that came with pack authority, forcing submission and obedience.

Rivera had that kind of authority in his voice. I’d heard it, recognized it, but I’d been attributing it to natural leadership or force of personality.

What if it was something more?

“Louis, does your dad… does he have a pack? Is he an Alpha?”

“Duh,” Louis said, like this was the most obvious thing in the world. “He’s the biggest, most important Alpha ever. But he doesn’t like to talk about it at home because home is for family time, not work time. Those are his rules.”

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Chapter 52

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My coffee had gone cold in my hands. Rivera was an Alpha. Not just any Alpha, but apparently an important one. Important enough to have constant phone calls, important enough to command authority with just his voice, important enough to arrange my entry into BloodMoon City with a single favor.

I thought about the house–too large, too luxurious for a simple investor. The security system that was far more sophisticated than necessary for a residential property. The way people at the hospital had treated him with deference that went beyond

respect.

How had I not seen it?

Because I’d been too focused on recovery, too grateful for his help, too willing to take his explanations at face value.

I stood abruptly, my curiosity overriding good sense. “Louis, I’m going to explore a bit. Is that okay?”

“Sure! But be careful of the ghosts!” He called after me as I headed toward the parts of the house I’d been avoiding.

There was a wing on the second floor that Rivera had mentioned was “under renovation.” The doors were always closed, and I’d respected that boundary, assuming it was simply unfinished space.

But now, with Louis’s casual revelation rattling around my head, I found myself drawn to those closed doors.

The hallway was quiet, elegant, the kind of space that suggested wealth without ostentation. I moved down it slowly, trailing my fingers along the wall, until I reached the door at the end.

It was locked, but not well. The bolt was engaged, but there was a gap at the bottom where the door didn’t quite meet the frame. And through that gap, I could see light.

I crouched down, feeling ridiculous but unable to stop myself, and peered through the space.

What I saw made my breath catch.

This wasn’t a renovation project. This was an office–a massive, official–looking office with a desk that could have doubled as a landing pad for small aircraft. Maps covered one wall, marked with territories and boundaries I recognized from pack geography. Technology lined another–computers, monitors, communication equipment that looked military–grade.

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