Alpha's Regret: Claiming My Stolen Twins

Seraphina’s POV

The air felt thick, suffocating. Not from lack of oxygen, but from the weight of my mother’s disapproval pressing down on me like a physical force. Her gaze cut through me, sharp and unforgiving, each glance a silent accusation that made my lungs constrict.

The familiar ache bloomed in my chest, that old wound that never quite healed. Her eyes held the same icy coldness I remembered, like winter morning frost that never melts. They carried the echo of our last encounter, every harsh word, every disappointment she believed I had caused. Each stare was a wordless indictment of sins she was certain I had committed.

I understood that people rarely transform overnight, that wounds take time to mend. Yet some foolish corner of my heart had dared to hope that my absence might have softened something in her. Perhaps the distance had created space for understanding, for a crack in her armor of resentment. It was a naive dream that her glacial stare immediately shattered.

"Do you have something to say for yourself?" The words fell from her lips like ice chips, devoid of any maternal warmth. Her stare bore into me, and I recognized exactly what she expected. An apology. She wanted me to grovel for forgiveness, to take responsibility for their failures, their indifference, their inability to love me. She expected me to shoulder the blame for wounds they had inflicted, to beg for scraps of affection they had never offered.

The urge to laugh, bitter and hollow, rose in my throat. I swallowed it down.

"There’s nothing I need to say to you," I replied, deliberately turning my face away. Never again would I allow them to make me question my worth.

My eyes found refuge in the faded floral wallpaper, tracing the worn patterns rather than meeting her condemning gaze. Anywhere but her face, anywhere but those eyes that reflected my own anguish while offering nothing in return. Speaking those words felt like a small victory, a fragile barrier against the tsunami of her judgment.

The living room door didn’t simply open—it exploded inward, slamming against the wall with violent force. Roxanne stormed through, radiating fury like heat from a forge. Her cheeks blazed crimson, her hair disheveled as if she had run through a windstorm. Her eyes bypassed Mother entirely, locking onto me with laser focus, burning with accusation and pure hatred.

Nausea rolled through my stomach. Seeing her face brought everything flooding back—the image of her and Julian entwined, the betrayal that had carved out my heart and left it bleeding.

"You!" The word erupted from her like venom. Her rage seemed to electrify the very air around us. "This is your doing, isn’t it? You convinced Julian to banish me! You’re eaten alive by jealousy, Seraphina, you always have been! Jealous that the pack accepted me, jealous that I found my place there!"

She straightened with righteous indignation, her voice climbing to near hysteria. "Jealous that everyone noticed me instead of invisible little you! This is your revenge, getting me expelled from the Zenith Moon Fang!"

A sharp intake of breath escaped me, the accusation hitting like a physical blow. Her words were so absurd, so twisted, they left me reeling.

Jealous? If I was honest, yes—part of me had been consumed by envy. Envious of how effortlessly she won people over, envious of the connection she had forged with Julian, my mate. But for her to stand there, seething with accusation after what she had done, after she had shattered every bond of trust between us... it revealed the true depth of her selfishness. My anger, which had been simmering beneath the surface, suddenly roared to life.

"Expelled?" I echoed, the word leaving a metallic taste on my tongue. "Roxanne, I have no idea what you’re referring to. And even if I did, why would I concern myself with your pack status?"

I bit back the real truth hovering on my lips: because you betrayed me with my mate. The words burned unspoken, a scream trapped in my throat. What was the point of voicing it? She had already claimed victory in the most devastating way imaginable.

Honestly, I had no understanding of why Julian had suddenly sent her away. After discovering their affair, I had retreated completely, giving them the freedom to pursue whatever they wanted while I tried to rebuild the shattered pieces of myself. Or at least, that’s what I told myself.

Mother had been observing the confrontation with barely concealed satisfaction. Now she moved, positioning herself between us like a shield, instantly forming her familiar protective barrier around Roxanne.

"Seraphina, what is this nonsense? Your sister is clearly distressed. What have you done now?" Her tone already convicted me, the same automatic assumption of my guilt that had poisoned my entire childhood.

"I haven’t done anything," I whispered, my voice cracking under the weight of her immediate condemnation.

I knew she would never believe me. My words had never carried weight in this house, never been enough to earn the benefit of doubt. But her blatant favoritism, leaving me standing alone and defenseless, felt like a fresh wound splitting open.

"Everything was peaceful before you returned, and nothing has been right since," Roxanne continued, her words calculated to inflict maximum damage.

Those familiar phrases, that well-worn refrain, should have lost their power by now. She had hurled them at me so many times that they had become background noise, a constant drumbeat of blame. I thought I had grown immune to their sting.

My gaze drifted, drawn by some masochistic compulsion, to Roxanne’s throat. A delicate silver chain caught the light, supporting small, luminous moonstones that seemed to glow with an inner radiance.

The world tilted. My breath caught in my chest as recognition crashed over me like a tidal wave.

Those were my moonstones. Julian had presented them to me during our first weeks at Zenith Grounds, a token of what I believed was genuine affection and promise. My first gift from him, treasured and worn close to my heart as a symbol of love I now knew to be counterfeit.

My eyes traveled downward to her wrist, where silver glinted beneath her sleeve. A bracelet adorned with intricate wolf figures, their tiny forms frozen in eternal howls of longing. Another gift from Julian, given on my birthday with words about our unbreakable bond, two souls running together through eternity.

The carefully constructed walls I had built around my heart, the barriers that had protected me through betrayal and abandonment and endless criticism, crumbled to dust.

These weren’t random pieces of jewelry. They were my treasures, my memories transformed into trophies of conquest. My pain made tangible, worn casually as if she had every right to claim them.

My throat felt raw, my mouth filled with the taste of copper and grief. When I finally spoke, my voice emerged as barely more than a whisper, thick with rage that threatened to consume everything in its path.

"Roxanne," I said, her name scraping against my throat like broken glass. "Where did you get those?"