Alpha's Regret: Claiming My Stolen Twins

Seraphina’s POV

Maybe it was stupidity, or perhaps the desperate kind of love that makes you do impossible things. Either way, I said yes. Even knowing it would destroy me from the inside out. When you love someone completely, watching them suffer becomes unbearable. And Julian looked exactly that way - defeated, shattered.

The moment those words escaped my mouth, regret struck like a physical blow. The taste turned bitter on my tongue. But at least now I could tell myself I tried. I gave everything I had, and if it wasn’t enough, at least I knew.

My throat burned with unshed tears. He wrapped his arms around me, pulling me against his chest in a fierce embrace that felt like warmth and safety. He whispered promises against my hair - that I wouldn’t regret this decision, that my tears were over now.

So I forced those tears back down, determined to hold him to those words. I had to believe them.

But reality had different plans. Minutes after our quiet moment together, urgent voices called him away. Another pack had been attacked, and his presence was required immediately. I’d overheard enough conversations to know these attacks were escalating. If Julian was concerned, maybe I should be too. Right now though, I couldn’t process another crisis. My skull pounded with exhaustion, every bone in my body aching. All I wanted was to retreat to the house and lose myself in sleep before facing whatever came next.

I made it halfway up the staircase, my mind still replaying Julian’s broken expression and the way he held me, when rapid footsteps echoed below. A young omega burst into the hallway, chest heaving as she struggled for air. Terror filled her wide eyes.

"Luna Seraphina!" she gasped, pressing a hand to her ribs. "Something’s happening in the kitchen. It’s bad!"

My heart dropped another inch. Perfect timing. Pushing aside my own exhaustion, I turned and followed her quick pace, my brain already cycling through potential disasters. Grease fire? Someone injured? A territorial dispute over prep space?

What I genuinely despised was how they always seemed to summon me for the most trivial nonsense.

The second I entered the pack house kitchen, pure chaos surrounded me. This wasn’t the normal dinner rush energy. Angry voices bounced off every surface. Women clustered in a tight formation, their conversations heated and intense. And standing at the center like some wronged royalty was Roxanne.

Her cheeks blazed red, both hands pressed protectively over her still-flat stomach, eyes burning with righteous fury.

"This is completely unacceptable!" Roxanne’s voice sliced through every other sound. "How dare you serve me this trash? I’m carrying a child! My baby requires proper nourishment, not whatever this disaster is!"

Matilda, one of our sweetest cooks, looked ready to collapse. "Roxanne, please understand - this is tonight’s menu for everyone. We’re working with limited supplies."

Roxanne threw her head back with theatrical disgust, her long dark hair cascading over her shoulders. "I don’t give a damn what the others are choking down! My baby is extraordinary! My child deserves excellence!" She jabbed an accusatory finger at Matilda. "And since you’re all too dense to understand why, let me explain exactly who the father is!"

Her gaze found mine across the room, triumph and malicious satisfaction gleaming in her eyes. She was about to deliver exactly the blow I’d been dreading.

My lungs seized. Ice-cold dread flooded my bloodstream. The kitchen fell into absolute silence. Every woman present shifted their attention between Roxanne and me, anticipation crackling in the air. Roxanne savored their rapt attention before her lips curved into a victorious smile.

"The father of my child," she declared, her voice carrying to every corner of the room, "is Julian."

Whatever remained of my heart crumbled into dust. The constant ache in my chest exploded into agony, and I wondered if the breaking would ever stop. Air rushed from my lungs like I’d been physically struck. Her announcement reverberated in the suffocating quiet.

Sharp, frozen needles seemed to pierce every inch of my skin. Humiliation crashed over me in scalding waves before crystallizing into numbness. Every single woman stared at me now. Their faces, typically showing polite indifference, now displayed a mixture of pity and barely concealed satisfaction. They were relishing my public destruction.

Then, as if choreographed, they turned their backs on me. One by one, their expressions melted into warmth as they focused on Roxanne. Excited whispers began - not condemnation for Roxanne, but celebration. "Roxanne, sweetheart!" "How incredible!" "You precious thing, what can we do?"

A tide of women rushed forward, enveloping Roxanne in embraces. They stroked her belly, offered congratulations and assistance. Their smiles blazed with genuine happiness. For her. Never for me.

They created an impenetrable barrier between Roxanne and me, their shoulders forming a wall that excluded me entirely.

My chest felt split wide open, like someone had reached inside and torn everything apart. I was drowning in their mocking stares and joyful murmurs that would never include me. Julian’s promise echoed mockingly in my head - you won’t cry anymore. What a cruel lie. My eyes burned fiercely, but I refused to let those tears escape. Not here. Not in front of them.

I drew in a trembling breath, forcing my spine straight and lifting my chin. The emergency the omega had frantically reported? It wasn’t about food. It was this calculated, brutal announcement designed to destroy me publicly.

But I couldn’t let them see my devastation. Not these women. I was still their Luna, whether they accepted me or not.

"Matilda," I managed, my voice surprisingly steady despite feeling like broken glass in my throat. I moved past the celebrating crowd, ignoring their cold glances and turned backs. "What’s the actual problem with tonight’s meal? Let’s find a solution quickly."

I concentrated on the tangible issue, the one thing I could actually fix. It was my only path to survival.