Alpha's Regret: Claiming My Stolen Twins

Seraphina’s POV

The crisp evening air stung my face, but Julian’s warm fingers interlaced with mine shielded me from the worst of the cold. We strolled along the familiar pathway leading from the pack house to our shared home, neither of us feeling the need to fill the silence with words.

"That was wonderful," Julian murmured, his voice carrying a softness that made my chest tighten. His thumb brushed across my knuckles in a gentle caress.

I returned the pressure of his grip. "Yes, it was," I whispered back, though those simple words couldn’t capture the magnitude of what had happened tonight. Wonderful didn’t begin to describe it. For the first time in three years of living in this pack, I had actually felt like I belonged at one of those Friday dinners. Three years of being treated like furniture, of enduring pitying glances and being reminded with every meal that I was an unwelcome outsider among people who should have been my family.

I had been nothing more than a specter haunting those dinner tables, collecting silent acknowledgments of my outsider status. Tonight had been different. Tonight, I could finally breathe after years of suffocation.

When we reached our front door, Julian turned toward me and drew me into his arms. The embrace was tender and reassuring, and since I had promised to give him this opportunity, I allowed myself to melt into his warmth.

But as he began to pull away, his eyes focused on my mouth. My pulse quickened, though alarm bells started ringing in my mind. He began moving closer, slowly and deliberately.

I raised my palm between us, creating a gentle barrier. He froze, bewilderment clouding his features. "Not yet, Julian," I breathed, my words soft but unwavering.

He stepped back completely, wounded confusion flickering across his face. "Not yet?" he echoed, then glanced around our entryway. "Will there ever come a time when we share the same bedroom, Seraphina?"

His question hit like a physical blow, not because it was unfair, but because he was pushing too hard too fast. "Julian," I started, working to keep my tone steady. "Just days ago, I agreed to give you this chance. You requested a month, remember?"

I drew strength from somewhere deep inside and continued. "So far, you’ve barely met the minimum requirements. A handful of conversations, some hand-holding, and one pack dinner where you finally treated me like I existed. None of that erases three years of being made to feel worthless. That doesn’t magically fix everything that’s broken between us."

My words settled heavily in the space between us. He stared at the floor, offering no response. I waited, hoping he might say something, but silence stretched on. With a tired exhale, I turned away and left him standing alone in that quiet corridor. My heart was a tangle of disappointment and strange triumph. I was protecting myself, standing firm, even when it meant rejecting something I had yearned for so desperately.

I retreated to my bedroom, changed into pajamas, and slipped under the covers. The stillness of night eventually pulled me into sleep.

Morning came too soon. I showered, dressed, and made my way to the kitchen while Julian still slept. I prepared breakfast as I always did – scrambled eggs, buttered toast, fresh coffee. Despite our tension from the night before, this routine felt important. It was my small contribution to this fragile chance we were exploring.

After eating quickly, I left Julian’s portion on a plate with a brief note and headed out. The pack house would need attention after last night’s elaborate feast. I always made sure everything was spotless after big gatherings, even though my efforts often went unrecognized.

The pack house stood unusually quiet this morning, heavy with the lingering aromas from our celebration. Most pack members were probably sleeping late. I moved through the main hall, inspecting tables, then entered the kitchen. The cleaning staff had done adequate work, but I noticed several overlooked spots – dried sauce on countertops, a sticky area on the floor. Without thinking, I grabbed cleaning supplies and got to work.

While I scrubbed a stubborn stain from the central kitchen island, sweet laughter drifted from the entrance. My stomach dropped. Roxanne.

She posed in the doorway, hands protectively cradling her rounded belly that held Julian’s child. Her golden hair cascaded in perfect waves, her eyes sparkled with mischief, and her smile radiated false warmth.

"Well, well, look what wandered in," Roxanne sang, her tone sickeningly sweet. Ivy and Matilda flanked her like loyal sentries, matching smirks decorating their faces.

I continued scrubbing, pretending not to notice them, fighting against the familiar pain blooming in my chest.

"Still handling the grunt work, Seraphina?" Roxanne taunted, moving closer. "I suppose some habits die hard."

Her voice dropped to a mock-whisper. "You realize Julian’s just being charitable, don’t you? He’s always been soft-hearted toward strays. But we both understand where his true loyalty lies." She caressed her belly meaningfully. "Especially now that he’s becoming a father."

My hands shook around the cleaning cloth. Normally I would have a sharp retort ready, but her pregnancy changed everything. I couldn’t risk saying or doing anything that might harm her unborn baby.

"Don’t fret, Seraphina," Matilda added with vicious sweetness, stepping closer. "We’ll always need someone to clean up our messes."

I thought everyone had heard Julian’s demand for respect, but apparently Roxanne had convinced her followers that his words didn’t apply to them.

Roxanne lifted a half-empty maple syrup bottle from the counter, leftover from breakfast preparations. She held it carelessly, then with deliberate casualness, tilted it over my head. The thick amber liquid poured down my hair, face, and clothing, burning my eyes and coating me in sticky humiliation.

I gasped and clawed at my face, trying to clear the syrup away but only spreading it further. The sweet scent became nauseating.

"Oops!" Roxanne gasped with theatrical shock, though malicious joy danced in her eyes. "How clumsy! Oh Seraphina, you’re absolutely drenched! You always were such a disaster."

Ivy and Matilda dissolved into cruel laughter that bounced off the kitchen walls.

Then Roxanne’s hand struck my back with surprising force. My feet, already treacherous from the syrup pooling on the floor, slipped completely. I flailed helplessly before crashing hard onto my side. My skull cracked against the tile with a sickening sound, sending lightning bolts of pain through my head and making stars explode across my vision. Warmth trickled from my temple as I instinctively pressed my hands to the injury.

"Why don’t you stay down there, Seraphina?" Matilda sneered. "It’s where you belong anyway. You’re naturally suited for the bottom."

Suddenly, a powerful voice cut through their mockery like a blade. "What in the Moon Goddess’s name is happening here?"

The kitchen fell into dead silence. Gasps replaced laughter. I didn’t dare look up, assuming it was just another pack member who would either join their cruelty or simply walk away.

But then a protective shadow fell over me, and a gentle hand touched my shoulder with careful concern.

"Are you hurt?" the voice asked with genuine worry. Alpha Dorian.

I forced myself to stand, gathering what remained of my dignity.

"I apologize you had to witness that, but my sister and I enjoy playing games together. This was just one of them," I said, meeting Roxanne’s gaze directly with burning determination.

The moment transported me back to my first days with the Solstice pack, when Roxanne tormented me relentlessly. I had endured it then, and when I came here, I swore I would be strong and never let her reduce me to that frightened girl again.

I could have spoken the truth. I could have fought back if I wanted. But I was that scared little girl again, paralyzed by the thought of Roxanne’s unborn child, and I wasn’t sure I could handle the consequences.