Alpha's Regret: Claiming My Stolen Twins

Seraphina’s POV

The woman staring back at me from the vanity mirror was a stranger wearing my face. She had my green eyes and my brown hair falling in loose waves, but that brilliant smile stretched across her lips belonged to someone else entirely. Someone who knew how to pretend.

Three days had passed since my meeting with Alpha Dorian. Three days of living a carefully constructed lie.

Nothing had changed in my world. I still woke up in silk sheets that felt more like shackles. I still brewed morning coffee while forcing laughter that sounded hollow even to my own ears. Julian had thrown himself into the role of devoted mate with an intensity that would have been touching if it weren’t so obviously desperate.

Yesterday brought a hot air balloon ride that made my stomach churn with more than just altitude. Today he presented me with a delicate silver necklace, a tiny wolf pendant resting against my throat like a collar. He kept repeating the same phrase like a broken record. He was trying to become the man I deserved.

I played along. I smiled at his gestures, accepted his gifts, and let him believe his sudden transformation was working. The performance came easier than it should have.

He never questioned the authenticity of my responses because he wasn’t really seeing me. He was looking at his fantasy version of Seraphina, the compliant mate who would forgive everything if he just tried hard enough for a few days.

His blindness only solidified my resolve. If three days of his best behavior couldn’t make the fear disappear, nothing ever would. Tonight, I would disappear instead.

Alpha Dorian had agreed to help me too quickly, too easily. His promise of safe passage across pack borders came with strings attached that he hadn’t bothered to mention. I wasn’t naive enough to believe his motives were purely altruistic.

It didn’t matter though. Whatever game Dorian was playing, I wouldn’t be around long enough to become a pawn in it. I needed his resources to vanish without a trace, nothing more.

My fingertips drummed against the mirror’s edge as I studied my reflection. The cold determination in my eyes was the only honest thing about my appearance.

Tonight was the night.

"Beautiful as always, mate."

Julian’s voice materialized behind me like smoke. I hadn’t heard him approach, hadn’t sensed his presence until his massive hands settled on my shoulders. His fingers traced the lace straps of my black dress with possessive familiarity.

The touch that once made my pulse race now felt suffocating.

I forced myself to breathe slowly before turning to face him with a radiant smile. "Thank you. I want tonight to be special."

His dark eyes devoured the sight of me in the form-fitting dress. "It will be perfect. I still can’t wrap my head around the fact that you’ve never experienced a real nightclub."

I lifted one shoulder in a casual shrug, fighting to keep my voice steady. "Never had the chance, I suppose." The truth was that opportunities for social freedom had been systematically eliminated from my life years ago.

When I had mentioned my lack of clubbing experience earlier, he had insisted on remedying that immediately. He needed to be my first for everything, he said. It was his right as my mate to show me the world.

His enthusiasm worked perfectly with my escape plan.

"Ready to go?" I asked, injecting false excitement into my tone.

Julian pressed his mouth against my neck, his lips finding the sensitive scent gland with practiced ease. "Let’s create memories that will last forever."

No, Julian, I thought as nausea rolled through me. Let’s create our final memory together.

The nightclub assaulted my senses the moment we stepped inside. Music pounded through the floor and into my bones while strobing lights painted everything in violent colors. The air hung thick with sweat, overpriced cologne, and top-shelf alcohol.

I barely registered the chaos around me. My attention was laser-focused on Julian and his rapidly increasing alcohol consumption.

Whiskey shot after whiskey shot disappeared down his throat. He claimed he was just loosening up, embracing the atmosphere, but I recognized the self-medication for what it was. He was trying to drown the guilt that had been eating him alive.

He pulled me into a secluded corner booth and leaned in close, his breath reeking of liquor and desperation.

"Seraphina," he slurred, capturing my hand in a grip that bordered on painful. "I need you to know how sorry I am."

The words spilled out of him like water through a broken dam. Confessions of his failures, regrets about the man he used to be, promises about the future he wanted to build with me.

His face contorted with genuine anguish. For the first time in months, his emotional walls had completely crumbled, leaving him raw and exposed.

"I love you," he whispered, pressing my palm against his stubbled cheek. "God help me, Seraphina, I love you more than my own life. I swear I’ll be the mate you deserve."

I stared at him in silence.

Weeks ago, those three words would have shattered every defense I had. They would have convinced me to stay, to try again, to believe in second chances.

Now they felt empty. They reached my ears but never touched my heart, like distant music from another room.

I offered him a small, genuine smile this time. "I know you do, Julian. I believe you."

He did love me in his broken, twisted way. But love couldn’t erase the damage he had inflicted on my soul. Love couldn’t make me forget the nights I had fallen asleep terrified of the man sharing my bed.

The alcohol claimed him completely. I became his anchor as I guided his stumbling form out of the club and into the cool night air.

"Home," he mumbled against my shoulder as I helped him into the car. "Want to go home with my mate."

I drove us back through empty streets, my escape plan crystallizing with each passing mile. A few more hours, and I would be free forever.

Getting him upstairs required all my strength. He was dead weight, too intoxicated to support himself properly.

I eased him onto our bed and began working on his clothes. His expensive jacket came off first, followed by his dress shirt. Button by button, I revealed the powerful chest that had once made me feel safe.

As I pushed the fabric off his shoulders, my hand brushed against his warm skin. Something twisted in my chest.

This vulnerability was foreign territory for him. Usually, he was all controlled aggression and dominant presence. Tonight, he was just a heartbroken man drowning in regret.

An unwelcome wave of tenderness crashed over me. This was the same man who had destroyed my sense of security, but he was also the man who still held pieces of my heart.

I hesitated, his shirt bunched around his waist, feeling the heat radiating from his body.

His eyes fluttered open, unfocused but still burning with unmistakable need.

"Seraphina," he breathed, reaching up with clumsy hands to cradle my face.

I should have pulled away. Logic screamed at me to remember the plan, to use these final moments to secure my freedom.

But my traitorous heart had other ideas.

He drew me down until our lips met in a kiss that tasted of whiskey and desperation. It was hungry, broken, beautiful in its honesty.

I kissed him back, allowing myself this one last indulgence. My fingers found his hair as he pulled me onto the mattress beside him.

Freedom waited just hours away. But right now, nothing existed except the weight of his body and the terrifying knowledge that I was saying goodbye to the only man I had ever loved.