Alpha's Craving For My LoveChapter 1: Breaking Up With Alpha
When I lost my pup in a rogue attack, Ethan just happened to be there, driving by with his assistant, Fiona, in the passenger seat. He saw my blood-soaked dress, and instead of stopping to help or even offering a shred of concern, he shielded Fiona’s eyes and muttered, "Bad luck. Don’t look." Then he sped off.
I tended to my wound by providing first aid and went to the healers.
That same night, I found something that confirmed everything I had been ignoring for months. As I opened the closet door in Alpha's house, a lace bra—one that wasn’t mine—was stuffed in the corner.
I calmly closed the closet and dialed a number. “Mr. Reed, I’ve made my decision. I can start at your company next week.”
“Wonderful news, Skylar! We’re excited to have you on board!” He replied, his voice cheerful.
The moment I hung up, Ethan walked out of the bathroom. His damp hair clung to his face, his skin still wet from the shower. He used to be quick—five minutes at most. Now, his showers lasted half an hour, his phone was always in hand.
“Who were you talking to?” He asked without looking up from his phone, his tone dismissive, as usual.
“Just Mr. Reed,” I replied evenly.
Mr. Reed is the current Alpha from my previous pack after my father resigned. Ethan is not on good terms with him although they are trying to be civilised in pack meetings.
"Ah," he muttered, already distracted. He barely paid attention anymore, his thoughts constantly elsewhere—probably on her.
I didn’t argue. I didn’t cry or scream like I used to when he brushed me off. Instead, I opened my phone and quietly started drafting my resignation letter. My mind was made up.
Ethan glanced at the empty spot on the nightstand where his usual cup of tea should’ve been. For the first time in seven years, I hadn’t made it for him. He finally looked at me, confusion crossing his face.
“I showed your CT scan to a specialist,” he said casually. “It’s nothing serious and it was just a minor injury. Make sure to keep the wound dry.”
I stared at him, unblinking. The wound he referred to was a deep gash in my leg, requiring eight stitches, the result of the rogue attack. Worse still, I’d found out that I had been four weeks pregnant—our pup had gone before I even had a chance to protect it.