The Alpha's Unwanted Bride

Chapter 692: LYDIA

Dinner that night was quiet in a way that felt intentional.

Not uncomfortable but curated.

The long table had been set for only two, candles burning low, their flames steady and obedient. Plates of food steamed gently between us, the scent rich and warm, meant to comfort.

Wine caught the light like dark rubies in crystal goblets.

My father sat across from me, composed as always. Calm. Measured. As though nothing in the world truly surprised him.

"How was your training today?" he asked casually, lifting his glass.

I paused, fingers tightening briefly around my cutlery.

"It was... fine," I said after a moment.

Not a lie. Not the truth either.

He nodded, as if he had expected exactly that answer.

"The elders gave me their report," he said, taking a slow sip of wine. "They’re encouraged."

I glanced up. "Encouraged?"

"Yes. They believe the seal can be undone." He set the glass down gently. "It will take time, but when your wolf is released, you’ll be able to do far more than shift."

Something in my chest tightened. "Such as?"

"Open the portals fully," he said smoothly. "End the separation between worlds. Merge them again as they were always meant to be."

My fork froze halfway to my mouth.

"...I thought you said the people on the other side were dangerous," I said carefully.

"They were," he agreed easily. "Fear does that to people. Division rots communities from the inside."

He leaned back slightly, steepling his fingers.

"For years now, this world has been weakened by isolation. Resources stretched. Forces divided. Once the veil is lifted, once the worlds are whole again, balance will return."

I searched his face.

"And the danger?" I asked. "The violence you warned me about?"

Aiden smiled faintly. "Strength brings order. Order brings peace."

I didn’t like the way that sounded.

But I said nothing.

He seemed to take my silence as acceptance.

"You don’t need to worry," he added gently. "Everything will be fine. I promise."

The words felt rehearsed.

After a moment, I asked, "The rebels."

The air shifted.

Subtle... but unmistakable.

Aiden’s gaze sharpened. "What about them?"

"One of the midwives mentioned them," I said. "She said boys are drafted to fight them. Fifteen-year olds."

His jaw tightened.

"Who told you this?" he asked.

"Lydia," I replied. "She was one of the women assigned to help me."

His expression darkened for a fraction of a second so quick it would’ve been easy to miss.

"I see," he said.

"Well?" I pressed. "Is it true?"

"Yes," he said simply. "There are rebels. They’ve been causing unrest, sabotaging supply lines, stirring fear."

"And drafting children is the solution?" I asked, unable to keep the edge from my voice.

"They’re not children here," he said calmly. "They’re wolves. Warriors. This is how things have been since I arrived."

"That doesn’t make it right," I said.

He regarded me thoughtfully, as if I were a puzzle piece he hadn’t yet decided where to place.

"It’s for the best," he said at last. "Hard choices are the price of peace."

My hand moved instinctively to my stomach.

I thought of the midwife’s eyes. The way her voice had gone quiet.

"That boy is someone’s son," I whispered.

"So are many of our soldiers," Aiden replied evenly. "And many of their mothers sleep better knowing they fight for something greater than themselves."

I didn’t argue.

I couldn’t.

Not with the weight of exhaustion pressing down on me, not with my baby shifting restlessly beneath my palm.

Dinner ended shortly after that.

I went to bed with a strange heaviness in my chest, the candles still burning somewhere behind me, as if the room refused to let the conversation truly end.

Sleep came eventually.

But it was shallow.

Unsettled.

❧

The next afternoon, after training left my limbs trembling and my back aching, I was led to the chamber where the midwives worked.

I expected to see Lydia.

Instead, a different woman stood waiting.

She was older and perhaps in her fifties. Her hair was pulled back severely, her posture straight, her expression unreadable.

"Where’s Lydia?" I asked immediately.

The woman didn’t look up as she prepared the oils.

"She resigned," she said flatly. "Personal matters."

My stomach twisted.

"...Resigned?" I echoed.

"Yes."

Something about the way she said it made my skin prickle.

"I....." I hesitated. "Is she alright?"

The woman finally turned to face me.

"That is not your concern," she said. "Please sit."

Every instinct in my body screamed unease.

I glanced at the door.

At the walls.

At the space where Lydia’s warmth and gentle humming should have been.

"I’m fine," I said slowly. "I can come back later."

"No," the woman replied. "You won’t."

Her tone wasn’t threatening.

Just final.

I swallowed.

The baby shifted sharply, as if sensing my tension.

Reluctantly, I lowered myself onto the cushioned table.

The woman’s touch was... correct.

Efficient.

Professional.

But there was no softness in it.

No murmured reassurances.

No warmth.

She worked in silence, her hands firm and distant, as though my body were simply a task to be completed.

I stared at the ceiling, counting breaths.

When it was over, she stepped back.

"You may go," she said. "I hope you have a wonderful time and I do really hope you get to have more splendid times with me."

She gave me a tight smile that didn’t feel right.

Extremely pleasant.

I gave tight smile back.

As I stood, one thought settled heavily in my mind, refusing to be ignored:

What if Lydia hadn’t just resigned.

She had been removed.

And whatever this place truly was wel.....

It didn’t feel right to me.

It felt off and out of my place.

She offered to help me with my clothes but I turned it down and did them my self.

I could feel myself being watched by her eyes boring into mine.

I gathered my things and left.

I didn’t want to have anyone else do my massage other than Lydia and that was it.