Claimed by My Bestie's Alpha Daddy novel Chapter 38

Chapter 38

Richard

I didn’t want to be here.

Simon glanced at the scan and frowned. “You’re stabilizing. Whatever you’re doing-keep doing it.”

“She’s staying in the lounge,” I said.

“That’s not close enough,” he replied. “You need her in your room.”

I stiffened. “That’s not appropriate.”

“Then she sleeps on the couch,” he said, unfazed. “I don’t care how you arrange it—but I assure you it’s medically necessary.”

I ran a hand over my face. “This can’t get out.”

Simon’s voice dropped. “Then keep it quiet. But Richard-don’t ignore what’s working.”

My wolf was getting harder to control. Every night she wasn’t near me, it got worse-Storm snarling just under my skin, restless and angry. Sleep was pointless, and my focus, what little I had left, was constantly fraying. I snapped at a junior Alpha during council prep for repeating himself, and barely kept it together during the

strategy meeting.

Beta cornered me after the third incident, concern etched in every line of his face. “You’re running too hot,” he said. “You need rest.”

“It’s nothing I can’t manage,” I muttered, brushing past him before I could admit he was right. I needed her

closer.

Amelia

Richard looked worse with each passing day. The shadows under his eyes deepened, his shoulders stayed tense like he was permanently bracing for a blow, and his patience wore thinner with every meeting. I tried to keep

my distance—we both needed space-but fate had other plans.

We were assigned overlapping logistics shifts, specifically Alpha arrival coordination. It meant long hours in lobbies, syncing timelines, constant communication, and even longer silences. And of course-at the suggestion of Simon-I began sleeping in his room. For Richard’s health, nothing more.

1/3

I came back to the room late. Only his Richard’s lamp was still on, the rest of the room dim. He sat there typing, posture tight. I dropped my bag and turned toward the couch.

“You’re freezing,” he said, voice quiet but not unkind, still not looking up from his screen. He stood slowly, as though every movement was calculated, and crossed the room with a blanket in hand. When he reached me, he hesitated for just a moment-then extended it, his eyes flicking to my face for the briefest second.

I reached for it, and our hands met. Not just brushed-met. His fingers closed around mine, warm and solid, and something shifted in the air between us. It was barely a second, but it hit me like a current. I drew in a sharp breath and pulled back.

“Thanks,” I said softly, and that was the end of it. He returned to his work without another word.

Richard

I didn’t plan to touch her, but that didn’t stop it from happening, and that was just the first time. One night, while reaching across the side table, my fingers grazed her shoulder where her shirt had slipped down.

Her skin was warm, and for a split second I forgot to breathe. She gasped quietly, and I pulled back.

“Sorry,” I said, the word rough and too soft for how much I meant it.

She didn’t answer. Just pulled the blanket around her shoulders and stared ahead like she could pretend nothing had happened. But we both knew it had.

The silence that followed wasn’t empty-it was tense, coiled, and alive.

Later that week, she brought me tea. No explanation, no comment. Just the quiet shuffle of her footsteps as she approached, the soft clink of ceramic against the desk. She set it down beside my laptop with careful precision, not rushing away like she sometimes did. Instead, she stood there, silent, her presence warm and steady beside

I looked up just for a second—and she looked right back. Not shy. Not uncertain. Just… watching me.

When I reached for the cup, my fingers grazed hers again. This time it wasn’t accidental. Neither of us pulled

away.

I could feel her breath hitch. Mine was already caught somewhere in my throat.

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