Claimed by My Bestie's Alpha Daddy novel Chapter 49

Chapter 49

The summit estate had become a living, breathing organism. Everyone moved fast and spoke faster-radio chatter echoed through every hallway, clipboards passed between hands like lifelines. I barely had time to

think.

I was on my feet from before dawn until well after dark, coordinating guest movements, confirming speaking schedules, troubleshooting transport routes. Every minute was accounted for, and still it felt like we were

behind.

My voice had gone hoarse from repeating the same instructions. I rubbed my temples between calls and snapped at an aide who misspelled a delegate’s name badge for the third time. I apologized. Then did it again two hours later. The pressure sat behind my eyes like a second heartbeat, dull and relentless.

Late in the afternoon, during a final walkthrough of the main auditorium, I noticed a woman standing alone near the stage. She looked striking-tall, dark curls pulled into a sleek twist, eyes sharp and assessing. Her posture screamed authority, her body language all calm confidence. She wasn’t just standing there-she was

claiming the space.

She turned when I approached, her smile slow and practiced.

“Serena Linwood,” she said, offering a hand. “Old classmate of Richard’s.”

I shook it. Firm. Professional. I kept my expression neutral even as my pulse picked up.

“You must be Amelia.”

The way she said my name made it feel like something to be tested, like she was measuring how I’d respond.

“I’ve heard… things.”

I didn’t ask what. I just nodded and moved on. But the comment lodged itself in my brain like a splinter.

Later, I caught her and Richard in the courtyard outside the west wing. They were standing closer than I liked,

her hand brushing his arm as she laughed. He didn’t laugh, but he smiled. And that was enough to make

something ugly twist in my stomach. His body was turned toward her, relaxed in a way I hadn’t seen in days. It

felt familiar. Too familiar.

Emma, standing beside me with two files in her arms, nudged me with her elbow.

“Jealousy’s not a good color, babe.”

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I didn’t answer. Just gripped the edge of my clipboard like it was going to float away. My fingers itched to snap

the pen in half.

That night, the council dinner was formal and ceremonial-the kind of thing with long tables and matching napkin folds and speeches no one really listened to. The wine was poured too freely, and the food was plated in absurd towers of garnish and overpriced subtlety. I barely touched mine.

I spent most of the meal trying to avoid looking at Serena, who sat two seats down from Richard, chatting animatedly with one of the councilors in a voice that carried just enough to be heard without seeming intentional. She laughed often, tilting her head toward Richard in that practiced way people do when they want attention without asking for it outright. Every time she reached for her wine glass or leaned slightly forward, I

caught Richard glancing-quick, reflexive, but it happened.

I picked at the garnish on my plate, trying to focus on the food, the conversation, anything else. But her presence was impossible to ignore. She had this polished sort of gravity, like everything she said mattered more

because of how she said it. It wasn’t just confidence-it was calculation.

And what twisted the knife wasn’t just her poise-it was how Richard responded to it. He wasn’t laughing, but he was engaged. Focused. At ease in a way I hadn’t seen in days. It felt like watching someone step back into a version of himself I didn’t know-one that belonged to another time, another life, one where I didn’t exist.

It was strange, watching him look so alive in the company of someone from his past. Like I was a guest at a table I wasn’t supposed to be seated at, pretending not to notice the ease with which they shared the air.

And that otherness burned. I wasn’t part of that world. I wasn’t someone who belonged in his history. I was a

variable. Temporary. A detail born of crisis.

And it wrapped around the table like static, humming just under my skin. I could feel her there without even

looking.

Near the end, she stood to make a toast.

“It’s clear this summit has marked a turning point,” she said, voice projecting effortlessly across the room, but

soft enough to command silence without shouting. “We’ve spent days debating borders and balance, influence

and intention-but what we need now is something greater than treaties. We need something visible.

Something lasting.”

She let the silence hang just long enough.

“Unity must follow. And what better way to show that than a symbolic alliance-between my pack and

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Richard’s?”

She smiled then, slow and deliberate, and turned toward him with a tilt of her chin that made it feel rehearsed, practiced. Like she had known all along this moment would be hers to orchestrate.

She smiled. Turned toward him.

“A marriage.”

The air went still.

Richard’s expression didn’t change at first. Then his brows pulled together. “What?” he asked, not loudly, but with unmistakable surprise.

Serena’s smile didn’t falter. “A marriage would help stabilize both our packs. It would signal strength. Unity. It wouldn’t be a difficult partnership.”

His jaw locked, and his voice cut across the silence like a blade.

“I will never use my relationships as a bargaining chip.”

A few heads turned. Someone coughed. Glasses clinked nervously.

From two rows down, David’s voice drifted up, slick and mocking.

“Seems he already has.’

The words hit harder than I expected. It was a weapon disguised as a whisper, and it struck exactly where it

hurt.

I stood before I even knew I was moving. My chair scraped loudly against the floor.

“Richard’s the only Alpha here who cares more about people than optics,” I said. My heart thundered in my

chest, but I didn’t look away.

Every head turned.

Serena’s expression was unreadable. Her lips curled in something that might’ve been amusement-or

challenge. David leaned back like he’d just thrown popcorn into a fire.

Richard didn’t speak. But his eyes were on me. Watching. Unmoving.

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