The Alpha's Forbidden Vow novel Chapter 18

POV: Isabella

Five years.

For five insufferable years, I had played the part of the perfect, patient Luna-in-waiting.

I had stood by Zane’s side, a vision of grace and unwavering support, while he became even colder and more remote than before.

He had postponed our engagement with a masterful display of Alpha dominance, citing vague ‘internal security risks’ and a refusal to be strong-armed by my father.

It was a power play, and the Elders had accepted it.

But I knew the truth.

It was all because of her.

The little orphan bitch had run, and a part of Zane had run with her.

Now, finally, he had agreed to move forward. The second, and final, engagement ceremony was a month away. My victory was at hand.

I surveyed my reflection in the mirror, turning this way and that. The wedding gown, a cascade of imported silk and hand-sewn pearls, was fit for the queen I was born to be.

“It is magnificent, my Lady,” my handmaiden, Anya, breathed in awe.

But the magnificent dress couldn't quell the viper of jealousy coiling in my gut.

Zane was mine, the power of the Volkov pack was mine, but his heart, his obsession, was still chasing a ghost.

My sources had confirmed it. A secret team, funded through his private accounts, had been searching for five years.

He was still looking for her.

The insult was a festering wound.

I had given him five years of my life, playing the demure mate, when my own Alpha wolf strained at the leash, desperate for the power that was rightfully mine.

I was a queen forced to wait for a king who was haunted by a servant girl.

“Leave me,” I commanded, my voice sharp. Anya bowed and vanished.

Alone, I walked to my safe, hidden behind a tapestry depicting a great Volkov victory.

Inside lay the fruits of my own, more successful, search.

A faded medical record, obtained at great expense from a human clinic in some forgotten corner of the world.

It was a birth certificate.

For a boy named Leo Rivers.

I picked up a sleek, encrypted satellite phone.

I dialed a number known only to a select few.

It connected to a man who led a team of ‘Cleaners’—rogues and disgraced shifters who handled the dirty work of the great packs for a high price.

“Yes?” a gruff voice answered.

“I have a contract,” I said, my voice like ice. “High-priority. Absolute discretion required.”

“The price is triple for priority,” he grunted.

“Money is not an object,” I replied coolly.

“I need you to find two people. A woman and her five-year-old son. I am sending you their files now.”

I paused, letting the coldness seep into my next words.

“I want them erased. Make it look like a human-world accident. No traces. No links back to me.”

“Consider it done,” he said.

I ended the call and looked at my reflection. The beautiful bride-to-be stared back, her eyes shining with the cold, hard light of a queen protecting her throne.