The Alpha's Forbidden Vow novel Chapter 46

POV: Isabella

Timing was everything. A superior strategist never relies on brute force, but on opportunity and the predictable nature of others.

And I was a superior strategist.

I chose the afternoon tea service in the sun-drenched solarium for my performance. Only Seraphina, Zane's mother, was with me. Her obsession with the purity of the Volkov bloodline was her greatest weakness, and therefore, my most powerful weapon.

Dressed in elegant silk, I played the part of the perfect, demure Luna-in-waiting, discussing the floral arrangements for our upcoming Mating Ceremony.

My opportunity arrived with a tray of raspberry tarts. The sweet, rich scent filled the warm air. I gracefully lifted one to my lips, took a delicate bite, and then, the performance began.

My body went rigid.

I placed the tart back on the plate, one hand flying to my mouth as I fought back a delicate, perfectly timed wave of nausea.

“Isabella, my dear, what is it?” Seraphina’s concern was immediate, her teacup clattering against its saucer.

“It’s nothing,” I said, my voice deliberately weak. “Perhaps the tarts are a little too rich for me today.”

“Nonsense,” Seraphina dismissed, her sharp, intelligent eyes scanning me from head to toe. “You’ve been pale for days. You’re tired. My dear, are you…?”

A look of incredulous, dawning hope lit her eyes.

This was the moment.

I lowered my gaze, allowing a shy blush to creep up my neck. My hand drifted down, coming to rest with feigned unconsciousness on my flat stomach.

The gesture was more effective than a thousand words.

Seraphina’s sharp intake of breath was audible.

“Isabella…” she breathed, her voice trembling with a potent mix of shock and elation. “Are you… with child?”

I looked up, my eyes shining with manufactured tears of joy, and gave a small, hesitant nod.

“I wasn’t sure,” I whispered. “My cycle was late. I went for a private consultation in the city last week…”

From my handbag, I produced the masterstroke. A forged medical report from the most prestigious shifter-run clinic on the coast. It clearly stated a diagnosis of ‘early-stage pregnancy’.

Seraphina’s trembling hands took the report. She stared at it, her expression shifting from elation to a look of absolute, triumphant victory.

“An heir,” she whispered, the words filled with a holy reverence. “A pure-blooded, true Volkov heir.”

She gripped my hand, her eyes swimming with tears of joy. “Oh, Isabella, my dear girl! You have secured the future of this pack! You have given this family the most precious gift!”

At that exact moment, I heard a heavy, familiar footstep in the hall outside.

My internal clock ticked down.

He’s here.

Zane’s tall, powerful form filled the doorway. He had come from his study, a weary, tormented look on his face.

The night I had betrayed my mate.

And now, that night had a consequence.

A child.

Isabella was carrying my child.

A wave of visceral nausea rose in my throat, the taste of pure self-loathing.

My inner wolf, the primal part of my soul, was silent. It was stunned, confused by the evidence of my human failure. It could not sense a pup, but the proof was there, undeniable to my guilt-ridden mind.

I looked at Isabella, who was now gazing at me with a look of shy, adoring love.

I looked at my mother, whose eyes were fixed on me, her expression demanding, triumphant. You will do your duty.

I felt like an animal whose leg had just been caught in a steel trap.

My true mate was down the hall, living as a servant.

And here I was, confronted with the "fact" that my fiancée was carrying my heir.

This child, conceived in a moment of my own weakness and dishonor, was now my responsibility.

My chains.