Page 29 of Down Knot Out (Pack Alphas of Misty Pines #3)
Chapter Nineteen
Chloe
M y ears ring with my supposed-father’s words.
All my life, I never had a choice in anything until Grady helped me make a life of my own, which led me to my true pack.
They threw me out when it was inconvenient for them, and now that they’ve suddenly found a use for me, they’re threatening the life I managed to create for myself in spite of them.
“And you discovered Vivian had been telling the truth about you being my father when I re-registered my DNA to enter a courtship with the Misty Pines pack,” I say, my lips numb.
He inclines his head. “I had the results run against my brother and myself to confirm who in the pack was your father, though by then, I was sure you wouldn’t be Augustus’s. After years of failing to produce another heir, he went in for testing and discovered the sterility.”
“And where does he come into all of this?” Dominic jerks his chin toward Simon, who gives him a slow, creepy blink.
“I hired Mr. Sullivan to monitor the situation when the whole Santaro courtship started.” Gregory doesn’t acknowledge the Beta, speaking as if he’s not in the room. “I needed to know what Vivian was scheming.”
“Monitor?” Simon leans forward so eagerly that his bolo tie swings. “I did more than monitor. I protected her.”
He turns to me, eyes fever-bright. “I watched over you, Chloe. Kept you safe. When that Beta convinced you to stop writing your series, I hacked your accounts to show you how much your fans still wanted more from the world you created. When those Alphas started circling you, I knew they would lead you further astray.”
I shudder at how proud he sounds, as if he expects gratitude for his obsession.
“I documented everything.” Simon’s words tumble faster. “The Sterling Alpha’s abandoned pack duties. The Harris’s launder money. The?— ”
“That’s enough, Simon.” Gregory cuts him off with a sharp gesture. “Stick to what’s relevant.”
Simon’s mouth snaps shut, but not before I catch the flash of rage that crosses his face and the dark, murderous glare he directs at the back of Gregory’s head.
It vanishes as quickly as it appeared as he focuses on me again. “I only wanted to help bring you home where you belong.”
Home. As if this cold room with its mahogany and leather could ever be home. As if these people who want to use me as a commodity, who stood at a distance while I suffered, could ever be family .
No, my real family is waiting for me. Dominic beside me, Blake, Nathaniel, and Holden back at home. My chosen family, not one built on secrets and calculations.
The lawyer clears his throat, pen poised above his legal pad. “Now that the matter of parentage is settled, shall we discuss the terms of Ms. Richardson’s return to the pack?”
“Return to the pack?” The leather chair creaks as I shift, uncomfortable beneath the chill of Gregory’s regard.
Harrison Wells opens a leather portfolio with the Sinclair crest embossed in gold, extracting documents that will attempt to define my future in cold, legal terminology.
“Yes, return.” Wells adjusts his wire-rimmed glasses. “The Sinclair pack is prepared to acknowledge you as a member, providing you agree to certain stipulations.”
Dominic’s scent sharpens beside me, citrus notes cutting through the room’s perfectly ventilated air. Beneath the table, his thumb traces circles on the back of my hand in quiet reassurance that he won’t let these vultures hook their claws into me again.
“The primary condition is your discretion regarding paternity.” Wells slides a document toward me. “Your legal father will remain Augustus Sinclair. Gregory’s involvement must remain private.”
My fingertips brush the paper without picking it up. The heavy stock is expensive , unlike the flimsy offer contained within its paragraphs.
“Why are you here, but Augustus isn’t?” The question has been eating at me.
If Augustus wants me to pretend he’s my father, shouldn’t he be included in this meeting?
Gregory’s brow furrows. “My brother died two years ago of heart failure. Did you not read it in the news? ”
The blood drains from my face, and I clutch Dominic’s hand tighter. No, I hadn’t seen it on the news. I try very hard not to read anything that has to do with my former pack.
“If Augustus is dead, why does it matter if Chloe’s his daughter or yours?” Dominic asks for me, since I’m still reeling from this latest bomb dropped in my lap.
Gregory’s sigh carries the weight of explaining simple concepts to a child.
“Mr. Sterling, pack politics are more nuanced than your little commune might appreciate. The Santaro pack believed Chloe was Augustus’s daughter, the rightful heir to the Sinclairs’ holdings through primogeniture.
My bloodline carries different implications. ”
“Different implications?” Dominic’s body temperature rises, heat radiating through his suit jacket. “She’s still a Sinclair.”
“A Sinclair from the secondary line.” Gregory’s fingers steeple beneath his chin. “Augustus died without legitimate issue. His assets reverted to me, not to a daughter from an extramarital affair his wife had, even if that daughter carries my DNA rather than his.”
The casualness with which he dismisses me, his own child, jars me out of my stupor. I am a complication to be managed, not a daughter to be embraced.
Wells clears his throat. “The legal realities are complex. However, the Sinclair pack is prepared to be generous.”
“Generous.” The word scrapes through Dominic’s teeth.
“Indeed.” Wells turns another page in the document. “While Ms. Richardson would not inherit the Sinclair estates or business holdings, she would be welcomed back to the pack with a one-time financial settlement.”
I stare at the number, where my worth is being calculated in dollars and bloodlines.
“In exchange, Ms. Richardson would be expected to produce an heir with an Alpha of the pack’s choosing.” Wells’s pen taps on the page. “This child would inherit the Sinclair legacy through the traditional line of succession.”
The metallic taste of fear floods my mouth. My womb, my body, reduced to an incubator for Sinclair ambitions.
“The chosen Alpha is from an excellent lineage,” Wells adds, as if discussing a prized stallion. “After providing an heir, Ms. Richardson would be free to pursue her own interests, with appropriate financial support, of course. ”
“Of course,” I echo.
My attention shifts to Simon, his thin frame locked tight, knuckles pale against the edge of the table. His bolo tie lifts and falls with each sharp breath, the blue stone flickering under the lights. The naked hunger he showed before has transformed into a possessiveness that borders on fanatical.
“After the heir is confirmed healthy,” Wells continues, “Ms. Richardson would receive a monthly stipend, a residence of her choosing within certain parameters, and?—”
“A gilded cage.” Dominic’s interruption slices through the lawyer’s practiced pitch. “You’re offering her a gilded cage and calling it freedom.”
Wells blinks, thrown by the directness. “Mr. Sterling, I assure you?—”
“You’re asking her to be a broodmare.” Dominic’s scent floods the room, protective pheromones so strong that I sway toward him in response. “A surrogate for the Sinclairs’s ambitions who will be discarded again once she’s served her purpose.”
Gregory’s expression hardens. “Mind your tone, Sterling. You’re here as a courtesy, not a participant.”
“I’m here as Chloe’s Alpha.” Dominic’s declaration sends a shiver down my spine, sudden pride for my bondmate bursting inside me.
“Her Alpha?” Gregory’s eyebrow lifts. “You haven’t filed a bond registration. There’s no legal claim.”
“Because it’s her choice,” Dominic snaps. “Unlike everything you’re trying to force on her.”
“Let’s remain professional.” Wells attempts to regain control, straightening papers to draw attention back to him. “The agreement offers considerable benefits?—”
“Benefits?” Dominic’s chair scrapes on the hardwood flooring as he rises, the sound piercing through the tension. “Chloe is not some womb that can be purchased for the Sinclair pack’s convenience.”
He towers over the table, shoulders squared, fingers splayed on the polished surface.
“She’s a person. A successful author. A woman who survived everything your precious bloodlines threw at her.
She doesn’t need your generous offer.” His contempt turns the word into a curse.
“She doesn’t need to sell herself to people who already cast her aside. ”
The blood rushes from my face, leaving me light-headed. No one has ever defended me like this, with fury, certainty, and unconditional support. I float in the moment, suspended between shock at what’s being proposed and awe at the man beside me.
Gregory studies Dominic with clinical detachment, as if observing an obstacle that needs to be swept out of the way. “Your opinion is noted, Mr. Sterling. However, the decision rests with Chloe.”
My tongue feels too large for my mouth, my throat too dry for speech. The world narrows to the document before me, to the paragraph outlining my reproductive future in cold legalese.
“Which Alpha?” The question falls from my lips, small and defeated even to my own ears.
Simon shifts forward in his seat, chest expanding beneath his ill-fitting suit jacket. His expression brightens with manic anticipation, as if my question signifies something important to him.
“Jonathan Sinclair,” Gregory answers. “My second cousin’s son. He’s thirty-two, Harvard Business School, excellent health, no genetic markers for hereditary disease.”
Simon freezes, his body going rigid. The anticipation in his face crumbles, revealing shock, then betrayal, then white-hot rage. “But you promised?—”
Gregory’s head snaps toward him, features hardening into stone. “Betas should know their place, Mr. Sullivan.”
Simon recoils, then hunches forward, his expression cycling through humiliation, fury, calculation, and finally, a blank mask that hides everything beneath.