Page 70 of Down Knot Out
“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 yourgenerousoffer.” 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 unconditionalsupport. 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, featureshardening 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.
I stare at him, the pieces clicking into place. This man who stalked me, who broke into my apartment, who terrorized me, who pretends to be the Alpha from my books believed I would be given to him as a reward for his stalking.
A trophy handed down to a faithful servant.
My heartbeat steadies, the shocked flutter giving way to a strong, insistent rhythm that pumps through my veins, bringing with it clarity for the first time in almost a decade. The air in my lungs no longer feels borrowed. I own each breath, and with it, each decision.
“No.” The single syllable drops from my lips like a stone into still water, creating ripples that disrupt the carefully constructed scenario before me.
Gregory’s head cocks to the side, as if he’s unfamiliar with the word. “No?”
“No.” Stronger this time, my voice filling the space between us. “This deal isn’t happening.”
Wells exchanges a glance with Gregory, a silentcommunication between men who expected compliance. “Ms. Richardson, perhaps you don’t understand the generosity of this offer?—”
“Generosity?” The word burns on my tongue. “Let me understand this correctly. Augustus Sinclair died without legitimate children, which means his assets should revert to his closest living relative.Me.”
Gregory’s mouth tightens. “As I explained, the legalities?—”
“Are quite clear,” I finish for him, rising from my chair to stand beside Dominic. “Under pack law, a blood relative takes precedence over a sibling when the deceased has designated no other heir. I may be born from an affair, but I’m still his daughter according to every legal document. The fact that I’m actually your biological child only strengthens my claim to the entire Sinclair estate.”
The temperature in the room drops, and Wells shifts uncomfortably, his pen stilling mid-note.
“Why would I give up inheriting the entire Sinclair pack and all their assets for”—I pick up the document with two fingers—“this insulting consolation prize?”
Gregory’s composure cracks, a momentary flash of surprise crossing his features before he rebuilds his mask. “You’ve done your research.”
“I’m an author. I enjoy research.” I drop the paper and close the folder before picking it up. “Louie let slip that the reason he wanted me was for what I could bring to his pack, and after I received the summons from this office, I’ve had time to think of what that reason was.”
My gaze slides to Simon, whose face has gone ashen. He shrinks in his chair, the predatory confidence evaporating. This wasn’t in the script.
“Knowing that I was legitimately a Sinclair, there’s only one reason the Santaro pack would want me.” The puzzle pieces lock into place as I speak them. “They were after the Sinclair inheritance my mother promised them, because you were a cowardly Alpha who rejected his true bondmate.”
