The Alpha's Secret Heir He Publicly Denied

The Alpha of the Munoz Pack, Damien Munoz, was suddenly accused by the werewolf media of having a secret mate bond and a pup. He quickly issued a public denial.

"There is no mate bond, nor is there a pup," he declared, his alpha tone resonating with authority. "Everyone knows I have been unmated all these years."

I watched his impassive face on the screen, the screen that now felt like a barrier between us, between the truth and the lie he so effortlessly spun. Then, I glanced at my daughter, Isabela, who sat quietly on the floor, her tiny shoulders shaking with silent sobs. Her confusion and pain mirrored my own. Years of hope, of silent battles and quiet endurance, vanished in an instant.

When he returned to the packhouse, I didn’t rush out with Isabela to greet him as I once did. Nor did I feel the usual flutter of excitement, that sense of joy from a reunion after a brief absence. Instead, I reviewed a few messages I had received, each one a dagger to the bond we once shared.

One was a document confirming a medical procedure he had undergone six days ago, one that would ensure no more pups could be conceived. Accompanying it was a message that read, "If you wish, Isabela can be my only heir from now on."

Tears welled up as I replied, my fingers trembling over the screen. "Please come get us. I don’t want to stay in the Munoz Pack any longer."

---

I gazed at the image of Damien Munoz’s striking but aloof face, the face of the Alpha who had once claimed me as his mate. A wave of confusion overtook me. His reputation for being emotionally distant and calculating was well-known—never showing his emotions openly. Yet, he wasn’t exactly as described, as a reclusive workaholic who cared only for the pack.

Damien was hardly restrained; his passions were always intense, almost overwhelming. Before his trips to neighboring packs or territories, he ignored my tears and pleas, using a silk tie to gently bind my wrists, holding me close as we gave in to the fire of our bond. Later, I would gently mark his neck, a silent claim that should still be there now.

The dark navy tie with intricate patterns that he’s wearing was a gift I personally selected for the anniversary of our mate bond. This marked our fourth year together, and we had a beautiful daughter. She had just turned three.

But now, my mate, or so I thought, Damien Munoz, had just used the coldest, harshest tone to address the media. "There is no mate bond, nor is there a pup," he had said, his voice cutting through the air like a blade.

He adjusted his gold-rimmed glasses perched on his prominent nose, his deep-set eyes emitting a chilling glint that seemed to cut through the screen and land icily on my face. "I advise those with ulterior motives not to indulge