The Biker Alpha's Secret Baby

Aliyah’s POV

The wind whipped against my face as I ran through the heart of the Shadow Claw Pack, the moonless sky cloaking my pain, the gravel beneath my bare feet tearing into my skin. But I didn’t stop. I couldn’t. My lungs burned. My breathing hitched. My throat tasted of salt and blood—but the tears just wouldn’t stop.

I didn’t care that the guards at the southern boundary stared as I passed. Or that Elder Marcus shouted something behind me. Nothing mattered anymore.

Everything was unraveling.

Cohen.

The name echoed in my mind like a curse.

I had given him everything. Every smile. Every kiss. Every part of me that was soft, pure, and believing. I could still remember the first time he said “I love you”—we were sixteen, lying on the hill behind the Crescent Training Grounds, laughing at the stars and dreaming of running our own warrior school.

I gave him my heart. My trust. My soul.

And now…

“No,” I gasped, slowing to a walk, my chest heaving. I clutched my stomach as I staggered beneath the cold glow of the Pack’s eastern lights. “No… Cohen wouldn’t do that to me.”

I tried to breathe, but it felt like something was sitting on my chest. A weight I couldn’t lift.

He wouldn’t betray me like this. Not Cohen.

But the rumors… the whispers at training… the snickers from the other she-wolves today…

I turned off the main road, my body aching, my soul already numb. I needed answers. I needed to see it for myself.

Minutes later, I found myself standing in front of the small studio apartment we used to spend our weekends in. The same door he used to sneak me through, whispering promises of forever into my ear.

But the moment I stepped inside, everything inside me shattered.

The posters.

Gone.

Our warrior club’s banners, the scribbled notes we stuck on the fridge, the sketch I made of him in wolf form—they were all gone.

I stood frozen, eyes trailing the blank wall, the unfamiliar gray couch, the pungent smell of cheap perfume that was never mine.

My knees trembled.

And then I heard the laugh.

Her laugh.

Soft. Sultry. And very much not mine.

From the bedroom, a woman emerged—barely dressed in one of Cohen’s old football shirts. My shirt. The one I used to sleep in.

And there he was.

Cohen.

God, he still looked like the man I loved.

Tall, with sharp cheekbones and hair that curled at the ends just enough to be charming. His eyes—a shade of grey that once promised devotion—met mine with zero remorse. His chest was bare, abs defined and glistening faintly under the dim light. He looked like the man I spent years loving, and yet… in that moment, he was a stranger.

“Aliyah,” he said, nonchalantly, as if I’d just walked in on him brushing his teeth.

The girl beside him—Tatiana, I recognized her now—smirked. She didn’t even try to cover herself.

I