Too Late, Alpha: I Left With Our Son

I, Cynthia Hartwell, was Alpha Killian Ashford's fated mate—and the daughter of the man who had murdered his father.

He had crushed my dignity beneath his heel and sneered, "Behave, and I'll save your mother."

To keep her alive, I had become a slave. Pregnant, I drank burning liquor and played the fool to amuse his new favorite.

Only at the banquet did I learn the truth—my mother had been thrown into Blackfield Pit three months ago.

My so-called atonement had never been mercy. It had been his revenge, carefully staged.

......

"Move it! What, you got no energy? Traitor's brat!"

A grease-stained coin slammed into the corner of my eye. Blood ran down instantly.

I didn't even wipe it away. Like a stray dog scrambling for scraps, I lunged forward and clutched the coin tight in my palm.

In Gutterdeep, that single coin meant one more second of life for my mother at Crownwell Royal Hospital.

A year earlier, my father had launched a rebellion and brutally killed Killian's father, the former Alpha.

When the rebellion failed, my father was executed.

I should have followed him to the gallows. Instead, Killian spared me.

Once, I had been the love he cradled like something too precious to bruise.

Now, I was the "traitor's daughter," a living outlet for his hatred.

My mother, Serena Hartwell, gravely wounded during the rebellion, lay in the most luxurious ICU in the territory.

Killian had kept her there, imprisoned by tubes and machines, sustained by costly medication.

"Letting her die would be too easy," he had said. "I'll keep her alive so you can spend your whole life crawling for forgiveness."

To pay the crushing hospital bills, I had no choice but to sell what little dignity I had left.

"Spin for me!"

A filthy hand shot out from the crowd, grabbing for my ankle.

I barely had time to flinch before the bar doors exploded inward. The Rogue who tried to touch me didn't even get to scream—his hand was crushed under the heel of a polished shoe.

A suffocating Alpha aura flooded the entire room.

My blood froze.

It was him.

Killian.

He was the king of this territory, the son of the man my father had killed—and the man I had loved for ten long years.

Through the filthy air, those eyes that had once brimmed with love—eyes that had sworn to protect me for life—now pinned me in place like a rusted blade driven through flesh.

Rage churned within them, violent and endless. Beneath it flickered something else—an indelible possessiveness that even he found shameful.

And that only made him hate me more.

"Get down."

The absolute pressure of an Alpha crashed down.

My knees gave out before I could resist, and I collapsed at the edge of the stage.

Killian shot out his hand and seized my chin.

"Cynthia… look at me."

The gesture was painfully familiar. Three years ago, beneath a tree, he had lifted my face just like