Claimed by the Wrong Alphas
Chapter 21: The replacement heir...

Chapter 21: The replacement heir...

Rhett

I raised a brow. "My heart? A match has been found?"

I waited, hoping she’d say something worthwhile. That maybe she’d tell me Dad had asked about me, that he gave an ultimatum of some sort. There was a message, a letter, a voice recording, a warning—anything.

Instead, her hand moved to rest over her stomach.

"No," She shook her head slowly, as a gentle and reverent smile spread across her face.

"I’m pregnant," she announced.

I stared at her for several long seconds, processing the information. Then I blinked.

"I’m not your husband," I said flatly. "Why are you telling me?"

Her smile widened as the carefully constructed porcelain mask of Luna Clara shattered. The softness drained from her eyes, revealing the vicious woman beneath-the one who had never bothered to hide her hatred for her stepson.

"Because," she said, circling the bed to come stand next to me, "the doctor confirmed it’s a boy. Isn’t that wonderful news? Which means Ravenspire will finally be saved, it will finally have a proper heir."

I scoffed, despite my weakness. "I’m the heir."

She chuckled, almost pitying. "With your bad heart? You could die at any moment. You could even drop dead brushing your teeth."

My fingers curled around the sheet. "So you’re replacing me."

"No, darling," she shook her head. "You’re replacing yourself. And when your brother is born, it’ll be a relief for you, for your father. You can finally drop this exhausting charade of heirdom and take on other important roles, like taking care of your health and staying alive. In a nice, clean hospital where nurses can watch your every breath."

I stared at her, fighting the overwhelming fear that crashed over me like a wave. This wasn’t just about having a half-brother—this was about being completely replaced, and erased from my own family’s legacy.

I wanted to say a million words, but I couldn’t find the right ones.

She came closer to the bed and roughly grabbed my jaw, forcing me to look directly into her eyes, pressing her manicured nails into my skin. I could feel her hatred radiating from every pore in my body.

"Just die already," she whispered.

My heart clenched so hard it hurt. "What?"

"You heard me," she continued coldly. "Put your father out of his misery. And yourself, of course. You’re going to die anyway—why wait? If you want, I’d be willing to assist you with that."

I jerked my jaw from her grasp, my voice shaking with rage. "You’re evil."

She laughed with delish. "Took you this long to figure that out?"

Then she moved back to the foot of the bed, checking her reflection in the black screen of the sleeping monitor, completely unaffected by my accusation.

"It’s not just the pack you should worry about," she continued conversationally, as if she hadn’t just suggested I kill myself. "The board members of your father’s business empire have expressed serious concerns, very loud ones. About your future. Or lack of one."

I said nothing.

"Like me," She continued, "they’re worried you won’t live long enough to inherit the position he plans to leave you. Coupled with your nonchalant behaviour and reckless lifestyle, they’re seriously considering removing you from succession entirely. They’ve asked your father to provide an alternative heir."

She patted her stomach lovingly. "Once I start showing, my son will be that alternative."

My whole body was trembling now—not from fear alone, but rage. Pure, hot, helpless rage. The kind that made you want to scream and break everything around you. I hated myself for not having any words to fight back with.

Everything she was saying felt like inevitability closing around me like a trap.

"But you know," she continued with mock sympathy. "I have a soft spot for you, Rhet. I know how difficult it will be once your father disinherits you officially. So, I’ve arranged for a way to keep you...relevant."

She flashed me a smile.

"So, why you’re still relatively healthy and alive, I found a way to ensure you take your medication consistently while also serving the family’s interests until your brother arrives." She paused for a heartbeat. "We’ve arranged a marriage contract."

I recoiled, gritting my teeth. "What?"

"You’ll be bonded to someone who can monitor your health and ensure you follow your treatment regimen seriously. And her family has certain...political advantages. So we’re going to lock that in."

"I don’t want to get married," I snapped. "I’m Nineteen—"

"Twenty in three months," she cut in. "And your health requires constant care. We can have her stay with you at Ravenshore here. It’s the perfect arrangement that will ensure you’ll have a place of significance even after you’re disinherited. It’s already been decided. All you have to do is go through with it." Her voice softened with false kindness. "If you do this, your father will be proud of you. For once."

My heart clenched with desperate longing when she mentioned my father. The promise of finally getting his approval was like dangling water in front of someone dying of thirst.

I would do anything to have my father’s attention, even if it’s only for ten minutes. That was how desperate I was.

"Who?" I asked slowly. "Who is she?"

Clara beamed. "Someone very suitable. She understands duty and compliance perfectly." She paused. "I’ll arrange for a meeting in a fortnight. You’ll come to the pack house to meet her. Bring your little friends—Eamon, Slater, even Kael. Show your father that you’re not a complete failure, that you’re actually doing well at the academy and that you’re thriving."

The implication was clear—this would be one of my last opportunities to earn my father’s approval before being cast aside entirely. Clara was offering me a final chance to matter, even if it meant sacrificing my freedom.

I swallowed the knot in my throat, feeling the walls of my golden cage closing in around me.

"Okay," I whispered, hating myself for the word even as it left my lips.

Clara’s triumphant smile told me everything I needed to know about how thoroughly I’d just been manipulated. But the desperate hope that maybe, finally, my father might look at me with something other than disappointment made me willing to accept this cruel bargain.

"Good boy," she said, her eyes glittering with satisfaction. "The doctor said you’ll be fine and you only need to take your meds every day. I’ll call your housekeeper and have her remind you always."

I gave her a subdued nod.

And then she walked out, humming softly to herself, like that was all a pleasant conversation. I realised once again that my near-death experience hadn’t brought my family closer—it had simply given them the perfect excuse to tighten their control over what remained of my life.

And once again, I was left alone. A ghost in a hospital bed. An heir in name only.

A boy waiting for his expiration date.