The lake should have been nothing more than a fleeting moment of peace—something soft, fragile, and rare enough that I could carry it in my heart like a secret treasure. For one night, it felt like the world had stopped spinning, as if the constant weight on my chest had finally lifted.
But peace never lasted with Jacob.
If anything, that night by the water awakened something in him—something far more dangerous than silence could ever hide.
The next morning, I woke to find two guards stationed outside the Alpha's chambers. Not the usual warriors who rotated patrols through the hallways. No. These men were Jacob's own choices, handpicked and loyal only to him. Their presence wasn't for the pack's safety. It was for mine—or rather, for the child I carried.
When I stepped into the hallway, hoping for even a small breath of freedom, one of them moved instantly to block my path.
"Where do you think you're going?" the guard asked, his voice flat and clipped, a soldier's tone.
I frowned, my hand instinctively resting against my stomach. The baby. My baby. The only part of me Jacob couldn't control, though he certainly tried.
"Just outside," I said, trying to sound calm. "I want to walk."
The warrior shook his head. "Alpha's orders. You don't leave without him."
Something inside me twisted at those words. The walls of the packhouse had always felt suffocating, but with his guards posted at the door, they pressed in tighter, crushing what little space I had left to breathe.
That evening, I tried to reason with Jacob.
"Alpha Jacob, I don't need guards shadowing me," I said, standing in front of his desk while he worked. His strong fingers paused over the papers he was signing, but he didn't lift his gaze.
"You do."
"No, I—"
His head snapped up, his eyes flashing with that dangerous intensity that always stole my words. "You do."
The finality in his tone left no room for argument. Still, the words slipped past my lips before I could stop them.
"Why are you doing this? To protect me… or to own me? I didn't mean anything by this pregnancy. I know it's a mistake but—"
The air between us shifted, heavy and sharp, as if my words had sliced through something fragile. For a long moment, he just stared, his silence more suffocating than his anger. Then Jacob rose, moving around the desk with slow, measured steps until he stood mere inches from me.
His hand slid along my jaw, his touch deceptively soft, almost tender. "You are carrying my heir," he murmured, his voice low and husky, laced with possession. "Do you expect me to leave you unguarded? Unprotected? Vulnerable to jealous wolves who would rather see you—and him—dead?"
The sincerity in his tone almost made me believe him. Almost.
But then his other hand gripped my wrist too tightly, his thumb pressing against my pulse, as though he needed proof that I was alive, that I belonged to him.
"You're not a prisoner," he whispered, though his hold betrayed his words. "You're… mine."
And that was the moment I realized: in Jacob's eyes, safety and captivity were the same thing.
The days blurred into a routine I hadn't chosen.
Meals were no longer in the kitchen or dining hall with the other omegas. I was expected to eat with Jacob—or not at all.
If I needed fresh air, it was only in the gardens outside his office, where his watchful gaze followed me through the window.
When I read to the baby, Jacob began to sit beside me, sometimes silent, sometimes insisting I read aloud so he could hear too.
And always, always, he reminded me: "Where you go, I go."
The whispers of the pack grew louder with each passing day. They called me Jacob's plaything. His mistake. His pity project. Words meant to cut and bruise, words that stung worse because I overheard them whispered when they thought I wasn't listening.
But it wasn't only the pack that hated me.
It was the isolation. The constant presence of Jacob. The way his shadow loomed so close that I no longer knew if I was breathing on my own, or only through him.
Yet even in his suffocating control, there were moments that confused me.
Once, when I stumbled on the stairs and nearly lost my balance, his arms were around me before I even realized I was falling. His voice was sharp with panic, his hands trembling as they cupped my face.
"Don't you dare risk yourself," he growled. But his eyes—those fierce, relentless eyes—held something else. Fear. Real fear.
Another time, in the dead of night, I woke to find him watching me sleep. His hand rested on my stomach, his touch warm and protective, as though guarding the child from unseen threats.
For one fragile heartbeat, I wondered if maybe… maybe he didn't hate me.
Maybe he desired me.
That thought alone was enough to shake me to my core.
But no tenderness lasted.
One evening, I gathered the courage to ask if I could join the other she-wolves in the kitchen, just to feel normal again. His expression turned instantly to ice.
"No."
"Why not? They won't harm me," I said carefully, though my heart pounded.
"They won't dare," he corrected coldly. "But they'll look at you. Whisper. They'll poison your thoughts."
Before I could respond, his jaw tightened. He caught my chin in his hand, forcing me to meet his gaze.
"I will not share you. Not your time. Not your presence. Not even your smiles. They belong here." His free hand pressed firmly against my stomach. "To me. To him."
The words sent a shiver through me—not just fear, but something else. Something unnamed, unexplainable.
Was this protection? Or was it obsession masquerading as love?
I no longer knew.
All I knew was that my world had shrunk. To the walls of the Alpha's chambers. To the suffocating weight of Jacob's gaze. To the fragile heartbeat inside me—the only reminder that there was something worth fighting for.
That night, as I lay awake staring at the ceiling, I placed my hand gently over my stomach and whispered to the child I hadn't yet met.
"We'll get through this," I murmured. My voice shook, but the promise was steady. "I'll protect you. No matter what chains he puts on me. No matter how small my world becomes… you'll be safe."
But as Jacob stirred beside me in his sleep, his arm sliding across my waist, I couldn't silence the truth pressing against my chest.
I was no longer certain who needed protection more—my baby, or me.