My Family Gave My Baby to My Sister, Then His Father Came for Us

"Elara, please." My mother’s voice broke through the phone speaker, choked with tears. "The healers told us his heart is failing. He’s in his final days. He just wants to see his eldest daughter once before he goes."

I stood in the sunlit parlor of the pack house, my hand resting over the heavy curve of my belly. Six months pregnant, and every kick felt like a reminder of the life growing inside me.

Beside me, Lucian took the phone from my hand and ended the call. His golden eyes were hard, the jawline tight with suspicion.

"It’s a trap, Elara," he said quietly. "Your family hasn't spoken to you in three years. Not when we mated, not when we took the northern territory, and not when our pregnancy was announced. Now, out of nowhere, Victor is dying?"

"I know," I murmured, staring at the floor. "I know how they are. But what if it’s true, Lucian? What if he’s actually dying, and I refuse to go?"

The guilt sat like a stone in my chest. No matter how cold Victor Quinn had been as an Alpha, he was still my father. If he took his last breath while I stayed away out of spite, I would carry that regret forever.

Lucian searched my face for a long moment before letting out a quiet sigh. He reached for my wrist, gently sliding the Queen Luna’s Moonsteel bracelet back into place. The metal was cool and heavy, snapping shut with a distinct click.

"Three days," Lucian said, his voice leaving no room for argument. "Not an hour more. If anything feels off, if anyone crosses a line, press the crest on the clasp. My guards will be at the border, and I will be there in minutes."

"Three days," I promised.

The drive to the Silver Crest territory took four hours. By the time I reached the familiar wrought-iron gates of the pack house, dusk had settled over the trees.

I climbed out of the car, my back aching from the long ride. The pack house looked the same as it had when I left—imposing, gray stone, surrounded by towering pines.

I walked up the front steps and knocked on the heavy oak door.

I braced myself for the sight of grief. I expected a weeping mother, the smell of medicinal herbs, or a grim-faced healer preparing me for the worst.

The latch clicked. The door swung wide.

Standing in the entryway was Victor Quinn.

He wasn’t bedridden. He wasn’t pale or hooked to monitors. He was wearing an athletic shirt and training pants, a white towel draped around his neck. Sweat gleamed on his forearms, his breathing steady and robust from an evening workout.

I froze on the threshold, the blood rushing in my ears.

"Father?" The word barely made it past my lips.

Victor looked down at me, his eyes scanning my figure before settling on my rounded stomach. There was no warmth in his expression, only a familiar, cold assessment.

"You took your time getting here," he said, turning his back on me and walking toward the living room.

My mother emerged from the kitchen carrying a tray of tea. When she saw me standing paralyzed in the doorway, she didn’t look guilty or ashamed. She set the tray on the coffee table with calm composure.

"You lied to me," I said, my voice shaking as I stepped inside. "You called me crying. You told me he was dying."

"If I hadn't said that, would you have come?" Mother asked, sitting on the sofa without looking at me. "Three years, Elara. Three years of silence. You married an Alpha, moved to the capital, and completely discarded your own blood."

"You cast me out!" My voice rose, the anger rising hot and fast. "You made it clear I wasn't welcome here the moment Lucian claimed me!"

Victor turned around, his brow furrowed in annoyance. "Watch your tone in my house. You owe this pack everything you have. You think because you wear a fancy bracelet and carry a strong pup that you’re above your family? You forgot where you came from the second you went to that man."

I stood there, my hands clenching into fists against my dress. The betrayal stung deeper than I wanted to admit. They hadn't wanted to see me. They had simply wanted to summon me like an obedient dog.

Before I could turn around and walk straight back to my car, light footsteps echoed down the staircase.

"Elara!"

Celeste bounded into the foyer. My younger sister looked radiant, her dark hair pinned up and a bright, dazzling smile across her face. Unlike my parents, she threw her arms around my shoulders in a tight embrace.

"You're finally here!" she squealed, pulling back just enough to look down. "Oh, Goddess, look at your belly!"

Before I could step back, Celeste placed both of her hands firmly over my stomach.

Her palms were warm, pressing against my dress with an intensity that made the hair on the back of my neck stand up. She didn't just touch; she stroked the curve of my bump, her fingers spreading wide as if measuring the shape.

"He's huge," Celeste whispered, her eyes wide with excitement. "How far along are you now? Twenty-four weeks? Have the doctors confirmed the gender? Does he have Lucian’s scent yet? Has the healer felt his core to see if he inherited the pure Alpha bloodline?"

The rapid barrage of questions felt intrusive, almost greedy.

I took half a step backward, dislodging her hands. "The pup is healthy, Celeste. That's all that matters."

"Of course it matters!" Celeste laughed, brushing off my reaction with an easy wave of her hand. "A strong bloodline is everything. Come on, you must be exhausted from the drive. I personally got your room ready for you."

She grabbed my hand, tugging me toward the stairs. I hesitated, glancing back at my parents. Victor had already picked up a pack ledger, ignoring me entirely, while my mother sipped her tea in silence.

Needing space to breathe and process the lie, I followed Celeste up to the second floor.

She led me down the long hallway toward the room that had belonged to me throughout my childhood. When she reached the door, she turned to me with a beaming grin.

"I made sure everything was perfect," Celeste said, pushing the door open.

I stepped inside, and the breath left my lungs.

My old bedroom was gone. The simple oak desk, the bookshelf, and the twin bed had all been cleared out.

In their place was an expansive, luxurious nursery.

The walls were painted a soft, muted cream. In the center stood an ornate crib crafted from polished white wood with silver accents. Shelves lined the far wall, filled with plush silver wolf toys, imported blankets, and rows of designer newborn clothes organized by month.

It was fully stocked, decorated with an obsessive level of detail.

I blinked, trying to make sense of the room. A sudden thought struck me. Celeste had always wanted a family of her own. Had she found a mate? Was she keeping a secret from the pack?

I turned to her, forcing a small, hesitant smile. "Celeste... are you expecting? Did you set this up for yourself? Why didn't you tell me? Congratulations."

Celeste stared at me for a second, then burst into light, melodic laughter.

"Me? Oh, Elara, no," she said, shaking her head. "I'm not pregnant."

She walked past me toward the crib. Reaching out, she gently ran her fingers over a set of carved wooden letters mounted securely on the wall right above the headboard.

I looked up at the wall.

The letters formed a name: *Cassian Cross*.

The name of Lucian’s ancestral bloodline.

Before I could speak, Celeste turned around and closed the distance between us. She reached out again, placing her hand flat against my stomach, pressing firmly against the fabric of my dress.

Her smile never faded, but her eyes were entirely fixed on my womb.

"He needs to get used to hearing his real name," Celeste said softly.

I looked down at her hand against my body, a cold chill spreading down my spine.

"What did you just say?"