Claimed by the Wrong Alphas Chapter 190: Shadows and secrets I

Kael

The night air was cool against my face as I left the pack house. I could still taste Charis on my lips—that kiss had given exactly what I needed. Clarity.

But now I had work to do.

I told Rhett I was going to check on his mother to make sure she was settled. That was partly true. Elena, or whatever her na was, had run out of that house crying and alone. Soone needed to check on her.

But that wasn’t the only reason I was following her.

Sothing didn’t add up.

I’ve always been good at reading people, at seeing the patterns others miss. It’s how I’ve survived this long. And everything about Elena’s sudden appearance felt wrong.

Why now? Why, after twenty years of silence, did she suddenly show up? She claid she saw the news about Rhett’s condition, but his heart problems weren’t new. They’d been public knowledge for years. The Thatcher family’s struggle with their son’s illness had been discussed in pack circles for as long as I could rember.

So why wait until now to co back?

And how had she gotten into Ravenspire so easily? The Thatcher pack had resources and connections. If they’d wanted to keep her out all these years, they could have. Terry Thatcher was a powerful Alpha with influence across multiple territories.

Yet she’d waltzed right into the hospital, right into his son’s room, like there were no barriers at all.

Sothing was very fishy.

I picked up her scent near the edge of the pack house property. It was distinctive—lavender and sothing sharper, almost dicinal. Fear-sweat, probably, mixed with adrenaline from the fight.

I followed it down the main road, keeping my distance. The scent trail led through the residential area, past darkened houses and quiet streets. Ravenspire was mostly asleep at this hour, just a few late-night stragglers heading ho from bars or night shifts.

The trail ended at a bus stop about half a mile from the pack house.

And there she was.

Elena sat on the bench, hunched over with her face in her hands. Her shoulders shook slightly. She was still crying, though more quietly now. Her clothes were torn and bloodied from the fight with Clara. She looked small, broken, and pitiable.

I stayed back, hidden in the shadows of a building across the street. Just watching.

Part of felt bad for her. If her story was true—if she really had been forced to leave her son, if she really had spent twenty years thinking about him—then this had to be torture. Being this close to Rhett, yet rejected by his father, watching her son torn between his parents.

But the other part of , the part that had learned to trust my instincts above all else, kept whispering that sothing was off.

I waited.

Elena pulled out her phone and made a call. I was too far away to hear what she was saying, but I could see her lips moving. The conversation was short. She nodded a few tis, said sothing else, then hung up.

Less than five minutes later, a sleek black car pulled up to the bus stop.

I straightened, registering the plate number. This wasn’t a taxi. The kind of car that scread money and power.

The back door opened, and Elena got in without hesitation. Like she’d been expecting it.

The car pulled away smoothly.

I stepped out from my hiding spot and hailed a cab that was passing by. "Follow that black car," I told the driver, sliding into the back seat. "Don’t get too close, but don’t lose it."

The driver—a middle-aged man who looked like he’d seen everything—just nodded and pulled into traffic.

We followed the black car through Ravenspire’s streets. It took us toward downtown, where the expensive hotels and high-end restaurants clustered. Old money territory. The kind of place where people like the Thatchers did business.

The car finally stopped in front of the Ravencrest Hotel—one of the most exclusive places in the city: five stars, reservation-only restaurant, the whole deal. A night here probably costs more than most people make in a month.

So much for the tragic, penniless ex-wife.

I paid the cab driver and got out, watching as Elena stepped out of the black car. A doorman in a crisp uniform opened the hotel entrance for her. She walked in like she belonged there.

I waited a few minutes, then followed.

The lobby was all marble and gold, with crystal chandeliers and art that looked expensive. A few well-dressed people sat in the lounge area, talking in quiet voices. Soft piano music played in the background.

I caught Elena’s scent and tracked it through the lobby. She wasn’t going to the elevators—not yet, anyway. The trail led toward the back of the hotel.

To the restaurant.

I followed carefully, keeping my distance. Elegant double doors marked the restaurant entrance. Through the glass, I could see white tablecloths, candlelight, and servers in black vests moving between tables.

And there, at a corner table partially hidden by a decorative screen, was Elena.

She wasn’t alone.

Sitting across from her, looking elegant and composed in a dark dress, was Isolde Knox.

My blood went cold.

I ducked behind a large potted plant, positioning myself where I could see them but they couldn’t see . My heart was pounding, though I kept my breathing steady.

What the hell was Elena doing eting with Isolde?

I watched as a server brought them drinks—wine for Isolde, sothing clear for Elena. They didn’t toast. They just started talking.

Isolde looked calm and controlled. She always looked like that—like she knew secrets no one else did and found the whole world vaguely amusing. Her red lipstick was perfect. Her hair fell in smooth waves over one shoulder. She leaned forward slightly as she spoke, her fingers wrapped around the stem of her wine glass.

Elena looked tense. She kept glancing around like she was afraid soone would see them. Her hands fidgeted with her napkin. She spoke quickly, urgently, though I couldn’t hear the words.

Isolde said sothing, and Elena shook her head sharply. Then Isolde smiled—not a nice smile, a knowing one—and said sothing else.

Elena’s shoulders slumped. She nodded.

They talked for maybe fifteen minutes. At one point, Isolde pulled out her phone and showed Elena sothing on the screen. Elena stared at it for a long mont, then looked up at Isolde with an expression I couldn’t quite read. Fear? Resignation?

Finally, Isolde stood. She said sothing else; it looked like a warning, the way she pointed a finger at Elena, then turned and walked out of the restaurant.