Accidental Surrogate for Alpha-Accidental Surrogate For Alpha Novel Chapter 22
Posted on February 10, 2025 · 1 mins read
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"Wait, what?!" I exclaimed, disbelieving my own ears. "You got your job back?"

"It sounds like somebody very important called in some favors for me," my sister confirmed. "They even gave me a raise to compensate for my troubles."

She didn't need to say more. Only one person possessed the power to undo a command issued by Dominic Sinclair—Dominic Sinclair himself. "I can't believe this. Why didn't he tell me?"

"You mean you didn't ask?" I imagined the precise look on Cora's face: stunned and reeling.

"I mean, not after that first time," I said, wondering if I should have tried harder to help her. Had I misperceived my importance to Sinclair, or the power I now held, carrying his child?

"Well, apparently that's all it took," she said, her voice full of elation. "Thank you, Ella."

"Don't thank me," I objected. "I'm the one who got us into this situation to begin with," I reminded her ruefully.

"Of course you didn't," she refuted. "Listen, I don't know how it happened, but either I made a mistake or…"

"Or what?" I pressed.

"Or someone did this on purpose," she said, sounding uncertain, unable to fathom the motive. I felt equally confused.

"Why would they?" I fretted, unwilling to believe my sister had messed up so badly, but seeing no logic in the alternative.

"I don't know," she confessed. "But that's not important now. It's all going to be okay. You get your baby, I get my career… the only thing we need now is to find a way to get revenge on Mike."

"That was a much easier problem to solve before he fled halfway across the country," I said. "I'm not sure how I'm supposed to enact any sort of plan against him when he's so far away."

"You could always ask for Sinclair's help," Cora suggested, a teasing note in her voice—the kind children use on the playground.

"No," I said instantly. "I don't want him to think I'm high-maintenance. He's already helped me so much." Glancing at the closed door behind which Sinclair had disappeared, I sidled back toward the entrance, whispering, "If I start to seem like too much trouble, he might change his mind about letting me have visitation rights with the baby. It's honestly driving me crazy—I have to censor every single word that comes out of my mouth."

"It's not as if you were an open book before, Elle," Cora replied wryly.

"No, this is different," I clarified. "I'm constantly afraid I'll say the wrong thing and seem weak or fragile, too annoying to put up with. It's exhausting." I ran a hand through my hair. "I end up overanalyzing everything I do with him. I shouldn't have cried, I was too sassy, too timid, too bold. It's like walking an emotional tightrope. And the worst part is that he can read me so well that even when I try to hide what I'm feeling, he still figures it out."

"I'm sorry, sweetie," Cora commiserated.

"Thanks," I sighed. "I think I just need a little more time to get my bearings. Once I figure Sinclair out, I'll understand what I need to do to keep my head above water."

There was a pregnant pause.

"What?" I prompted my sister, knowing she wanted to say something.

"It's just that I worry when I hear you talk that way," Cora admitted. "It's like you're still in survival mode—'keeping your head above water,' rather than taking care of yourself, making yourself happy, and enjoying becoming a mother."

"Yeah, well, like it or not, this is a survival situation," I countered cynically. "If I don't perform well, I lose my baby. The best I can hope for if I do perfectly is visitation rights after Sinclair finds his mate, and even that could mean anything from every weekend to once a year. I don't want to risk the latter or bungling the deal completely."

Cora sighed heavily and let the matter drop. "How are you otherwise? Any morning sickness?" she asked, excitement entering her tone.

I laughed. "I spent all morning in the bathroom… but I've never been happier to be sick."

"Aw, I've never been happier for you to feel miserable either," she joked. "I hope it keeps up."

"Me too," I said. The more the baby made its presence known, the more secure I felt that it was growing big and strong.

"Anyway, I've got to run. Sinclair brought me to meet his father," I said. "It was great to talk though, let's have dinner soon."

Lunch with Sinclair's father was surprisingly pleasant. I didn't know what I had imagined when I pictured the elder Alpha, but the sweet man in the wheelchair was far from the imposing figure I expected. He radiated quiet strength and dignity, but he also welcomed me to his family with genuine warmth. I could see the shadow of a powerful leader in his stoic demeanor, but also the humility of a man whose circumstances had irrevocably changed and who chose to adapt rather than rail against the world's injustice. He was obviously incredibly proud of his son and thrilled to become a grandfather.

I felt far more at ease when we left his home, and I spent the rest of the day napping and reading my pregnancy books. I couldn't believe how tired I've been, or how hungry. I expected the changes; I just didn't think they'd happen so fast. Of course, after so much rest, I couldn't sleep when night fell. It took me ages to finally drift off, and when I finally did, nightmares awaited me.

I found myself trapped in the horrors of my past: reliving the orphanage and the foster homes, full of cruel adults and abusive parents. In my dreams, I was always running away from someone, trying to protect Cora and my other surrogate siblings. The dreams had gotten worse since I got pregnant, no doubt driven by my raging hormones.

Tonight, the dream took me back to one of the worst days of my life. The sounds of my own screams and pleading filled my head, as dreadful images filled my vision. Then someone shouted my name, and my eyes snapped open.

"Ella!" Sinclair was sitting beside me on my bed, his powerful hands gripping my shoulders as he tried to bring me back to reality. It took me a minute to realize it was him, not the man attacking me in my dreams. I jerked away and scrambled to the other side of the mattress, curling into a ball and gasping for air.

"Easy, sweetheart, it's only me," Sinclair reassured me, making a soft purring sound that magically unwound my taut muscles. How did he do that?

Tears streamed down my face, and again I felt a stab of shame at showing this weakness. "I'm okay," I stammered. "I'm okay."

Sinclair shushed me softly, and though I thought I was out of his reach, I clearly underestimated the length of his arms. He lifted me and pulled me into his lap. "You don't have to be okay, Ella," he said gently, cuddling me close. "You're safe."

Those words were balm to my soul, but I knew where they led. If I let him comfort me, he would want to know what happened. And I didn't want to talk about my dreams; I didn't want him to feel like I was some fragile creature he had to soothe. I searched for something to distract him, landing on a question that had been burning in my mind since that afternoon. "Why didn't you tell me about Cora's job?"

Sinclair seemed taken aback. "What? Were you dreaming about Cora?"

"No," I sniffled. "I just want to know."

"You want to distract me, more like," Sinclair guessed shrewdly. At first, I thought this meant he wouldn't answer, but then he said, "I didn't tell you because I didn't do it for you. I did it because it was right."

Why did my heart sink when he said it wasn't for me? Did I want it to be? Would it be better if he only took action to please me, rather than for the sake of morality? No, of course not… so why did it sting so badly?

"Oh," I murmured, unable to conjure a more eloquent response.

"Does that disappoint you?" he asked, sounding curious rather than judgmental.

"No, I just didn't expect it," I admitted.

"Because I'm the big bad wolf?" Sinclair teased, petting me gently.

I nodded, pressing my nose to his chest. "I keep waiting for you to huff and puff and blow my house down," I joked through my tears.

Sinclair chuckled, and for a long moment he simply held me, rocking me until my racing heartbeat slowed. "I ought to make you tell me about your dreams," he mused, making my limbs stiffen. "But I won't." His lips grazed my hair, and butterflies erupted in my stomach. "That said, I think you should sleep with me from now on."