"They're nothing serious. You know that. Just passing whims—" Mitchell replied, but Ryley cut him off with a deep breath, barely holding back a rising fury.
"There will be no one else but me," he said, voice low and sharp, his brown eyes glinting with something colder than jealousy. "I'm not Mervyn. Clyde is mine—and I won't share him with anyone else!"
When Ryley was finally granted entry into the Main Chamber, the air struck him differently this time—quiet, but not cold. It was the kind of stillness that held its breath.
He hadn't realized how tightly he'd been wound until the sight before him unraveled something deep inside—Clyde, cradling their daughter with a tenderness that made Ryley's heart ache.
The Alpha moved slowly, reverently, as he laid Rosie down on the bed, brushing a few strands of hair from her face.
The calm should've eased him, but Ryley's steps quickened on instinct, concern blooming in his chest.
Rosie was sound asleep—too still, too silent.
