Chosen To Be The Alpha's Surrogate

**I Malachi I**

I stare at the computer screen, a muscle ticking in my jaw as I scroll through the pages of Penelope's credit card statements. The list of charges reads like a fucking rap sheet-high-end clothing stores, five-star restaurants, exclusive nightclubs with a reputation for hard partying and illicit gambling.

*Not exactly the spending habits of a struggling single mother.*

Leaning back in my chair, I rake a hand through my hair, frustration simmering under my skin. I'd had my people pull Penelope's financials as soon as I'd brought her to the estate, needing to know exactly who I was dealing with. I'd expected the usual tale of woe-unpaid bills, shitty credit, maybe a few payday loans to make ends meet.

*But this? This is a whole different level of fucked up.*

The amounts are staggering, tens of thousands of dollars pissed away on frivolous bullshit while she was supposedly scraping by, fighting table scraps to survive. It paints a picture of a woman who's irresponsible at best, downright negligent at worst. Certainly not the kind of person who should be trusted with a child, let alone *my* fucking heir.

*So much for the little saint act she's been pulling...*

I think back to our confrontation in the study, the way she'd raged and wept, painting herself as the wounded party, the martyr sacrificing everything for her precious baby. At the time, some weak, stupid part of me almost bought it, moved by the fierce love she clearly held for the child.

*But this? This changes everything.*

Rage curls through me, hot and hungry, the beast inside me snarling for blood. She played me, tried to manipulate me with crocodile tears and petty words. Like I'm some fucking mark she could twist around her finger, bend to her will with a few well-placed sobs.

*Not fucking likely.*

I may be a monster, but I'm nobody's fool. And it's high time Penelope learned that lesson, once and for all.

Shutting my laptop with a decisive click, I push to my feet, my chair scraping across the hardwood. The sound is harsh, grating, a perfect mirror to the dark ugliness brewing in my chest. Straightening my cuff with sharp, deliberate movements, I stride from my office.

*It's time for a little chat with the mother of my child.*

I find her in the garden, sitting on a wrought-iron bench beside a burbling fountain. She's staring into the rippling water, one hand resting on the swell of her stomach, the other toying absently with the delicate flowers blooming in the nearby bed.

For a moment, I simply watch her, taking in the way the dappled sunlight plays across her brown hair, the soft, lost look on her face. She seems smaller somehow, diminished, like a flower wilting in the shadows. A pang of something suspiciously close to pity twinges in my chest but I ruthlessly shove it down.

*Remember the charges. Remember the lies.*

Schooling my features into a mask of icy control, I stalk towards her, my footsteps crunching on the gravel path. At the sound, her head snaps up, eyes widening as she takes me in. Instantly, her hand flies to her stomach, curving protectively over our child.

*As if I'd ever hurt what's mine.*

I come to a stop before her, looming over her seated form. "Penelope," I greet, my voice deceptively calm. "Enjoying the garden, I see."

She blinks up at me, wariness and confusion at war on her face. "I... yes. It's lovely." She hesitates, then seems to rally herself, straightening her spine. "I wanted to thank you, actually. For the accommodations. You didn't have to—" "Didn't I?" I cut her off, tilting my head in a mock consideration. "I mean, a helpless single mother, all alone in the world, concerned for the tiny life depending on her..." I tsk softly, shaking my head. "What kind of monster would I be, to leave you to the wolves?"

Her brow furrows, a thread of uneasiness playing in her eyes. "I...I don't understand. I thought we settled this, I agreed to your terms-"

"And I'm sure that was a great sacrifice," I croon, false sympathy dripping from every word. "Giving up your destitute, hand-to-mouth existence, moving into the lap of luxury... however do you bear it?"

Anger sparks in her gaze, her lips thinning. "If you have something to say, just say it," she bites out. "I'm not in the mood for games."

"No?" I arch a brow, letting a hint of cruel amusement tinge my tone. "And here I thought you loved games. At least, the kind that involve lying with a straight face."

She goes still, confusion and the first edge of fear playing across her face. "What are you talking about?"

"Oh, I think you know." Reaching into my jacket, I pull out a folded set of papers, the edges crumpled from my white-knuckled grip. "You can imagine my surprise when I pulled your credit card statements. Tell me, sweetheart... which part of **broke single mother*' involves blowing thousands on designer handbags and week-long cruises?"

The color drains from her face, leaving her ghostly pale. But in the next instant, a flare of fury ignites in her eyes, bright and hot.

"How dare you," she hisses, surging to her feet to glare up at me. "You have *no* right, no fucking *clue* what you're talking about!"

I scoff, a harsh bark of laughter scraping past my lips. "Oh, I think these statements paint a pretty clear picture, sweetheart. Looks to me like you were living high on the hog while crying poor to anyone who'd listen."

"You son of a bitch," she seethes, her fists clenched white-knuckled at her sides. "You think you know me? You think you have any idea what I've been through, what I've had to endure?"

She snatches the papers from my hand, crumpling them in her grip as she waves them in my face. "These charges? They're not mine, you sanctimonious prick! They're my lying, cheating, ex-husband's, racked up on my card while he was out fucking his mistress."

For a split second, doubt flickers in my chest, a tiny whisper that maybe, just maybe, I've got this wrong. But I shove it down, unwilling to be played for a sucker again.

"A convenient story," I drawl, crossing my arms over my chest. "Got any proof to back it up?"

"Proof?" she sputters, incredulous. "I'm sorry, I was a little too busy working three jobs and fighting off creditors to hire a fucking PI. But hey, if you'd rather believe your own bullshit assumptions than the mother of your child, be my guest." She throws the crumpled statements at my feet, her chest heaving with emotion. "You know what? I'm done. Done with your judgments and your power trips and your fucking mind games. I may be carrying your baby but I am *not* your prisoner, Malachi."

Whirling on her heel, she storms away, gravel spraying beneath her feet. For a moment, I simply watch her go, shock and frustrating anger warring in my gut.

*This is not how this was supposed to go...*

"Penelope!" I call after her, my long strides quickly closing the distance. "Where the hell do you think you're going?"

She doesn't break pace, marching towards the ornate gate at the edge of the garden. "Home," she throws over her shoulder, venom dripping from the word. "Back to my *real* life, away from your toxic bullshit." "The hell you are," I growl, my hand clamping around her elbow just as she reaches for the latch. "We had a deal, remember? You stay here, play house, keep the baby safe until he's born."

She wrenches away from my grip, whirling to face me with eyes snapping emerald fire. "A deal made under duress is no fucking deal at all," she snarls, "I'm not some broodmare you can lock away. This is *my* child too. And *I* decide where we go and how we live."

"Like hell you do," I snap back, fear and frustration roughening my voice. "You have no idea the shit storm you'd be walking into out there. The whole fucking world wants a piece of what you're carrying. I'm the only thing standing between you and a short, brutal end for you and the kid."

"I'll take my chances," she says coldly, turning back to the gate.

Panic lances through me, sharp and unfamiliar.

*I can't let her leave.*

There's a world out there, a place where I can't control the variables, a place I can't keep her safe.

*And isn't that just fucking ironic, given the hell I've put her through...*

"Wait." The word feels like ground glass on my tongue but I force it out. "Just...wait."

She pauses, one hand on the latch, and looks back at me warily. I drag a hand over my face, scrambling for calm, for control over the wild energy sparking through my veins.

"You're right," I grit out, the admission tasting like ash. "This...arrangement...it's not fair to you. To either of us."

I take a shaky breath, my voice dropping low and intense. "But Penelope...the things I said, the threats I made...they weren't just to keep you in line. This world, the one our child belongs to...it's dangerous in ways your human mind can barely comprehend."

I take a careful step closer, gratified when she doesn't immediately bolt. "You want to go home? Fine. I won't stop you. But I'm coming with you."

She blinks, shock and suspicion flickering across her face. "Why? So you can hover over me, control my every move?"

"No." The denial is firm, edged with a weary kind of resignation. "To *protect* you. Both of you. Because despite what you may think of me...that's all I've ever wanted to do."

*Even if I've gone about it in the most fucked up way possible...*

For a long moment, she merely stares at me, searching my face for any hint of deceit. I stare back, letting her see the truth in my eyes, the raw sincerity beneath the beast.

Finally, she nods, a single, sharp jerk of her chin. "Fine," she says, her voice clipped. "But let's get one thing straight, Malachi. This is *my* home, *my* turf. Out there? You follow my lead. Understood?"

A muscle in my jaw ticks, the dominant animal in me rebelling at the idea of ceding control. But I wrestle it down, knowing this is the only way she'll let me stay by her side. "Understood," I echo, my word a solemn vow.

She studies me a moment longer, relinquishing her hold on the gate. "You're driving, then," she turns towards me, making her strides past me. "And try not to be a dick." A surprised huff of laughter escapes me as I follow her toward the edge of the house, to the entrance of the garage.

*This woman will be the fucking death of me...*