Chapter 19

I can’t recall the exact moment when my role in Darcy’s life shifted from passive observer to her silent guardian. Perhaps it was the subtle shift in her expression when she thought no one was watching, or the way her shoulders tensed when certain guests lingered too long. Whatever it was, it ignited a fierce protective streak within me that refused to be ignored.

I began my covert operations with small acts of kindness. I fixed the loose floorboard in the hallway that had caused her to stumble more than once. I oiled the creaking hinges on her bedroom door so that her sanctuary remained undisturbed. I even made sure that her favorite snacks were always well-stocked in the kitchen when she retreated to her nest during her more trying moments.

It was a delicate balancing act, ensuring that these interventions went unnoticed. I couldn’t risk exposing my hand, my true nature as an alpha, or worse, my obsession with her. So, I kept to the shadows, a benevolent ghost ensuring that her world ran smoothly while she navigated the treacherous waters of her father’s political ambitions.

But my control was tested whenever other alphas prowled around her, their eyes greedy and their intentions clear. My jealousy was a living thing inside me, a snarling beast that demanded I stake my claim. But I had no claim to make, no right to assert my presence in her life. Instead, I channeled my possessiveness into ensuring that these unworthy suitors found reasons to keep their distance.

A word in the right ear about an impending rut, a discreetly placed obstacle that delayed their approach—such trivial matters could be manipulated to my advantage. I orchestrated these minor disruptions with a careful hand, my actions always one step removed from any suspicion falling on me.

One particular alpha, a pompous politician’s son with a scent that reeked of insincerity, made it his mission to court Darcy. The way he looked at her, as if she were a prize to be won, made my blood boil. I couldn’t stand the thought of his hands on her, his scent mingling with hers.

So, I intervened. I doctored his drink with a mild sedative during a party, causing him to excuse himself early, his pride wounded as he stumbled away. I made sure that his car had a flat tire when he attempted to visit her the following day, delaying him just long enough for Darcy to retreat to the safety of her room.

With each successful deterrence, I felt a perverse sense of satisfaction. I knew I was playing with fire, that my actions could have serious repercussions if discovered. But the alternative—standing by and doing nothing—was unthinkable.

As I watched Darcy from the hidden cameras, a sense of calm washed over me. She was safe, for now, her path free from the unwanted advances of those who would seek to control her. I allowed myself a moment of pride at the small but significant ways I had managed to ease her burdens.

I had become a master of subterfuge, a silent sentinel in the margins of Darcy’s life. Every day, I sacrificed a little more of myself to ensure her safety and comfort. My vigilance was unwavering, my dedication to her well-being my sole focus. Sleep became a luxury I could ill afford, its embrace stolen by the need to watch over her. I existed on minimal sustenance, my body running on sheer willpower alone.

My morning routine was a careful dance with danger. The beta pheromone perfume was my cloak, the de-scent lotion my shield. I applied them with the precision of a surgeon, ensuring that not a single inch of skin was left unattended. The fear of discovery was a constant companion, its whispers a relentless reminder of the precariousness of my situation.

Each application of the perfume and lotion chipped away at my spirit. They were a necessary evil, a means to an end. But the cost was high. The chemicals seeped into my pores, a bitter cocktail that left my skin itchy and raw. I could feel the alpha within me chafing at the restrictions, a caged beast raging against its confinement.

The psychological toll was immense. Living a lie was exhausting, the effort it took to maintain my beta persona was a drain on my already depleted reserves. The suppression of my alpha nature was like holding my breath underwater, the pressure building with each passing second.

I had become two people—the beta everyone saw and the alpha I truly was. The dichotomy was a schism in my soul, a fracture that threatened to splinter me apart. I envied the betas around me, their lives unmarred by the constant battle between instinct and reason. They did not know the agony of denying one’s true self.

But despite the turmoil within me, my resolve never wavered. Darcy’s safety was all that mattered. I justified the internal conflict, the physical discomfort, and the mental anguish as necessary sacrifices. As long as she remained unharmed, my suffering was a small price to pay.

I watched her through the hidden cameras, a silent guardian in the dark. The soft glow of the computer screen illuminated her face, casting shadows that danced across her features. She was a vision of concentration and determination, her fingers flying across the keyboard as she worked on her latest project.

The sight of her filled me with a sense of purpose. It was in these quiet moments that I found solace, a respite from the relentless pressure of my double life. I allowed myself a moment of reprieve, drinking in the sight of her, safe and content.

But the reprieve was short-lived. The sound of footsteps in the hallway jolted me back to reality. I quickly exited the camera feed on my phone, my heart pounding in my chest. I had to remain vigilant, always one step ahead of those who would do her harm.