Claimed by the Wrong Alphas

Rhett

I was born with everything anyone could ever desire.

A last name that opened gates. A face that made cameras weep. A bloodline so potent that even the Alpha King bent a knee—because my father could afford to buy his entire council out of existence.

My family owned the biggest, most influential packs in the world, commanded intense wealth that could buy governments and held influence that stretched across continents.

But I was born broken, and I could die at any moment.

My heart was a ticking time bomb, ready to explode if I ran too fast, walked too fast, got too excited, or basically did anything too intensely. I came from a long line of warriors, conquerors, and leaders. But me? I couldn’t even join a game of tag without risking death.

Everyone wanted to be like me, but no one wanted to know me.

Everyone envied my wealth and status, but no one bothered to look beyond the golden façade to understand how lonely it truly was, what it meant to go months without seeing my father, to live in a mansion filled with servants but empty of love.

The galas thrown in my name were where I stood alone, sipping sparkling cider while pretending not to notice everyone had their parents with them. They didn’t know my mother eloped with another Alpha three months after birthing me, abandoning her sick, infant, for the promise of passion and freedom.

Or my father had dealt with the heartbreak by drowning himself in alcohol and work. Then, ignoring me for the rest of my life, leaving me to be raised by nannies and kept alive by the best doctors money could buy.

So I learned early: wear the brightest smile, crack the joke, play the fool.