Hiding My Twin Pups From their Alpha Dad

Chapter 68

Morning cold bit through Felicia's jacket. She kept her hands in her pockets as she walked toward the outer wall. Damien beside her. Two warriors behind.

She didn't look back at the packhouse. Didn't check if anyone watched them leave. Just walked.

The wall rose ahead—old stone, weathered, gaps where mortar had crumbled. She stopped where the stones looked disturbed. Newer dirt. Darker.

She crouched. Pulled her hand from her pocket. Traced the ground with her fingers. "Here."

Damien knelt beside her. Close but not touching. "They came through this section." His voice stayed professional, stripped of emotion. "Could stay unnoticed for twenty minutes. Maybe thirty."

Felicia's eyes tracked the pattern. "Guard changes?"

"Every four hours." He pointed down the wall. "Overlap is two minutes. Window there."

"Blind spots?"

"Three." He gestured to each location. "We've covered two with cameras. This one's still exposed."

Her jaw tightened. "Who has access to the inner gates?"

"Ten warriors. Head of guard. Me." He paused. "You now. As of this morning."

She stood. Brushed dirt from her hands. One of the warriors shifted behind her. Cleared his throat.

"Alpha's plan can't change because of an outsider's opinion."

The words landed heavy. Presumptive. Dismissive.

Felicia turned and looked at him. Her expression stayed flat. "My children are under threat."

Damien's head snapped toward the warrior. His voice dropped to ice. "The plan changes now." Each word cut sharp. "Felicia has full right to speak when it concerns her wing."

The warrior's face went pale. He stepped back.

Damien didn't soften. "Is that clear?"

"Yes, Alpha."

Felicia watched. Noted the defense. The way Damien positioned her authority above warrior objection.

She turned back to the wall. "The patrol route needs adjustment." Her hand traced an invisible line. "Split it here. Add a third warrior to this section. Reduce blind spot exposure by half."

Damien repeated her words. Louder. For everyone to hear. "Route splits here. Third warrior added. Blind spot exposure reduced."

He looked at the warriors. "Execute immediately."

"Yes, Alpha."

They started back. Felicia walked beside Damien. Not ahead or behind. Parallel, on equal distance. Equal pace. From outside, it would look like a partnership. Like commands shared between two people. A pair.

She didn't confirm it with words. Didn't acknowledge it outright. Just walked. Let the visual exist.

Damien's shoulder almost brushed hers. Almost. But didn't. He maintained that careful space. Aware. Respectful.

Her chest felt tight. She breathed through it. Kept walking.

Hours later, she sat in Damien's office. Papers spread across his desk—guard rotations, patrol maps, threat assessments. She moved diagrams herself. Reorganized. Adjusted.

Damien sat across from her. Hands folded. Watching. Not directing.

"It's hard." His voice came out quiet. Rough. "Not giving orders automatically. I'm used to controlling everything."

Felicia's hand stopped on a diagram. She looked up. Met his eyes. "It's hard for me to trust." Her voice stayed even. "After I fled pregnant. After I lived in fear."

She paused. Let the words sink in. "You don't get to ask for ease."

Damien's jaw worked. His fingers tightened. Released. "I accept your anger." His voice stayed calm. "As consequence. For what I did."

No justification. No deflection. No "but I didn't mean to" or "you have to understand." Just acceptance.

Felicia studied his face. The exhaustion carved into his features. The tension he carried in every muscle. "I need concrete proof." She pushed a paper toward him. "Not words. Show me who guards my wing tomorrow."

Damien pulled the paper close. Found a pen. Wrote names. Six of them. Clear handwriting. No hesitation.

He slid it back across the desk and Felicia picked it up. Read each name. Memorized them. Folded the paper. Put it in her pocket.

Damien's breathing changed. Deeper. Relief bleeding through.

His voice dropped quieter. Careful. "Can I come into the children's room?" He paused. "During the day. Five minutes. When you're there."

Felicia's fingers touched the folded paper in her pocket. "Yes." She held his gaze. "But only with me present."

"Agreed." Immediate. No bargaining. No pushing for more.

She stood. Damien pushed his chair back. Rose. Moved it aside to let her pass.

The space between them narrowed. Her shoulder came close to his chest. She didn't step aside. Didn't angle away. Just walked through the space he'd created.

Normal. Natural. A gesture accepted without fear.

His breath caught. She heard it. Felt it in the air between them.

But he didn't move closer. Didn't reach. Just stood there. Let her pass.

Felicia walked to the door. Her hand closed on the handle. She looked back. Just for a second.

He stood by his desk. Still. Watching her. His hands loose at his sides. His expression open. Vulnerable.

She turned the handle. Walked out. Closed the door behind her. The corridor stretched ahead, empty and quiet. Her footsteps echoed off stone.

That tightness in her chest grew. Spread. Made breathing harder. Made thinking harder.

She'd walked beside him as an equal. Had accepted his defense of her. Had taken his resource without destroying it. Had given permission. Had passed close without flinching.

Small things. Tiny. Incremental. But they added up. Built something she couldn't name. Something that felt dangerous. Permanent.

Her hand pressed against her pocket. The paper crinkled under her palm. Six names. His proof. His offering.

She'd kept it. Hadn't torn it up. Had put it somewhere safe. Somewhere she could access. Somewhere that meant she trusted it.

And yet she was doing it anyway. One small gesture at a time. One permission. One acceptance. One moment of walking beside him as a partner instead of an enemy.

The walls were falling. Not crashing. Not shattering. Just eroding. Slow. Steady. Inevitable.

And the worst part—the part that made her ribs ache and her throat close—was that she was choosing it. Every time. Every gesture. Every permission given.

She was letting him in. And she didn't know how to stop. Didn't know if she even wanted to anymore.

Her feet carried her to her wing. To safety. To the children sleeping behind locked doors with guards standing watch.

But safety felt different now. Less isolated. Less alone. Because he was part of it. Part of the protection. Part of the solution. And that changed everything.