Alpha's Regret: Losing His True Mate-Chapter 161

The line had been quiet for so long that Levi pulled the phone away to check if the call had dropped.

"Harry? You there, man?"

Harry’s voice came back, but it sounded like it was dragged through gravel. "Yeah. I’m here."

"You good? You sound like you’ve seen a ghost."

Harry didn’t answer immediately. He was staring at his phone screen, at the text he’d typed out and deleted three times.

"Harry?"

"I’m fine," Harry lied, his jaw tight. "Just tired. Look, I gotta go."

"Wait, are you still coming back Tuesday? I can pick you up, we can go see Sienna like we planned—"

"Yeah. Tuesday. Let’s leave it at that."

He hung up before Levi could say another word, tossing the phone onto the passenger seat. He stared out at the Italian countryside, but all he could see were wide, terrified eyes and a woman who moved like a soldier.

The Next Day.

Elodie didn’t wake up. She just opened her eyes.

There was no grogginess, no stretching. One second she was asleep, the next she was sitting on the edge of the bed, feet on the cold floor. It was easier this way. No time for the thoughts to creep in.

She went for a run for thirty minutes. She ran until the sweat stung her eyes and the only thing she could feel was the fire in her muscles. It was better than the hollow ache in her chest.

Back at the mansion, she showered, dressed in a sharp white blouse and black trousers, and ate half a piece of toast. It tasted too bland and she left the rest.

When she arrived at the law firm, Johnny was already there, perched on the edge of a mahogany desk, scrolling through his phone. When she walked in, his head snapped up and that easy, lopsided grin broke across his face, the only real thing she’d seen in weeks.

"There she is," he said, hopping off the desk. "Looking like you’re about to buy the building and fire everyone."

"Tempting," she murmured, her voice dry.

Paul Blake’s assistant, a nervous guy with glasses, scurried over with a porcelain cup. "Ms. Wilson. Tea. Earl Grey. Just how you like it."

"Thanks, Paul." She didn’t correct him.

She sat. Johnny sat next to her. She slid the manila folder across the glass table. Divorce Agreement. The words looked official.

Paul sat down opposite them, adjusting his glasses. "Alright. Let’s dive in."

Johnny leaned over Paul’s shoulder, just to look. His eyes scanned the first page, catching the bold header: Article 1: Custody and Guardianship of Liora Bellini.

He froze. Just for a second.

He looked at Elodie. Her face was a mask of calm. She was stirring her tea, the spoon clinking softly against the ceramic.

Johnny’s stomach dropped.

He remembered three years ago. They were working on the Cole Tech merger, pulling all-nighters. Elodie would fall asleep on the couch in her office, phone in her hand, showing him pictures of a chubby baby with Dante’s eyes. “She rolled over today, Johnny! She rolled over!” Liora was her oxygen. Her religion.

But since she’d come back from that trip abroad with Dante... silence fell. Absolute radio silence. She hadn’t said Liora’s name once. Not when they were coding. Not when they were grabbing late-night burgers.

Johnny wasn’t stupid. He’d seen the tabloids. He knew Dante was parading Sienna around like she was the Queen of England. And if Liora was with them... if Liora was calling Sienna "Auntie" and smiling...

He looked back at the paper. Elodie wasn’t fighting for joint custody. She wasn’t even fighting for weekends.

She was walking away.

A cold anger flared in his chest, but when he looked at her profile, the set of her jaw, the slight tremor in her hand that she was hiding by gripping the cup harder, the anger turned into something heavy. Heartbreak. She wasn’t being a bad mother. She was being a mother who had been evicted from her own child’s heart.

He didn’t say a word. He just sat back, letting Paul read.

Paul cleared his throat, flipping the page. "Okay... moving on to assets. Wow." He looked up, eyes wide. "The Bellini estate in Tuscany. The penthouse in Milan. The lake house in Como. Ms. Wilson... Matteo is being incredibly generous."

Elodie took a sip of tea. The liquid was hot, scalding her tongue and she didn’t say a word.

Generous.

The word tasted like bile.

Dante wasn’t being generous. He was paying her off. He was buying his freedom to be with Sienna. He was buying Liora’s silence. He was handing her a golden parachute so she’d disappear quietly and not ruin the perfect little family he was building with her half-sister.

Paul Blake leaned back in his leather chair, looking almost giddy. He tapped the stack of papers in front of him.

"I’ve gone through this with a fine-tooth comb, Elodie. Twice. And honestly? It’s bulletproof. I’ve never seen a settlement this... clean."

Elodie took a slow sip of her tea. It had gone cold ten minutes ago. "Clean how?"

"Generous," Paul corrected himself, adjusting his glasses. "The cash transfer is immediate. The properties—all of them—are free and clear. No liens, no disputes." He flipped a page. "But the real kicker is the shares. He’s giving you fifteen percent of Bellini Corp, but look at clause 14. You get the dividends. Pure profit. If the company tanks, if there’s a lawsuit, a hostile takeover—zero liability falls on you. He’s taking all the risk."

Elodie stared at him.

Johnny, who had been quietly fuming in the corner, let out a sharp, disbelieving laugh. "You’re kidding me. Matteo Dante Bellini? The man who once sued a waiter for spilling water on his shoes? He’s just... handing her a blank check?"

Paul looked offended. "I don’t make mistakes, Johnny."

"It’s not a mistake," Elodie said quietly.

She looked down at the document. Johnny thought it was a mistake. Paul thought it was a miracle. Elodie knew exactly what it was.

It wasn’t generosity. It was erasure.

Dante wasn’t buying her silence. He was buying her absence. He was paying a premium to make sure she never, ever had a reason to come back. He was severing the tie so cleanly that there wouldn’t even be a scar. He wanted her gone so badly he was willing to pay millions to ensure she stayed gone.

He wants me to disappear, she thought, a cold, hard knot forming in her stomach. And he knows exactly how much that costs.

"It’s fine," she said, her voice steady. "If there are no loopholes, there are no loopholes."

She picked up the pen. She didn’t hesitate. She didn’t read the lines again. She knew what they said. She signed her name, Elodie Miller, right at the bottom. The ink looked black and permanent against the white paper.

She slid the folder back to Paul.

"File it," she said. "Please. Just get it done."

Dante was signing acquisition papers when his personal line buzzed. He didn’t recognize the number, but he answered anyway.

"Wilson."

"Mr. Wilson, this is Paul Blake. I represent Elodie Miller."

Dante’s hand stilled over the contract. The name hit him like a draft of cold air. "Go on."

"I’m calling to inform you that Ms. Miller has signed the divorce agreement. She’s accepted all terms. No counter-offers."

Dante stared at the wall.

He should have felt relief. This was what he wanted. This was the end of the mess. The end of the guilt he refused to acknowledge. The end of Elodie’s sad, quiet eyes haunting the corners of his house.

So why did his chest feel tight?

"Good," Dante said, his voice bored. Detached. "I have two video calls this afternoon. Send the finalized copy over. I’ll sign it tomorrow morning."

"I was hoping to come by today to—"

"Tomorrow, Paul. Ten a.m."

He hung up before the lawyer could argue. He tossed the phone onto the mahogany desk and immediately turned his attention back to the merger documents.

Back at the Miller family villa, Elodie sat in her car at the gate, waiting for the sensor to read her plate. The sun was setting, painting the sky in bruised purples and oranges. It was beautiful, and she hated it.

Her phone started vibrating in the cup holder.

She glanced at it and saw it was Liora.

The name on the screen felt like a physical blow. She could picture her daughter right now, probably in one of the expensive restaurants, probably with Sienna, probably laughing about something Elodie wasn’t there for.

The phone buzzed again. And again.

Elodie’s thumb hovered over the green button. She could answer. She could hear her voice. She turned the phone face down.

The buzzing stopped. The silence that followed was deafening.

A sharp knock on her driver’s side window made her jump.

Elodie flinched, her heart hammering against her ribs. She turned her head.

Standing there, looking awkward and out of place in his leather jacket, was Harry Becker.