Claimed by My Bestie's Alpha Daddy novel Chapter 79

Only Adam wrote like that.

The door creaked. I smelled him before i saw him. Woodsmoke and iron, bitterness barely masked by cologne. I turned just in time to see him rounding the corner near the staff kitchen, casual as if he belonged there.

“You haven’t returned my messages,” he said, eyes narrowing with faux sweetness.

“I haven’t received any,” I replied, already bracing.

He stepped closer, tilting his head.

“Strange. I was sure you’d want to talk.”

“You shouldn’t be here.”

“I’m not doing anything wrong,” he murmured. “Just saying hello.”

I moved to leave, but he blocked the path. Too close. I could feel the heat of his body, the itch of his presence.

“I know someone replaced my mark,” he whispered, voice no longer pretending. “I can smell it.”

I said nothing.

“Was it him?”

I stared past him, jaw tight.

“Tell me who touched what was mine.”

“You don’t get to know that,” I said. “You lost that right a long time ago.”

He laughed once, sharp and bitter. “I marked you first. That doesn’t just disappear.”

“It does,” I shot back. “When it was unwanted. When it meant control, not care.”

His mask slipped. Just for a second. Rage cracked beneath the surface.

I pushed past him hard, heart hammering, and made it to the stairwell.

There, in the safety of solitude, I clutched the crumpled note and reached for Richard through the mindlink.

He answered at once. “Amelia?”

“Adam knows about the mark,” I said, voice brittle. “He confronted me.

In the building.”

A beat passed. “We’ll handle it.”

That was all. No panic. No questions. Just calm certainty.

That night, I didn’t want to be alone. I didn’t want to wake up in the dark with that note still haunting me. So I went back to Richard’s estate. The night air was cold. I kept my head down the entire walk there.

When he opened the door, he said nothing. Just stepped aside. I walked in and let the silence close around me.

We didn’t speak. He wore that worn hoodie, the one that always carried a faint scent of pine and ink. I didn’t take off my coat at first.

We sat on the edge of his bed like two people who weren’t ready to sleep. Not yet.

His hand brushed against mine.

I didn’t move away.

The quiet wrapped around us like a second skin. It wasn’t safety. Not really. But it was enough for tonight.

Later, sometime between midnight and morning, I stirred. I hadn’t meant to fall asleep, but exhaustion had dragged me down. When opened my eyes, Richard was still awake, lying beside me, watching the shadows on the ceiling. His hand found mine again, and then his lips brushed my knuckles.

“She’s just being Jenny”

“She’s burning bridges,” Emma whispers, lowering her voice further.” Just… be careful.”

try not to notice the way Jenny leans in close with Lydia Park, the new communications liaison with the too-bright eyes and the red-striped badge that screams clearance and confidence. But it’s hard to ignore.

Hard not to notice the new center of gravity in the office shifting around them. Lydia’s laugh floats down the hallway like perfume, airy and practiced. Everything about her feels temporary and dangerous.

By Thursday, Jenny doesn’t bother pretending anymore. She corrects me in front of the entire team over something I didn’t even say, and when I try to clarify, she cuts me off. Lydia takes the questions that used to come to me. Adam notices. Of course he notices. His face is like stone in the meeting, eyes darting between me and Jenny, something bitter curling at the edges of his expression that hadn’t been there before.

I go to Richard.

“She’s pulling rank,” I say, pacing in front of his desk. “It’s deliberate.”

He watches me from behind his desk, fingers steepled in front of him, wearing that unreadable expression that means he’s already calculating the next ten moves.

“Jenny doesn’t like losing control,” he says. “When she feels threatened, she pushes back. If she goes further, tell me.””She already is.”

He doesn’t argue. Just nods once, like he’s tucking that information into some private ledger.

The next day, uniformed soldiers arrive just after ten. They move like ghosts, quiet and efficient, without announcement or explanation. Just clipboards, sharp eyes, and a kind of tension that makes everyone sit up straighter. I hear the word “leak” whispered by the copier, then again by the vending machine.

Someone has leaked military movement data, and at this rate, this campaign isn’t going to have a single private document left by the end of the month.

At lunch, two soldiers approach my desk.

“Amelia? You’re needed for an internal interview.”

Emma’s hand brushes mine under the desk. I squeeze it, give her a small nod, and stand to follow them, trying to keep my breathing steady.