Alpha Val:His Secret Babies

The little plastic stick felt cool and smooth in Issa’s trembling hand. Two lines. That signified a new life. It was faint, yet undeniably there. Too positive. A shaky breath escaped her lips, a sound of pure, disbelieving wonder.

After four long years of wishing, four years of countless visits to several doctors, four years of prayers and heartbreaking disappointments, this time, it was real. A baby. Their own baby. The impossible dream had finally, miraculously become true. Hot and sweet tears rolled down her cheeks. She could not wait to inform Marcus. This would fix everything. This would bring back the man she married.

A low, rhythmic moaning came from the bedroom, dragging her out from her extreme joy. Issa paused to properly understand what she was hearing. A small but obvious frown slowly crept to her brow. It was too early for Marcus to be home.

He'd been distant lately—his once bright eyes now dull with what she couldn't decipher, his warm laughter replaced with tired sighs even when he didn’t need rest. He had suddenly started keeping late nights at the office, although he explained that it was due to the pressure of his new project. But also, his once loving touch had grown hesitant, then absent. The tender kisses he used to give her every morning before going out and at night before bed had turned into quick pecks, which she even had to remind him of.

But of all these, she had told herself that it was stress, and that he’d come back to her when the project was over and when life settled. This baby, she had silently prayed, would be their fresh start. Their reconnection.

The moaning intensified. It was no longer a faint sound, but a clear grunting. And it wasn't just Marcus's voice. There was a second voice—soft and breathy. A woman.

Cold and sharp fear coiled in Issa's stomach. Her heart began to hammer against her ribs faster than her breath could catch. Her fingers tightened around the slender white stick as she walked towards the bedroom door. This time the sound grew louder, clearer, leaving no room for denial.

She pushed the door open—slowly at first, then she let it swing wide.

The scene unfolded before her in that hot, vibrant afternoon light. Marcus and Sarah—his best friend's wife. Naked. Legs on hips, skin sleek with sweat on their marital bed. The smell of sex hung heavy in the air, nauseating and suffocating.

Issa stood there. She did not scream. She did not cry. Her breath paused—and then it seemed to stop altogether. Her mind went numb. She simply watched the man she loved, the man she’d just discovered was to be the father of her child, thrusting into another woman frantically.

And the woman was the same person who had shared their dinner table with them, laughed at their jokes, and listened to her heartaches. Her gaze was fixed on the sinful, unacceptable act being displayed before her. She stood there, unblinking, looking at Marcus's face ruffling in the disgusting pleasure with his eyes closed.

And just like someone had tapped him, his eyes flickered open—and they met hers.

His body paused for a few seconds, stiffened in subtle fear. Sarah, who was still beneath him, shifted her body, her eyes still closed and oblivious to what was going on. Marcus’s eyes were wide with shock, and then, just like someone who was possessed, he continued thrusting into Sarah. He didn’t stop.

He looked at her—like truly looked at her—standing there in the doorway, the small white pregnancy test clutched in her hand. And still, he continued. His gaze held hers, looking her eyeballs to eyeballs, not wavering. The rhythmic thrusts continued, faster than before. He watched her watching him, until his body tensed, a low groan escaped his lips, and then he arched his hips, spilling himself into Sarah.

It was in that moment, as his eyes closed again while he savoured the aftermath of his pleasure, that the dam broke.

It wasn't a trickle, but a river of hot, steaming, and uncontrollable tears. They streamed down Issa's face, blurring the horrible image before her—but the tears were not enough to erase the feeling of being torn to pieces from the inside out. Her knees wiggled, and she immediately gripped the doorframe, trying to remain upright, trying not to collapse.

The joy, the hope, the impossible, miraculous baby—all of it had turned to dust. All those things were crushed.

Then finally, when she regained her voice—

"I want a divorce," she broke out in a raw, crackling whisper.

Marcus, who was still tangled with Sarah, flinched. His eyes snapped open again, sharper this time, a flicker of something more likely to be genuine surprise.

He pushed himself off Sarah, hastily grabbing a sheet, his body still reeking of his recent pleasure. Sarah whimpered in surprise and shame, pulling the sheet higher.

"Issa, wait. No. Don’t be ridiculous," Marcus said, his voice so flat and dismissive. "Come on… this… this is nothing. It’s just a mistake. I mean, we can fix this."

Issa stared at him, tears still flowing like a damn hot river down her cold cheeks.

"Fix this?" Her voice was low and crowded with tears, full of disbelief. "There is nothing left to fix, Marcus. It’s done. We are done. I want a divorce."

She took a step back, her hand dropping from the doorframe, the pregnancy test falling silently to the carpet.

Marcus’s jaw tightened. The remorse he had just recently feigned vanished. His eyes hardened, glinting with a cold, possessive light she had never seen directed at her before.

"A divorce?" he scoffed, pushing the sheet away. He stood, naked, displaying his dominance. "You must be joking, Issa. You're not divorcing me. Don’t be stupid. You don’t get to walk away."

He took a step towards her, his voice dropping to a low growl.

"You're mine. And I own you.”