I Accepted My Alpha’s Rejection While Carrying His Pup Chapter 10

I Accepted My Alpha’s Rejection While Carrying His Pup Chapter 10

I didn’t call Caspian.

He didn’t call me.

But every single morning,/something appeared on the diner step.

Monday: A first edition of Persuasion, with a ribbon marking Captain Wentworth’s letter. You pierce my

soul.

Tuesday: A jar of fancy dill pickles and a jar of wildflower honey. I’d mentioned my disgusting craving

exactly once.

Wednesday: A hand-knitted baby blanket in soft pink wool.

Thursday: Nothing.

I was unreasonably, ridiculously disappointed on Thursday.

Friday: Two jars of pickles and a note.

“Thursday’s delivery was eaten by your grandmother’s goat. Consider this compensation. -C.”

I laughed so hard Grandma came running from the kitchen with a rolling pin.

Saturday: A box of dark chocolate truffles from a tiny shop in Montreal.

Sunday: A text from an unknown number.

“The goat has been bribed with carrots to prevent future incidents.”

I saved the number.

That night, I typed:

“You don’t have to keep sending things.”

His reply came in eight seconds.

“I know.”

Then, a minute later:

“But I want to.”

We started texting. Not about feelings. Never feelings. About books. He recommended Tolstoy. I recommended romance novels with shirtless men on the cover. He sent me a four-paragraph argument about why Russian literature was emotionally superior.

I sent back one line: “Anna Karenina would have been happier with a cinnamon roll and a Lycan King.”

Ten minutes of silence.

Then:

“You are the most infuriating woman on this continent.”

Then:

“I haven’t been this happy in years.”

I dropped the phone on the bed, pressed my hands to my burning cheeks, and whispered to the empty

room:

“I am in so much trouble.”

Nova rolled over inside me, smug. Told you.

Because here was the thing about Caspian Thorne.

He wasn’t charming.

Kane was charming. Kane dazzled you, swept you off your feet, made you forget to ask questions.

Caspian was quiet where Kane was loud. Steady where Kane was restless. He didn’t promise me the world. He just showed up, every day, with pickles and first editions and the patience of a man who understood that trust gets built one brick at a time.

And that scared me more than anything.

Because Kane had taught me that love was something that could be taken away overnight. With a signature. With a flinch on a dance floor.

I couldn’t bleed like that again. Not with a daughter depending on me.

So I kept my distance. I smiled at his coffee visits. I thanked him for the gifts. I kept my wall up.

But walls have cracks.

And every jar, every book/every eight-second reply made those cracks a little wider.

At twenty weeks, my daughter kicked for the first time.

I was rolling out pie dough when I felt it. A flutter. Then a firm, unmistakable push, right under my ribs.

I gasped. Flour went everywhere.

Grandma came flying out of the back room. “What? What happened? Is it Crane?”

“She kicked. Grandma, she kicked.”

Grandma dropped her rolling pin, put both hands on my belly, and burst into tears.

Then my daughter kicked again, right into Grandma’s palm, and we both started laughing and crying at the same time while Barbara bleated from the back porch.

That night, I texted Caspian.

“She kicked today.”

He replied instantly.

“She?”

I hadn’t told him. I hadn’t told anyone but Grandma..

“It’s a girl.”

A long pause. The three little dots appeared and disappeared four times.

Then:

“A girl”

Then:

“She’ll be fierce.”

Then:

“Like her mother.”

I pressed the phone against my chest and closed my eyes.

And that careful, exhausting, necessary wall I’d built around my heart-

It cracked wide open.

Nova didn’t say anything.

She just howled. Softly. Happily. For the first time in her whole life.