When My Alpha Fathers Begged Me to Stay

The call came early that morning, just as the first rays of dawn were painting the sky in shades of lavender and gold. It was my professor, Arthur.

“Evelyn, I received your email confirming your participation in the Antarctic research initiative,” his voice, warm and familiar, came through the line. “I must admit, I was pleasantly surprised. Three years ago, you were adamant about not leaving your family. To see you embracing this path for your career now… it’s commendable. I’ve taken the liberty of securing your flight for tomorrow evening. I suggest you spend today with your family.”

Family. The word lodged in my throat, a painful, familiar ache.

Since my mother’s passing, my world had been defined by my three fathers. I was once the most adored daughter in the entire werewolf realm—the cherished child of three formidable Alphas.

Then Liliana arrived.

She became the sun around which their worlds revolved, and I… I faded into the shadows, invisible.

“Professor Arthur,” I said, my voice steadier than I felt. “I need you to do something for me. Apply for the highest tier of confidentiality clearance. Have all my identity records purged from the Werewolf Census Bureau.”

A sharp intake of breath echoed from the other end. “Evelyn, do you comprehend what you’re asking? Once those records are expunged, Evelyn Thorne ceases to exist in any official capacity. Your fathers… they will have no trail to follow. They will be frantic.”

He didn’t understand. How could he?

“They won’t be,” I whispered, the truth of it a cold stone in my chest.

My father’s dismissive words from our last confrontation replayed in my mind with cruel clarity. ‘Your concerns are not ours. Spare us the details.’

If I vanished without a trace, perhaps it would be easier for everyone. They could blame the system, the bureaucracy, anything but their own indifference.

After a prolonged silence, heavy with his unspoken concern, Professor Arthur reluctantly agreed.

Ending the call, I closed my eyes and reached out tentatively through the pack mind-link, directing my thoughts toward each of my fathers in turn. The response was a hollow, silent void. They had severed the connection. The block was complete.

Swallowing the bitterness, I picked up my phone and dialed my first father, Benjamin.

“Dad… it’s Christmas Eve,” I said, the words soft, almost pleading. “Could we… could we have dinner together? Just one meal, as a family?”

Silence stretched on the line, taut and uncomfortable.

I hurried on, “I bought Liliana a gift. That crystal-embellished evening gown from the designer spread she was admiring last month.”

“Dinner?” Benjamin’s voice was a whip-crack of impatience. “Liliana is in the hospital recovering from a severe allergic reaction, and you’re thinking about celebrations?”

“Then let’s have it at the hospital,” I pressed, a faint tremor betraying my calm facade. “I can bring the gown. We can be together there.”

Perhaps it was that uncharacteristic vulnerability in my tone—a crack in the armor I’d worn since Liliana’s arrival—that gave him pause. The arguments between us had become a constant, bitter refrain. I had never backed down. I had never begged.

Liliana was never meant to be part of our story.

I found her in a state-run orphanage, a fragile Omega girl with eyes too large for her thin face, perpetually flinching, the target of every bully’s cruelty. My heart broke for her. I was the one who persuaded my fathers to open our home to her.

In the beginning, it was perfect. We were sisters in every way that mattered—sharing clothes, secrets, and stolen treats from the kitchen late at night. I truly believed I had rescued her.

Somewhere along the way, the narrative shifted.

My fathers’ attention softened, their warmth redirecting toward her like flowers turning to a new sun. Their affection for her grew, subtly but surely eclipsing the space that was once mine.

Even my closest friends were enchanted by her delicate sweetness, her seemingly guileless smiles, her quiet, captivating aura. One by one, they drifted away from me.

It took me far too long to see the carefully constructed reality: the girl I had pitied and protected was meticulously dismantling my life, one tear-streaked smile at a time.

But now, I was leaving. For good. I owed it to myself, to the memory of what we once were, to say a proper goodbye.

Then, a voice, honey-sweet and bright, cut through the tense silence on the phone. “Dad, if Evelyn apologizes properly, I don’t mind if she joins us.”

“I’m sorry, Liliana,” I said instantly, the words tasting like ash. “I’ll be right there.”

After hanging up, I drove home. I gathered not just the gown, but the other carefully chosen gifts I had wrapped for each of them. My desire was simple: if Liliana was content, my fathers would be at ease. I wanted my final memory of a family gathering to be one of peace, not conflict.

The hospital scene was a testament to their devotion. Gabriel, the Alpha who held sway over global medical conglomerates, had ensured Liliana received care fit for royalty. Sebastian, commander of the Northern Alliance’s elite guard, had stationed his warriors along the entire corridor, a silent, imposing barrier against any disturbance.