Claimed by My Bestie's Alpha Daddy Chapter 64 Read Online for Free

Richard

The morning after the gala, I summoned Elsa to my office.

She arrived in silk and pearls, still dressed like she thought she had a place here. Her expression was cool and composed, until she saw my face.

"You're not even going to offer me tea?" she asked, settling into the chair like she owned it.

"You're not staying long enough to drink it."

That caught her attention. Her spine straightened. "Excuse me?"

I stayed standing, letting the silence settle like dust. "You humiliated a member of my team last night. You undermined my authority. You put yourself above the Pack."

She rolled her eyes. "Oh, come on. It was a joke. If your little orphan can’t handle that, maybe she shouldn’t be in politics."

I slammed a folder onto the table. Her dress sabotage. Eyewitness accounts, security footage, the notes she left in the prep area.

She went very still.

"You tried to sabotage her," I said. "And when that didn’t work, you tried to humiliate her in front of our allies. You endangered the campaign, and you endangered her."

Her jaw clenched. "You never used to care what I said."

"You never used to attack the people I care about."

The words hung between us. I saw her flinch, but she recovered fast.

"So what, Richard? You’re throwing me out for her?"

"I’m throwing you out because I should have done it years ago."

She stood slowly, her voice rising. "You think the council will respect you for this? You think this makes you look strong? It makes you look like a lovesick idiot."

I stepped closer, voice low. "They’ll respect that I cleaned house. And if they don’t, they were never with me to begin with."

She stared at me like she was trying to set me on fire with her eyes. "She won’t last. They’ll eat her alive."

"Let them try," I said. "She’s survived worse. And she’s not alone."

I called in two guards.

"Escort Elsa off Pack property. Her clearance has been revoked."

She didn’t scream. She didn’t beg. But her silence as they led her out was louder than anything she could have said.

Only when the door closed behind her did I sit back down.

She’d done enough damage.

I half-expected her to cause a scene. But maybe even she could tell I was beyond bargaining. She left in silence, disappearing into a sleek black car with a clenched jaw and zero fanfare.

The House felt different after that. Lighter, maybe. But also more brittle.

Word spread fast. Staff exchanged glances in the halls. Some were relieved. Some skeptical. A few council aides were clearly irritated, she’d been their link to the past, to a version of this Pack where they knew their place in the hierarchy. But no one dared ask me why.

Because if they did, I might have actually told them. And I wasn’t sure I had the energy to explain.

I tried to work. Tried to focus on the reports waiting in my office. But my attention kept drifting to the security feed.

Amelia wasn’t in the south wing. She wasn’t in the library or the campaign bullpen or the council archives.

She was in the training yard.

Alone.

The sky was low and gray, clouds heavy with the kind of early spring storm that never fully breaks. Mist clung to the stone walls of the open-air arena. Amelia moved through drills with sharp efficiency, a silent blur of fists and motion. She was in a fitted tank and athletic pants, her hair pulled back in a high braid, sweat clinging to her jawline.

She didn’t look like someone training.

She looked like someone bleeding out through movement.

I didn’t announce myself. I just entered the ring, removed my jacket, and stood opposite her.

Her eyes snapped to mine.

Neither of us spoke.

I raised my hands. "Go."

She lunged at me with no warning.

The sparring wasn’t practice. It was punishment. It was the conversation we hadn’t had. Every block and strike came with weight behind it, a kind of fury I hadn’t seen from her since the facility. We circled each other on instinct, ducking, twisting, countering. I landed a hit to her side. She answered with a blow to my ribs that knocked the wind out of me.

She wasn’t holding back.

And I didn’t want her to.

My wolf rose to the surface, teeth bared in something like pride. She was ferocious. Focused. Mine.

I caught her wrist and twisted, trying to flip her.

She dropped her weight at the last second and used my momentum against me, slamming me onto the mat with a grunt. Her knee pressed into my sternum, one hand braced beside my head.

Her body was flush against mine. Her breath came in quick bursts. Her braid hung over one shoulder, trailing against my collarbone.

I stared up at her.

She didn’t move.

"You never go easy on me," she said finally.

"You’d hate me if I did."

Her gaze softened for a split second. Then she pushed off me and stood, grabbing a towel from the bench without looking back.

"You’re getting slower," she muttered.

"You’re getting meaner."

She gave a dry laugh, but there was no humor in it.

I stayed on the mat, staring up at the gray sky.

She didn’t speak again. Just walked away, back straight, muscles tight. She didn’t look back.

Amelia

I stayed in the shower until the water ran cold.

I hadn’t meant to spar him. Not really. I’d gone to the training yard to be alone. To hit something that wouldn’t talk back. But when he showed up, part of me had wanted to punish him. To test if he’d really let me land the blow.

He didn’t.

And still I won.

I hadn’t known how badly I needed that.

By the time I made it back to my quarters, dusk was gathering at the windows.

I found a folder tucked into my inbox, logistics numbers for the Southern Pack. I was expecting it.

What I wasn’t expecting was the paper tucked beneath it.

A newsletter. Old. Faded. I recognized the design instantly: the monthly community update from the orphanage where I’d grown up.

I hadn’t seen one of those in years.

I reached for it slowly.

Richard’s handwriting lined the margins.

Circles around donor shortfalls. Notes on leaking roofs. Underlined lines of copy that mentioned me by name, small honors, awards I’d won. My birthday.

A list of names with question marks beside them. Staff. Caretakers. Mentors.

And one note written in heavier ink:

Pull this year’s funding data. Protect Amelia from fallout.

I stared at it for a long time.

It wasn’t new.

He’d had this for years.

I sat down slowly, paper in my lap, heart thudding.

For all the things he’d failed to say, there was something about this, the quiet way he’d watched from a distance, tracked what mattered, tried to fix things without being seen.