Mated by Contract to the Alpha Chapter 103

Rebecca's POV

After my realization that Dylan couldn't have acted alone, Rivera made several hushed phone calls before finally agreeing to take me to my parents in the afternoon.

Every time I closed my eyes, I saw Jason's face. Then my mind would cruelly shift to imagining his final moments, terrified as masked strangers invaded our home. The thought that he had died was unbelievable.

Now, as light streamed through the SUV windows, I sat in hollow silence. My initial shock had given way to a numbness that seemed to spread through my entire body. The revelation about Dylan having an accomplice still troubled me, but exhaustion had dulled its urgency.

My fingers absently traced patterns across my abdomen, a protective gesture I wasn't fully conscious of making. Two lives now, connected yet separate—one shattered by death, one just beginning.

"Ms. Brown?" Rivera's voice pulled me from my thoughts. His eyes met mine briefly in the rearview mirror before returning to the road. "Your parents are receiving the best care possible at Silver Crown Medical Center. Mr. Sterling arranged for private counselors and medical staff to attend to them."

I nodded, unable to form words around the lump in my throat. Even breathing felt like an effort. Jason was dead. My little brother—annoying, lazy, frustrating Jason—was gone forever. The reality of it kept hitting me in waves, each one threatening to pull me under.

"Did they..." I swallowed hard. "Did they tell you how it happened?"

Rivera's shoulders tensed slightly. "I don't have all the details, Ms. Brown. Mr. Sterling ordered this arrangement personally. I believe it would be best if your parents shared what they know."

His careful evasion told me more than his words. Whatever had happened to Jason, it was bad enough that Rivera didn't want to be the one to tell me. I turned my gaze back to the window, watching faceless buildings blur past. Each mile brought me closer to a conversation I wasn't ready to have, to a grief I wasn't prepared to face.

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The polished glass and steel structure of Silver Crown Medical Center loomed ahead, sunlight reflecting off its windows like a warning beacon.

"This way, Ms. Brown." A receptionist with perfect posture led us down a hallway to a door marked "Family Consultation Suite." She knocked softly before opening it, gesturing for me to enter.

The room was designed to feel homey—plush couches, soft lighting, tasteful decor—but nothing could soften the tableau before me. My father sat hunched forward, elbows on his knees, his normally proud shoulders curled inward with grief. My mother was beside him, her face so pale it seemed translucent, her eyes fixed vacantly on the wall.

"Mom? Dad?" My voice cracked.

My father's head snapped up. His eyes, red-rimmed and swollen, widened at the sight of me. "Becca," he whispered, his voice rough as sandpaper. Without another word, he stood and crossed the room in three long strides, pulling me into a crushing embrace.

"My little girl," he choked out, his body shuddering against mine. "We lost him, Becca. We lost Jason."

I felt my own tears spill over as I clutched him tightly. Over his shoulder, I watched my mother slowly turn her head, her movements mechanical, as if her body required tremendous effort to perform even this simple action.

"Rebecca," she said, my name sounding hollow on her lips. Her hand reached weakly toward me. "My son... my son..."

I gently disengaged from my father and moved to kneel before my mother, taking her cold hands in mine. "Mom, I'm so sorry," I whispered, though the words felt pathetically inadequate. What could anyone say in the face of such loss?

Her fingers tightened around mine with surprising strength. "He was just at home," she said, her voice drifting as if she were talking to herself. "Just at home..."

My father lowered himself heavily onto the couch beside her. "The doctors gave her something," he explained quietly. "To help with the shock."

I nodded, fighting back a fresh wave of tears. My mother had always been the stronger one—practical, resilient, quick to find solutions. Seeing her this way, fragile and disconnected, broke something inside me that I hadn't known could break.

"What happened?" I asked, looking to my father, not sure I was ready for the answer but knowing I needed to hear it.

He ran a trembling hand through his gray hair. "Jason has been... struggling lately," he began, his voice unsteady. "He lost that reception job at the hotel. Said the pay was too low, the hours too long. You know how he is—was." He stumbled over the correction, his face contorting with fresh pain.

"He was fired?" I asked, surprised. Jason had only mentioned starting the job a few weeks ago.

"He said he hated dealing with entitled guests, having to smile and be polite for minimum wage plus lousy tips." My father gave a small, bitter laugh that contained no humor. "He'd been at home since then, sleeping late, playing those video games."

"If you'd gotten him a position at that fancy company of yours," my mother interrupted suddenly, her voice sharp and clear, cutting through her previous haze, "he wouldn't have been let go. He wouldn't have been home when those men came."

I rocked back on my heels, staring at her in shock. "Mom, I—"

"All those rich friends of yours," she continued, her eyes suddenly focused and burning with a mixture of grief and anger. "All those connections. You couldn't find something better for your own brother?"

"That's not fair," my father said softly, placing a hand on her arm. "Rebecca has her own life, her own problems—"

"Don't defend her!" My mother jerked away from his touch. "My son is dead! Dead because he was home in the middle of the day when he should have been at work! At a decent job that his sister could have helped him find!"

Each word pierced me like a knife. My chest tightened until breathing became difficult. "Mom, please—" I began, but she wasn't finished.

"He was sitting on the couch," she continued, her voice rising, eyes wild with remembered horror. "I was in the kitchen. There was a knock, and then... then they just kicked the door in. Two men in masks. One grabbed me, pushed me down. The other one... he just... he just walked right up to Jason and..." Her voice broke on a sob. "That man just put the gun to his head and pulled the trigger. One shot. Just one. My boy never even had time to scream."

The room seemed to tilt around me. I pressed a hand to my mouth, trying to hold back the bile rising in my throat. The clinical part of my mind registered that my mother had witnessed her son's execution—there was no other word for it. This hadn't been a robbery gone wrong or random violence. This had been a targeted killing.

"They didn't take anything," my father added quietly, confirming my thoughts. "They didn't say anything. They just... killed him and left."

"And now these people," my mother gestured vaguely at the door, indicating the hospital staff, "they won't let us go home. Won't let us make arrangements. Keep telling us we're in 'danger.' What danger could be worse than what's already happened?"

I knew the answer to that, but couldn't say it. Couldn't tell them that the men who killed Jason might return to finish the job—to eliminate witnesses. Couldn't explain that my connection to Dominic Sterling, to the werewolf world, had made them targets.

The guilt was crushing. This was my fault. If I hadn't gotten involved with Dominic, if I hadn't agreed to that cursed contract, if I hadn't inadvertently marked him as my mate...

"I need some air," I whispered, standing abruptly. My legs felt unsteady beneath me. "I'll be right back."