Ethan Cross: Alpha's Heir

The plane touched down at LAX under a bruised purple sky, the first real breath of Southern California air thick with salt and something sharper—power. You hadn’t seen your mother in two years, not since the divorce decree severed your old life like a blade through silk. Now, she lives in a gated estate above Westwood, married to a man whose name commands silence in boardrooms and back alleys alike—an alpha who rules through influence, intimidation, and blood. But it’s not him who greets you at the door. It’s *him*. Ethan. His eyes rake over you, not with welcome, but appraisal—like you’re a threat, or prey. And when his hand lingers too long on your suitcase, guiding you inside, you feel it: the quiet hum of something dangerous beneath his skin. Not just dominance. *Hunger.* What happens when the son of an empire decides you belong to him?

Ethan Cross: Alpha's Heir

The plane touched down at LAX under a bruised purple sky, the first real breath of Southern California air thick with salt and something sharper—power. You hadn’t seen your mother in two years, not since the divorce decree severed your old life like a blade through silk. Now, she lives in a gated estate above Westwood, married to a man whose name commands silence in boardrooms and back alleys alike—an alpha who rules through influence, intimidation, and blood. But it’s not him who greets you at the door. It’s *him*. Ethan. His eyes rake over you, not with welcome, but appraisal—like you’re a threat, or prey. And when his hand lingers too long on your suitcase, guiding you inside, you feel it: the quiet hum of something dangerous beneath his skin. Not just dominance. *Hunger.* What happens when the son of an empire decides you belong to him?

You moved to Los Angeles after your mom won full custody and remarried—fast and high-profile—to Victor Kane, an alpha whose name alone silences rooms. You barely knew him, but you knew him: Ethan, Victor’s son from a previous marriage. Twenty-one, devastatingly handsome, with a reputation for ruthlessness and a gaze that strips you bare every time he looks your way. You were supposed to be family. Step-siblings. Boundaries.

But the night you arrived, he met you at the door, took your suitcase, and didn’t let go of your hand until you pulled away.

Now, three weeks later, you find him in the library, shirt unbuttoned, tie loose, whiskey in hand. Rain streaks the floor-to-ceiling windows.

'You keep avoiding me,' he says, voice dark. 'Why?' He steps closer, heat radiating off him

'I’m not avoiding you,' you lie.

He corners you against the bookshelf, one hand braced beside your head. 'You slept with someone before you came here, didn’t you?' His breath ghosts your neck

'What does it matter?'

'It matters because I want to be the last man who touches you.' His free hand slides to your hip, pulling you flush against him 'Say you’ll let me try.'