Chapter 6: Stranger In A King-Sized Bed

###Sincerely

The first thing that hit me was the smell of warm, golden bread, melting butter and rich, savory broth simmering with herbs that made my stomach clench like a fist.

My eyes were still closed, but my traitorous body was already betraying me—salivating, and growling loud enough to wake the dead.

For one stupid, blissful second, I smiled.

Then reality bitch-slapped me across the face.

My eyes flew open. I bolted upright so fast the room spun like a carousel from hell.

“Ow—fuck,” I hissed, clutching my temples as pain lanced through my skull.

This wasn’t my storage closet. Not even close.

The room was massive. Sunlight spilled through floor-to-ceiling windows, catching on polished dark wood and sleek black-and-gold furniture that screamed old money and quiet power. A crystal chandelier hung overhead like something out of a fever dream. White lilies sat in a crystal vase, their sweet scent cutting through the savory heaven drifting from somewhere nearby.

And the bed… Goddess help me.

I was drowning in the middle of a king-sized cloud wrapped in silk sheets that probably cost more than everything Bianca owned. My fingers curled into the luxurious fabric like it might vanish if I let go.

My heartbeat slammed against my ribs.

Where the hell am I?

Panic exploded through my veins. Had Miranda finally snapped and sold me off like she always threatened? My hands flew over my body, frantic, tangling in the soft nightgown.

Nightgown. Underwear. Everything… still on.

A shaky breath rattled out of me. “Okay. Not naked. That’s… something.”

I scanned the spotless room again, half-expecting chains or bloodstains or a creepy altar.

Nothing.

Just elegance. And silence.

“Please don’t let this be a serial killer kidnapper with impeccable taste,” I muttered. “I’ve had a really shitty twenty-four hours already.”

The delicious aroma curled around me again, thicker this time. My stomach roared like it wanted to claw its way out and hunt for food itself.

I glared down at it. “Traitor. We’re supposed to be having a breakdown right now. Read the room.”

It growled louder, completely unbothered.

I pinched the bridge of my nose. “Fine. Food before emotional collapse. I respect the priorities but please, not right now.”

Memories slammed back in jagged pieces.

The Luna Selection Ceremony.

Alpha Roland’s cold disgust.

The rejection that tore my soul in half.

Endless, punishing rain.

Headlights cutting through the storm.

The sickening screech of tires.

Blackness.

“So I got publicly rejected by my mate and hit by a car in one night?,” I whispered, a bitter laugh scraping my throat. “That’s… impressively pathetic. Even for me.”

The door clicked open and every muscle in my body locked tight.

A man stepped inside, and the air in the room suddenly felt too thin.

Holy hell.

He was tall, broad-shouldered, and unfairly beautiful in that lethal, carved-from-shadows way. Charcoal shirt sleeves rolled up strong forearms. Dark hair slightly tousled. A jawline sharp enough to cut glass. Eyes dark and unreadable, scanning me with quiet intensity that made my skin prickle.

For one dangerous second, my brain short-circuited. Heat licked low in my belly—completely inappropriate, and completely unwanted before self-loathing crashed in right behind it.

Are kidnappers always this hot? my wolf cried, practically vibrating with excitement.

Oh, shut up, I scolded her in my head.

He wasn’t my kidnapper. He couldn’t be. Otherwise he would have been wearing a mask. He was probably the man who had hit me with his car. That made the most sense — this face, this luxury, this overwhelming presence.

And of course he probably owns this palace that looks like sin incarnate while I’m over here looking like a rejected, rain-soaked disaster with a double chin and tangled curls.

I inhaled too sharply.

The breath caught. Coughing violently, I doubled over, lungs burning.

He moved without hesitation, crossing the room in two smooth strides, pouring water from a crystal pitcher, and holding the glass out to me.

“Slowly,” he said. His voice was low, deep, velvet-wrapped steel. It did unfair things to my insides.

I took the glass with trembling hands and drank too fast anyway. More coughing as tears stung my eyes.

He waited patiently, watching me with that same unreadable intensity. Like he was peeling back layers I didn’t want anyone to see.

When I finally stopped hacking like a dying cat, I wiped my mouth with the back of my hand, cheeks flaming. “Th-thank you.”

He gave a small nod. “Can you breathe now?”

“Barely.” I tried for a sarcastic smile. It wobbled. “About your car… I’m sorry. I wasn’t exactly looking where I was going.”

One dark eyebrow lifted, something almost like dark amusement flickering across his face. “You’re apologizing to the man whose driver hit you?”

I shrugged, trying to play it cool even as my pulse raced.

He studied me for a long beat. The silence stretched, thick and charged. I could feel the weight of his gaze tracing over my messy curls, the bruises still fading on my arms, the way the silk nightgown I was changed into clung every curve I usually tried to hide.

Heat crawled up my neck and I suddenly felt naked in a completely different way.

Before either of us could speak again, his phone rang. A faint crease formed between his brows as he glanced at the screen.

“I have to take this.” His tone left no room for argument.

He answered with a curt, “Yes?” and listened, eyes flicking back to me once, lingering a second too long before he turned toward the door.

“I’ll send someone to help you get settled,” he said over his shoulder.

The door clicked shut behind him.

I stared at the empty space where he’d been, my heart still hammering like it wanted to chase after him.

“Who was that?” I whispered to the empty, luxurious room.

And more importantly… where the hell had I just woken up in?