Semua Bab Married To The Alpha King, Claimed By The Alpha Prince : Bab 11 - Bab 17

I sat in the bath for the second time. The same treatment. The same faces and the same warmth. The bath was a sanctuary of steam and scented oils. It felt like a final act of grace, like a ritual before sacrifice. They dressed me in a gown of creamy silk, its weight a solemn burden, its texture a stranger on my skin. The fabric clung to my every curve, a beautiful shroud for a dying hope. They wove a crown of wildflowers into my hair, each delicate petal a whisper of a life I was about to lose. My reflection stared back at me from the mirror, its eyes hollowed pools of sorrow. I was led down a long corridor. The air grew thick with the scent of a thousand flowers and the murmur of a thousand voices, a human ocean awaiting its spectacle. At the end of the hall, a vast door, a monolithic mouth, waited to swallow me. Beside me was another woman. We both stood on the same like, veils covering our faces. Her gown was a midnight river of silk, contrasted with my own pale attire. My

The office was cavernous, dim but humming with the weight of history. Maps stretched across the oak desk like veins of a living beast. Candles burned low, throwing shadows over my father’s sharp profile. He hadn’t looked at me once since I entered, his gaze glued to the parchment, fingers tracing borders and red-inked lines like they might bleed beneath his touch. I cleared my throat. “Father.” No answer. Just the scratch of his nail against the map. I stepped closer, the air thick with ink, parchment, and the scent of his dominance — a scent that always made my chest tighten, as if the room itself pressed down on me. “There’s news,” I said. “Whispers from the northern border. Another pack is stirring, one not allied to us. They’re… plotting. Preparing for something.” At that, he finally looked up. His eyes, cold as river stones, narrowed. “From where?” I’d prepared the lie all afternoon, twisting it from nothing into something that sounded like smoke from a hidden fire.

Morning crept in like a thief, slipping through the heavy curtains in thin, gray blades. I woke before the sun fully claimed the room, my body stiff against the cold silk sheets. The monstrous bed felt like a battlefield, and I was the lone survivor, heart pounding, breath shallow. The Alpha King’s arm was still draped over me, heavy as a chain. His snores rumbled low, a beast in slumber. I didn’t move. Couldn’t. My mind was a storm, thoughts crashing against each other, relentless.Jonathan. His name was a knife in my chest. Where was he now? In Asante’s arms, her dark hair spilling across his chest, her lips claiming what was mine? The image burned, vivid and cruel. My mate, my fated one, tangled in another woman’s sheets. Would he kiss her the way he kissed me, his hands roaming her skin, his breath hot against her neck? The thought twisted my gut, a sickening ache that made me want to scream into the void. How could I ever be whole, knowing he was hers in the eyes of the pack, th

The underground parking garage beneath the defunct textile mill was a tomb of concrete and damp air. Water dripped rhythmically from a rusted pipe, the sound echoing like a countdown in the oppressive silence. Jonathan stood by the hood of his black sedan, his silhouette swallowed by the flickering orange glow of a dying sodium lamp. He didn't look like a Prince here; he looked like a ghost haunting the ruins of his father’s empire.A low, guttural rumble vibrated through the floor before a pair of headlights cut through the gloom. A battered truck screeched to a halt twenty feet away. From the driver’s side stepped a man who looked like he had been put back together by a blind surgeon—Varick, the leader of the Scourge Rogues. He was a mountain of scarred flesh and unwashed fur, his eyes glowing with the unstable yellow light of a wolf who had spent too long away from the civilizing influence of a pack."You’re a brave one, Little Prince," Varick rasped, his voice sounding like dry le