Todos os capítulos de The Alpha Rejected His Bride For Me: Capítulo 121 - Capítulo 130

(Kai POV)My father looked at Julian and said, "Leave us."Julian did not argue. He did not ask if the Alpha required his notes or the current border manifests. He simply gathered his dignity along with his folders, set them on the side table by the door, and walked out. He pulled the door shut behind him with a click that was softer than usual, the careful, muted click of someone making sure not to be heard listening on the other side.I sat down in the chair across from the desk without waiting to be told. It was a heavy thing, dark leather and solid oak that didn't give an inch. My father watched me do it and said nothing, which meant he had expected it. It meant he had already decided how this conversation was going to go, and sitting or standing was not a variable he cared about. He was already several moves ahead of the chair.He picked up the silver letter opener from the tray and turned it over in his fingers. The flat of the blad

(Kai POV)The wood of the door was cold against my forehead. My father’s palm was still pressed flat against the oak, inches from my ear, and the vibration of his breathing seemed to travel through the panels and into my own skin. I didn't move. I didn't pull the handle. I watched a small bead of moisture trail down the brass latch, the metal reflecting the dying orange glow of the hearth.Darius didn't move his hand. He leaned in closer, his shadow swallowing mine against the door. The smell of whiskey was sharper now, mixed with the metallic scent of the silver letter opener he had been gripping for the last half hour."How did you stop the Varden attack," he said.The clock on the mantle ticked once. Twice. The sound of a log shifting in the fireplace was like a bone snapping. I felt the air in my lungs turn to lead. I didn't blink. I didn't twitch. I stayed frozen in the half-step I had taken toward the hallway, my fingers still

(Mira POV)I kept my hand on the latch, the wood feeling rough and damp against my palm. Lena was standing on the narrow porch, her silhouette framed by the gray, heavy light of the lowlands. Her hair was coming loose from its knot, damp strands sticking to the sweat at her temples despite the chill in the air. She didn't look like a girl living in the Silvercrest quarters. She looked like someone who had been running for a long time and had finally hit a wall she couldn't climb over.I opened my mouth. I wanted to scold her. I wanted to ask why the only news I had of her for days came from the whispers at the market or the gossip of the guards at the gate who laughed about the "Lowland stray" in the Alpha’s house. I wanted to ask why she hadn't sent a single word, not a scrap of paper or a message through a runner, while I sat here wondering if she was being fed or if she was being buried under the weight of that stone compound. But I look

(Lena POV)The stack of bowls sat between us, the top one still smeared with a drying film of beef fat. Mira reached out and traced the chipped rim of her ceramic mug with her thumb, a slow, repetitive motion. The orange streetlamp light through the window made her shadow stretch across the floorboards, cutting through the steam still rising from the pot on the stove. I leaned back in the chair, the wood pressing into my spine, and watched a loose thread on my sleeve. I pulled at it, the wool tightening around my wrist."What did he do, Lena?" Mira asked. She didn't look up from the mug. "You don't just walk through that gate and down the mud path because the highland air got too thin. Something pushed you."I looked at the gold coins still scattered on the table. One had rolled into a puddle of spilled water, its face half-submerged. I reached out and pushed it with my fingernail, the metal sliding across the wood with a dull grating

(Lena POV)I kept my hand on the back of the chair, my knuckles white against the dark, worn wood. Mira was still standing there, her shadow cutting across the floorboards, her eyes fixed on mine with a weight that made the air in the kitchen feel thick and hard to swallow. I looked at the candle on the table, the flame dancing in a draft I couldn't feel, casting jagged flickers of orange across the gold coins in the leather pouch."I did it to clear my conscience," I said.The words felt thin, like dry leaves. I reached for a loose thread on the hem of the cream sweater and pulled it, the wool tightening around my waist. I didn't look at her. I focused on the way the water was beaded on the glass, each drop reflecting the dim light of the room before it slid down into the darkness of the sill.Mira didn't move. She didn't blink. She just stood there, her hands resting on her hips, her mouth pulled into a flat, hard line.