I Faked Being a Boy, Now the Alpha is my Mate のすべてのチャプター: チャプター 41 - チャプター 50

JORDANHeavy rain hammered the reinforced windshield of my armored SUV, smearing the blurred neon lights of the Western Pack slums into long streaks of electric blue and harsh red. I sat in the driver’s seat, gripping the leather steering wheel with white knuckles while the vehicle idled in a dark, flooded alleyway. Three separate vehicles carrying my elite personal guard idled in formation right behind me, their engines humming a low, steady rhythm against the torrential downpour. I pressed the speakerphone button on the dashboard console, waiting for the secure connection to bridge the gap between my vehicle and the central tech hub back in the Southern Pack territory."I managed to fix the cooling fan on the secondary server unit, but I had to salvage parts from a broken microwave to make the wiring hold together," Cael complained through the static-laced speakers, his voice carrying the rough, gravelly edge of a man who lived on synthetic energy drinks and zero sleep. "The ambien

AUTHOR’S POVMorning dew clung to the immaculate, perfectly manicured grass of the Northern Pack's premier golf resort. The crisp autumn air carried the scent of wet pine and blooming mountain heather. Victoria Ashford stood near the edge of the fifth green, holding a sleek titanium driver. A hundred yards away on the adjacent fairway, her father walked alongside a high-ranking Northern dignitary, their distant, booming laughter carrying across the quiet course. Their presence served as a constant, heavy reminder that Victoria’s every move, even during a casual morning round, remained under strict political surveillance.Her mother, Eleanor Ashford, stepped up to the wooden tee marker. She wore a pristine white visor and a tailored navy athletic skirt, completely unbothered by the chilly temperature."I believe I pushed Jordan entirely too far in the stadium bleachers," Victoria confessed quietly, keeping her voice low so it would not travel across the open grass. She pulled a wooden

EMBERLYThe deadbolts on the cottage door clicked shut, sealing me inside the suffocating darkness of my living room. I did not even make it all the way down the narrow hallway before the biological punishment hit my nervous system. The lingering, suppressed fragments of my Heat flared up with a vicious, unyielding intensity, striking my bloodstream like a match dropped directly into a pool of gasoline. My skin burned with an unnatural, consuming fever that made the heavy fabric of my oversized hoodie feel like it was actively melting into my pores. My muscles ached with a deep, throbbing soreness, and my primal wolf clawed violently at the inside of my skull, actively punishing me for running away from my fated mate in the freezing arena. The magnetic pull of the mate bond demanded Jordan Draven’s physical presence with a raw, agonizing desperation that completely overrode my rational human mind.I stumbled blindly into my dark bedroom, my knees buckling as I collapsed heavily onto

JORDANThe heavy, suffocating smell of stale whiskey, expensive perfume, and dried sweat hung thickly in the stagnant air of the VIP residential suite when I finally opened my eyes. Sunlight sliced through the gap in the heavy blackout curtains, stabbing directly into my retinas and aggravating the dull, throbbing headache pounding behind my temples. Beta Ronan pushed the heavy wooden door open without bothering to knock, his massive combat boots stepping over the shredded remnants of emerald silk and crimson fabric littered across the plush carpet.Ronan checked the time on his heavy steel tactical watch, looking down at the massive king-sized mattress where the tall blonde and the sharp-jawed brunette remained tangled in the white sheets beside me. "The hotel administration is going to charge an absolute fortune to replace this ruined carpeting, Jordan," Ronan started the conversation, his voice laced with a casual, dry amusement as he surveyed the absolute destruction of the room

AUTHOR’S POV.The tinted windows of Victoria Ashford’s sleek, silver sports car provided the perfect, undetectable vantage point from her parking space alongside the sprawling university quad. She leaned back against the plush leather seat, her manicured fingers tapping a slow, calculated rhythm against the steering wheel as she watched the morning crowd of students filter past the brick buildings. Her piercing blue eyes were not scanning for simple collegiate drama; they were locked directly onto Jordan Draven and the scrawny academic supervisor walking toward the central science hall.Victoria was not acting out of petty, romantic jealousy. She was a politically groomed daughter of the Northern Council, and she was currently analyzing a highly volatile, active threat to her future throne. She watched the subtle, terrifying shifts in their body language. Following the violent altercation in the stadium bleachers and the subsequent, aggressive hockey scrimmage, Emberly’s posture ar