Page 34 of Cruel Alpha: Season Two

Dimitri laughs, and Creed and I both turn when he speaks. “Know what? I’d bet my left nut this request came straight from Wilhemena herself.”

“You read my mind,” Creed grumbles.

Dimitri stretches in his seat, still smiling. “My only request is that I get an invitation to the cat fight when she and Annalise finally claw one another’s eyes out.”

Annalise has made her grievances known, but I don’t go into detail, keeping my response to my brother vague. “I’m pretty sure she hates them all equally.”

Dimitri shoots me an incredulous look as he shakes his head. “She may hate them all, but the tension between those two, specifically, can’t even be cut with a fucking chainsaw. Mark my words, those two are going to scrap it out one of these days.” He laughs again, but I’m ignoring him, wondering what might’ve transpired right under my nose. “Oh, come on. You mean to tell me you haven’t noticed the dirty looks that pass between them? Thejust-die-alreadybody language?”

I’m afraid to answer Dimitri’s question, fearing I’ve missed something incredibly obvious. Especially with how Creed’s also staring me down at the moment.

But in my defense, I’ve hardly even spared the other women a passing glance. Even my selection of them was about as calculated as throwing darts at a board blindfolded. I simply wanted to get the process over with. Only, now, I’m wishing I’d paid more attention. On top of Annalise already hating everything about this, I’ve unintentionally chosen her enemy as a mate.

“Fuck.”

Neither Creed nor Dimitri responds to my outburst. Tension causes my jaw to tighten as I scramble, wondering how to undo what’s already been done.

An impatient knock interrupts the silence, but before I can invite the caller inside, the door swings open. And as I stare in disbelief, one of the last people I ever expected to see tonight—orwantedto see tonight—storms into my study.

Her dark eyes are fixed on me, and without so much as even acknowledging Dimitri or creed, she slams an envelope down on my desk.

“Caspian Evander Thornhill,” she says through gritted teeth, leaning closer until we’re eye-to-eye. “What the ever-lovingfuckhave you done?”

Her question echoes throughout the study, and my heart races with rage. The audacity of someone barging in on this meeting infuriates me, especially when that someone makes zero apologies for the imposition. But why would I expect anything else from a woman so notoriously brazen and contrary?

My gaze lowers to the envelope that now rests on my desk, and I recognize it immediately. It holds sensitive information that was never meant for anyone’s eyes outside of a chosen few.

“Out,” I say, trying to keep my cool, but it’s no use. “Now!” I shout when Dimitri and Creed seem to miss that I’m speaking tothemand not our unexpected guest. Finally understanding, they rise from their seats and exit the room without question, leaving me to face a ghost from our family’s past.

One who can’t seem to just… stay gone.

19

Under Lock and Key

Caspian

“Explain this.”

There’s venom in those words, spoken by a woman I wasn’t sure I’d ever see again.

When I fail to respond, she snatches the envelope from the desk and opens it, removing the letter from inside.

“You let that man talk you into ruining your entire life, Caspian. And from the looks of things, you just happily signed it all away. Like it was nothing. Like yourfutureis nothing,” Aunt Pen adds.

I grow tired of her staring down on me, so I stand, allowing me to tower over her as I brace my hands on the edge of the desk.

“Careful,” I warn. “That manyou’ve so callously spoken of is my father.”

She scoffs and the sound grates on my nerves. “Yes, he wasyour father, but Evander was my brother long before you were even a twinkle in his eye. And thatstilldoesn’t change the fact that you’re both fools.”

My jaw clenches, and I’m reminded of why she and Father hardly spoke near the end of his life. He found her pushy, opinionated, and generally insufferable. I’m starting to understand.

“All this time, I’ve been following your story through the media, wondering what on the gods’ green Earth would possess you to take multiple mates like you’re some fucking gigolo, making a mockery of your position.” She pauses, narrowing her eyes in disdain. “So, imagine my surprise when I flew into New Eden this morning at the behest of the family attorney, only to discoverthisshit.”

She crumples the paper in her hands, then tosses it to my chest. Hearing her speak, I’m reminded of another of Father’s gripes—she’s got the vocabulary of a sailor. However, that’s beside the point right now.

“Wait, the attorney reached out to you? Why now? Father’s been dead nearly three years.”

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