Page 28 of The Alpha Under My Bed

My fingers trembled as I picked it up, turning it over.

Eleanor Hart.

My name, embossed in silver.

A credit card.

My stomach twisted violently as I turned back to the tray, to the food, to the fucking comfort left for me like I was supposed to just accept this.

I reached for the note tucked beneath the cup.

The handwriting was elegant, careful, deliberate.

“You don’t have to worry about anything anymore. I’ll take care of you now. Everything you need, I’ll provide. Just focus on healing. Eat, baby. You’ll need your strength. — Your Mate.”

The note slippedfrom my fingers.

I staggered back, gasping. My legs gave out.

I barely made it to the couch before my knees buckled, collapsing into the cushions as a sob ripped through me.

This wasn’t real.

It couldn’t be real.

A sharp, hiccuping breath rattled through my lungs. I pressed the heels of my palms into my eyes, trying to ground myself, trying to breathe, but nothing worked.

I was trapped.

I was bonded.

A bond was forever.

A bond was forever.

The words slammed into me again and again, ringing in my head like a cruel, inescapable truth. My alpha had already claimed me.

And he wasn’t done.

He’d planned this—thought it through down to the last fucking detail.

The food, the card, the bond mark on my throat.

The chastity belt keeping me full.

I couldn’t stop shaking. My body wouldn’t listen.

My breath came too fast, too shallow, panic crawling up my throat like a living thing—something with claws, something shoving me toward the edge of breaking.

I couldn’t do this.

I couldn’t.

I had to get it off.

I had to.

My hands scrambled for the belt, fingers yanking, pulling, clawing at the unyielding metal. There had to be a way—there had to be a seam, a release, something.

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