Page 37 of The Alpha Under My Bed

I swallowed hard, trying to work moisture into my dry mouth, but everything inside me had locked up, my body in some instinctive, useless fight-or-flight response that wasn’t helping me breathe.

I had spent every waking second trying to ignore this, trying to pretend that I could just move forward, that maybe—maybe—this was just some fucked-up fever dream I would eventually wake up from.

But he wasn’t letting me forget.

The phone buzzed again.

I barely had the strength to look.

Unknown Number: Check your account.

My stomach dropped. I knew I shouldn’t. I knew whatever I was about to see would make everything worse. But my body was already moving, acting on some desperate, frenzied need to know.

My bank app took a second to load, but the moment the numbers appeared on the screen, my heart stopped.

A new deposit.

A massive deposit.

And it wasn’t in my usual account. It was in a joint account. A joint account I had never opened.

I stared, pulse hammering, my breath coming too fast, too shallow.

What the fuck?

I scrolled back, my eyes frantically scanning for the sender, for anything that could give me a clue about whose account was linked to mine—who had their hands wrapped around my fucking money—who the hell was doing this to me...

But there was nothing.

No name. No initials. No trace of an identity. Just an LLC. A faceless, nameless entity. Not a person. Not a soul. Just another shadow lurking in the dark. Another invisible chain, tightening around my throat.

My vision flickered, edges darkening, and my fingers went numb, frozen in place as I stared at the screen. My breath came shallow and distant, sounding like it belonged to someone else—someone far removed from the panic slowly choking me.

Then the phone buzzed again, the words on the screen slamming into me like a cruel, final twist of the knife.

Unknown Number: I told you, baby. You don’t have to worry about anything anymore.

Unknown Number: Let me take care of you.

I gasped, a sharp, strangled sound tearing from my throat.

The sickness rose so fast, so violently, I barely had time to scramble out of my nest before I was on my knees, dry heaving over the edge of my bed.

This wasn’t just a claim. This was control. And I didn’t know how the fuck I was supposed to escape something I couldn’t even see.

A knock at my door sent a pulse of cold through my veins.

It wasn’t loud. Too soft. Almost hesitant.

My fingers tightened around the edge of my sweater, unease curling in my stomach like a snake uncoiling from sleep.

I wasn’t expecting anyone. No one ever just showed up at my door.

Another knock.

I swallowed.

Maybe it was Jules? But she would have texted first. Maybe Claudia? But she was still at work.

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