Page 27 of The Alpha Under My Bed

Neatly stacked. Organized. Waiting.

I didn’t want to see. I didn’t want to know.

But I did.

The first was from three years ago.

I was curled in my nest, flushed and sweat-slicked, my lips parted in sleep. And behind me, half-hidden in the shadows, was him.

A masked figure with a black hoodie covering his upper half, but below the waist, completely bare. His body curled around mine, arms locked around my waist, holding me close like I belonged there.

A strangled cry tore from my throat.

I flipped to the next.

Another heat. Another picture.

This time, his gloved hand gripped my jaw, tilting my face toward the camera, my heat-drunk expression blurred with exhaustion and pleasure.

I gagged, choking on a sob as I grabbed the last one.

The most recent.

My entire body seized.

I was on my back, sprawled over his chest, his arms locked around me, his fingers pressing bruises into my hips.

And his mask.

That bone-white mask, grinning, empty, hollow black eyes watching the camera.

I was knotted on his cock.

Completely bonded.

Bred.

And I looked happy.

A blissed-out Omega, content, satisfied, marked.

The photo slipped from my numb fingers, landing softly on the bed beside the letters that told the story of my stolen life.

I belonged to him.

And I didn’t even know who the fuck he was.

The scent of coffee and something warm, buttery, and sweet drifted through the air, cutting through the panic still clawing at my throat. I barely registered the moment I moved, my body slow, numb, and unsteady as I turned toward the nightstand.

A tray sat there, carefully arranged like a fucking offering.

A steaming cup of coffee—the scent familiar—exactly how I took it, down to the precise amount of cream. A plate of food, still warm, my favorite breakfast. Crisp toast, scrambled eggs, slices of fruit. A small jar of honey with the lid popped just slightly, as if he had known I’d reach for it.

And beside it, a sleek black card.

I stared at it, breath stalling in my throat, my pulse pounding in my ears.

I already knew what it would say before I even reached for it.

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