Chapter 3

(Serena's POV)

Dominic walked toward me, just as I expected.

His pace wasn't fast, but those eyes—deep, carrying a faint gold light—stayed locked on my face.

My heartbeat picked up half a beat. Clara perked her ears inside me.

Miles stepped in front of me.

He squeezed out of the crowd, barely containing the glee on his face, grabbed my wrist, and pulled me toward the second floor.

"Come with me."

From the corner of my eye I saw Dominic stop. He stood in place, glass in hand, gaze reaching past Miles's shoulder to land on me.

Miles leaned into my ear as he dragged me up the stairs. Breath damp and eager, like a dog begging for a treat.

"Mr. Howard says the Alpha's in a bad mood tonight. All you need to do is go up and keep him company—chat a little. Once he's happy, I get promoted."

Word for word the same as my past life.

"Be good. Don't upset him."

The difference—last time he'd slipped heartvine into my drink. By the time I went upstairs my legs were already buckling, my vision swimming. I couldn't even walk without him holding me up.

This time I was perfectly clear-headed.

I stopped walking.

"Miles."

He turned back, brow slightly raised, still wearing that gentle, caring smile.

"Do you remember I'm your wife?" I looked into his eyes. "Your Mate."

His smile froze. His gaze started dodging, looking anywhere but at me.

"Serena... don't do this." Voice lowered, a thread of impatience creeping in. "You think I want to? But I'm so tired of the grunt work—moving files, running errands, being ordered around all day."

He took a deep breath, gripped my shoulders, squeezed out a pitiful expression.

"Please, baby. I promise nobody else will ever know. Me climbing the ladder is for us—to give you a better life."

I couldn't help laughing. Laughing until my eyes burned and something hot pushed upward.

How pathetic. I was already beyond disappointed in him. I already knew what he'd done in my past life. But hearing him say it out loud in this moment—admitting with his own mouth that he was handing me to another man—my heart still clenched like someone had crushed it in their fist.

"Fine." I wiped the dampness from the corner of my eye and smiled at him. "Don't regret it."

His gaze flickered. But greed covered doubt fast—he pulled out a small glass vial and pressed it into my palm.

"Have some water to wet your throat. You might... need your voice later."

Heartvine extract.

Even with me being this cooperative, he still drugged me.

Because he didn't need me conscious. He needed me out of control, weak, unable to fight back—so that man could get what he wanted more easily, and afterward I wouldn't be able to clearly identify anyone.

I gripped the vial in my hand and turned toward the room at the end of the hallway.

"Make sure you drink it." His voice chased after me, anxious.

I didn't look back.

The corridor was long, wall sconces casting dim yellow light on both sides. My heels made no sound on the carpet. Only I could hear my own heartbeat—steady, calm, one beat at a time.

The door was slightly ajar.

I pushed it open, stepped inside, pulled it shut behind me.

Only one floor lamp in the room. Warm yellow light illuminating a small area, the rest sinking into suggestive shadow.

Dominic was half-reclined against the headboard.

Shirt unbuttoned two down, showing his collarbones and a sliver of chest. Whiskey glass in hand.

His irises were darker than before, dim gold light flickering at the edges—wolf half-surfaced.

But unlike my past life.

He wasn't out of control.

He was watching me.

Like a beast sizing up a kitten that had wandered into his territory.

In my past life I stumbled into this room and he snarled, rushed over, pinned me to the bed and fucked me.

But I wasn't going to be the victim again.

I needed him. Pack law was simple—a mating bond could only be dissolved one way: both parties voluntarily swearing rejection. Miles would never let go. I was his only bargaining chip for climbing the power ladder.

But if the Alpha wanted me—truly wanted me—he would tear apart Miles's ownership of me with his own hands.

There's only one good way to make an Alpha do something like that.

Make him believe I'm already his.

I took a deep breath and walked over.

"Alpha."

My voice was soft, gaze dropping slightly, baring the smooth skin on the side of my neck—the unmarked side.

A posture of submission. And an invitation.

He raised one brow.

The glass paused at his lips, undrunk. Those gold-brown eyes held clear surprise—Howard must have told him the delivery would be an unknowing, crying, struggling little thing.

But I wasn't crying. I wasn't shaking.

"My husband said you needed company tonight."

He set the glass on the nightstand, rose, and walked toward me. The pressure so heavy I instinctively wanted to step back.

He raised his hand. Fingertips under my chin, force light but absolute—making me meet his gaze.

"You know why you're here."

Not a question.

"I know," I said.

"Not scared?"

His thumb traced my jawline, slid to behind my ear—where a pulse could be felt. He must have sensed my quickening heartbeat.

Scared of what?

In my last life you already did the worst thing you could do to me.

You pinned me down and fucked me all night, calling another woman's name, branding my neck with teeth marks like a hot iron. I went home covered in bruises, couldn't get out of bed for three days.

Can it get worse than that?

But I swallowed those words.

Replaced them with a damp, slightly trembling smile.

"A little scared." My voice was very small, like sharing a secret. "But I don't want to make you unhappy."

His pupils dilated.

Gold deepening, like melted amber. His thumb paused behind my ear for a second—pressing on the pulse, feeling my heartbeat grow faster and faster.

Without warning, he kissed me.

One hand cupping the back of my head, the other gripping my waist, pulling my whole body into his. His lips came down hard, teeth catching my bottom lip—a little painful.

Whiskey rushed in, sharp and burning. His tongue wound around mine with force, leaving me no room to retreat. He kissed the way he did everything—with total control.

I didn't push him away. Instead I rose on my toes to respond, tongue reaching out to touch his, then pulling back like I'd been startled.

He laughed, low.

The vibration traveled from his chest to my palm. Satisfied pleasure.

He pushed further. One hand slid from my waist down, cupping my ass and lifting me.

I gasped. Legs instinctively wrapping around his waist—he was so tall that when he picked me up my feet left the ground completely.

He set me on the bed, bracing above me. Shirt hanging open, the faint old scar on his collarbone catching a pale silver sheen in the dim light.

He looked at me.

He'd never looked at me like this in my past life. Last time he was too drunk, eyes unfocused, seeing someone who didn't exist.

But this time—he watched me while he undid my dress.

His movements were almost patient—the side zipper pulled down, fabric sliding off my body. When his knuckles brushed my ribs I shivered, and his gaze immediately returned to my face.

After confirming I wasn't resisting, he continued.

Dress pooling below my waist. My underwear was what I'd chosen specifically for the ball tonight—black lace, sheer enough to see the pink of my nipples underneath.

His breathing went heavier.

"Your husband dressed you in this to come see me?"