The Alpha Behind The Mask-Chapter 24: Prove It

​Aurora’s POV

​The room was silent now, but the air still felt heavy with the metallic smell of blood. The bodies of the dead men had been dragged out, and the staff had cleaned the floors, but the scene kept replaying in my head like a broken film. Every few seconds, I heard the deafening crack of the gunshot and felt the ghost of his hands shoving me out of the way.

​I sat stiffly on the edge of the large, velvet bed, my fingers digging into the silk of my emerald dress. My mind was a mess of confusion and fear. Who were those men? And why did he throw himself in front of a gun for me?

​As the minutes stretched into an hour, my gratitude began to sour into restlessness. I stood up, my legs feeling shaky, and walked over to the heavy oak door. I grabbed the handle and twisted.

​It didn’t budge.

​I pulled harder, rattling the brass handle, but it was useless. That bastard had locked me in.

​"Hey! Open the door!" I yelled, banging my fist against the wood. No one answered.

​My anger spiked, replacing the lingering shock of the attack. How typical. Even when he was bleeding out from a gunshot wound, he still found a way to control me.

​I paced the room like a caged animal. I looked at the window, but it was reinforced glass, high above the ground. There was no way out. I was trapped in a luxury cage, waiting for a man who was either a hero or a murderer—and the terrifying thing was, I still didn’t know which one he was.

​I looked back at the spot on the floor where he had stood, imagining the blood soaking through his white shirt. Who was this man? And why did his smirk feel like a shadow of the man who sat behind the mahogany desk at my daytime job?

​"Open this door!" I shouted again, but the only response was the distant, muffled thud of the club’s bass downstairs.

​I was stuck. And as much as I hated him for locking me in, I knew this was his way of making sure I was safe.

​I was about to kick the door in frustration when I heard the lock click. The door swung open, and the Masked Dom walked in. He was dressed in a crisp, new white shirt, looking as composed and powerful as if he hadn’t just been shot an hour ago.

​I glared at him, my arms crossed over my chest. "You’re alive," I muttered, my voice dripping with fake disappointment. "I was starting to hope you’d bled out."

​He didn’t flinch. He just looked at me with those steady, piercing green eyes. "Sorry to disappoint you, Aurora. And I’m sorry for what happened earlier. Those men... they weren’t meant for you."

​"I don’t care who they were meant for," I snapped, trying to push past him. "I want to go home. Move."

​I tried to walk around him, but he was like a brick wall. He blocked my path, his massive frame filling the doorway. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a thick envelope of cash, holding it out to me.

​"Have it," he said, his voice low. "This is for you. Personally. Not for the club. Consider it compensation for what you went through today."

​My anger spiked. For what I experienced today? Really? Will he also pay me for what I experienced six years back because of him? The pain... the torture... the trauma—can he pay for all that?

​I looked at the money and then back at his masked face, my anger flaring. "I don’t need your blood money. I’m a dancer, not a charity case."

​I tried to shove past him again, but this time he was faster. Before I could blink, he grabbed my wrists and pinned them against the wall. He leaned in close, his scent—that intoxicating mix of pine and expensive soap—wrapping around me like a shroud.

​"Why are you so difficult?" he growled, his face just inches from mine. I could feel the heat radiating from his chest, right where the bullet had grazed him. "I’m trying to be nice to you. I’m trying to make your life easier."

​I glared at him, my eyes burning with hate. "Why don’t you just give up?" I hissed. "I don’t want your help. I don’t want your money. And I don’t want you."

​His jaw tightened, a muscle jumping in his cheek. He looked at me for a long moment, his gaze dropping to my lips before snapping back to my eyes. The tension between us was so thick it felt like it could snap.

​His grip on my wrists tightened slightly, his eyes searching mine with an intensity that made my heart hammer against my ribs. "Really?" he whispered, his voice dark and challenging. "You don’t want me? Then why don’t you prove it?"

​I lifted my chin, refusing to back down. "How? Tell me how to prove it so you’ll finally leave me alone."

​A slow, cruel smirk spread across his lips—the kind of look that promised trouble. "Wait here," he commanded.

​He released my wrists and walked out of the room, clicking the lock behind him once more. I stood there, rubbing my sore pulses, my mind racing. What was he playing at? Was he finally going to let me go?

​Two minutes later, the lock turned again. He walked back in, but he wasn’t alone. Clinging to his arm was the blonde submissive I had seen him with a few days ago. She looked at him with adoring, wide eyes, her hand resting possessively on his bicep.

​I felt a sharp, unexpected jab of something cold in my chest, but I forced my expression to remain like stone.

​"Since you claim you don’t want me, Aurora," he said, his voice dropping into a low, mocking tone as he led the woman toward the velvet bed. "Then you won’t mind watching while I fuck her."

​My breath hitched. My eyes widened as the blonde began to unbutton the top of her dress, her gaze sliding over to me with a smug, triumphant look.

​"You’re a monster," I hissed, my hands shaking at my sides.

​"I’m just giving you what you asked for," he countered, sitting on the edge of the bed and pulling the blonde between his legs. He didn’t take his eyes off me. "You said you didn’t want me. So, stay. Watch. Prove to me that you feel absolutely nothing while I take her right in front of you."

​He leaned back, his hand sliding up the blonde’s thigh, while his eyes remained locked onto mine, daring me to look away, daring me to show even a hint of the jealousy that was starting to burn like acid in my throat.

​"Fine," I said, my voice steady despite the chaos in my chest. I didn’t move toward the door. Instead, I walked over to the velvet armchair in the corner of the room and sat down, crossing my legs elegantly. "I’ll watch. I’ve always wondered if you were as boring in bed as you are in conversation."

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