The Alpha Behind The Mask-Chapter 65: Little Of Me

Aurora’s POV

I stared at him, my heart sinking straight into my stomach.

Mistress.

Was that really how little he thought of me?

​I stood up abruptly, the oversized silk of his suit jacket sliding off one of my shoulders. I didn’t care that I was half-undressed or that my hair was a mess from his fingers. The humiliation I felt now was far worse than being carried through a restaurant.

​"A mistress?" I spat, the word tasting bitter on my tongue. "You want to keep me hidden in the shadows? Use me whenever you feel like having sex and then pretend I don’t exist when you have to play the Great King?"

​Oliver’s expression shifted, his jaw tightening as he looked up at me from the couch. "Aurora, you don’t understand the pressure—"

​"I understand perfectly!" I snapped, pacing in front of him. "You’re offering me the same thing Raymond did, just with a different name. You want to buy my life. You want to own me without ever truly choosing me."

​I had let the name Raymond slip, but Oliver didn’t seem to care who it was... or perhaps he wasn’t paying attention... because the Oliver I knew would have been demanding, asking who Raymond was.

​I stopped right in front of him, my eyes burning with tears I refused to let fall. "And what happens, Oliver? What happens when the Moon Goddess finally decides to connect you with your mate? What happens if you find your fated mate tomorrow?"

​He flinched, his blue eyes flickering with a momentary shadow of guilt.

​"Would you throw me away?" I challenged, my voice rising. "Would you just toss me aside like a broken toy? You just spent ten minutes in the shower screaming at your wolf that I wasn’t her. So tell me... am I just the whore who warms your bed until the real queen arrives?"

​Oliver stood up slowly, the towel around his waist barely clinging to his hips. He towered over me, his presence suffocating. "It’s not like that. Fated mates are... they are a command of the soul. I can’t control when or if that happens."

​"Exactly!" I laughed bitterly, stepping back. "You can’t control it. Which means I’d be living on borrowed time. I’d be the secret you’re ashamed of, waiting for the day you walk in here and tell me it’s over because you found a girl with a matching soul-mark."

​I grabbed my shredded shirt from the table, clutching it against the jacket. I felt exposed, not because of my skin, but because I had almost let myself believe he actually cared. That he actually wanted something real... but I was wrong... all he wanted was for me to be his fuck buddy.

​"I told you I was resigning, and I meant it," I whispered, my voice trembling with pain.

​I turned toward the door, my hand trembling as I reached for the handle.

I paused for a moment.

A foolish moment.

Waiting.

Hoping he would stop me.

Hoping he would say I was wrong... that he would choose me.

That he would choose me over any fated bond.

But he didn’t.

So I opened the door and walked out.

​​As I walked out of that office in his oversized jacket, I felt every eye in the Packhouse burning into me. The scandal was official now, but I didn’t care.

​Unable to stay anymore, I stepped out of the office, and the air in the hallway felt like ice. I kept my head down, but I could feel every pair of eyes on me. I was wearing his oversized suit jacket over my ruined clothes, my hair was a mess, and my lips were swollen from his kisses.

​The domestic staff whispered as I passed. I didn’t need to hear the words to know what they were saying. I felt small. I felt cheap. I felt like a whore who had just been kicked out of the King’s bed.

​I reached the front of the Packhouse, desperate to disappear, when a black car pulled up. One of Alpha Oliver’s drivers stepped out and opened the door.

​"Alpha Oliver instructed me to take you home, Miss Aurora," he said politely.

​I wanted to refuse. I wanted to scream that I didn’t want anything from him ever again. But I looked at my torn clothes and realized I had no choice. I couldn’t walk home like this. I nodded and slid into the back seat.

​As soon as the door closed and the car started moving, the first tear fell. Then another. Before I knew it, I was sobbing. It wasn’t just anger anymore; it was a deep, stabbing pain in my chest. I had actually believed, for a moment, that I meant something to him.

​The driver looked at me through the mirror and silently handed me a pack of wipes. "Thank you," I whispered, my voice breaking. I cleaned my face, trying to stop the shaking, but the tears wouldn’t stop.

​By the time we reached my apartment building, I felt empty. I climbed out of the car, still wrapped in the scent of his jacket, and hurried towards my apartment. I needed to wash the smell of him off my skin.

​Reaching my door... I fumbled with my keys, my hands still trembling.

​I finally managed to turn the key and stepped inside, locking the door behind me. I felt like a hollow shell. I went straight to the bathroom and turned the water on as hot as I could stand it. I scrubbed my skin until it was red, trying to wash away his scent, and the memory of Oliver’s hands on me.

​Once I was done, I pulled on an old, oversized t-shirt and crawled into bed. I just wanted to sleep for a hundred years. But then, my phone started buzzing on the nightstand.

​I picked it up and saw the name on the screen: Raymond.

​My heart skipped a beat. I didn’t pick up. I couldn’t. My mind was a mess. I didn’t hate him—in fact, part of me felt safer with him than with the King—but I couldn’t talk to anyone right now. I let it ring until it went silent, only for it to start again a second later. I ignored it again.

​Suddenly, a loud, firm knock echoed through my quiet apartment.

​I froze, my breath catching in my throat. I wasn’t expecting anyone. I slowly got out of bed and crept toward the front door. I looked through the peephole, and my blood ran cold.

​Standing in the hallway was Raymond—dressed in black, wearing that same haunting mask.