Romans de Circeleari

His fiancée.I blink at Rafe like I misheard him. Maybe I did. Maybe the blood in my ears is too loud, roaring too damn much for me to catch the punchline. Except he’s not laughing.It sits wrong in my ears. No matter how many times I replay it, it doesn’t sound real. Not because I didn’t expect it—he’s a fucking Alpha King, of course there’s a woman, probably dozens, maybe even an entire lineage waiting to chain themselves to his bloodline.Still, it makes my stomach hollow out.I say nothing. I can’t.He’s just standing there, arms crossed over his chest, and his silence, the reality, the word—presses down on me like a fucking knife.“Fiancée?” My voice comes out too soft, too uncertain. “He has a fiancée?”Rafe rubs his face, his palm dragging slow and rough though it might scrub this entire interaction off his skin.“Of course, he does, Eris. He’s the fucking Alpha King.” His voice is hoarse now. There’s less rage on it, more resignation. “Half the damn continent throws themselv

I try to push him off again. He doesn’t budge. “Bathroom,” I hiss, voice shaky. “At least take me to the fucking bathroom.” He chuckles, low and unhinged. “Nah.” He drops to his knees. Oh no. He’s not gonna do it here, right? “What—Dante, no—” I barely get the word out before he yanks my skirt down and shoves my panties aside. I slap my hand over my mouth. We are in the goddamn kitchen. The counter hides most of me, thank fuck, but he is underneath it. The Imperial Beta is ten fucking feet away. “Dante—fuck—what the hell are you—” He buries his face in me. Tongue first. Like a fucking animal. No teasing. No warning. Just rough, wide licks as if he’s starving. It's as though he hasn’t tasted food in weeks and my cunt is the feast. My thighs jerk, and I slap both palms onto the granite behind me, trying to brace myself. I can hear the Beta moving in the living room. Footsteps on the hardwood. His voice— “You alright in there, Eris?” I choke on a gasp. “Y-Yeah. Just look

Knock.Knock.Knock.“Ugh, who the hell comes at this hour?” I grumble as I look at the alarm clock on my nightstand. It’s still six in the morning for Goddess’ sake!It’s not the casual kind of knock either. So I would assume it’s not some neighbor borrowing sugar or a drunk kid mistaking the wrong door. It’s stead and assertive. Like whoever’s behind it already owns the fucking house.Oh shit. I know someone who owns this fucking house.My stomach drops.I peel myself out of bed so fast, still in the dress from last night. It reeks of alcohol from the masquerade ball and fear after all the burying. My eyes flick to Dante.\Goddess, he’s glorious. I would drool over him if I’m not already drooling in the morning.He’s sprawled on the mattress, shirtless, his hand still stained red from Leo. There's dried blood on the sheets. On me. On him. My head is spinning, but my limbs are moving before I can think. I take his golden greek body one last time before I really leave the bed. I cross

“I’m not gonna hurt you, Eris. You know that, right?”I nod, but it’s more of a twitch than anything else. Not because I believe him. Not really. But because I just want this night to be over.The nausea’s still there, sitting low and ugly in my gut. The alcohol’s not helping too. I feel hot, dizzy, and uncomfortable in my own skin.Leo’s standing too fucking close.He steps back just an inch—just enough for me to breathe again, barely—and drags a hand through his hair, messy and damp from sweat. His tie’s hanging loose around his neck though it’s trying to choke him. It probably should.“How long’s it been?” he mutters, almost to himself. “Since I last saw you… that was, what, a year ago? You were working in that dingy little clinic. Still talking about finding your mom. Still alone.”“Still am,” I say quickly. Reflex. It’s a lie. A defense. Something to fill the space between us that’s starting to shrink again.He snorts, tilting his head. “Not from where I’m standing. Looked pretty

“Eris?” The voice is deeper now. Rougher. But I’d know it anywhere. My stomach twists as I stand up automatically.“Oh my god—Leo?”His face splits into a grin, nervous but real. He’s taller now. Broader shoulders, buzzcut, face slightly stubbled and flushed. But those same warm brown eyes blink at me like I’m a goddamn ghost.“You remember me?” he asks.I step forward and pull him into a hug before I can think twice. He’s solid and absolutely warm, and smells like woodsmoke and rain. Nostalgia hits me like a brick to the chest. I used to sneak him bread when the warriors wouldn’t feed him. He was just a scrawny Omega’s son back then, barely older than twelve. And now?“You’re so tall,” I say, laughing a little. “What the hell happened?”He rubs the back of his neck, sheepish. “Puberty, apparently. I’m—uh, I’m a pack warrior now. I got recruited right after training. I just got back from border duty in the Northern Province.”“Holy shit.” I grin. “I’m . . . wow. I’m happy for you.”He

Their jaws are still catching up to gravity.Oh wow, what a sight. This would have been really good on the gram.All four of them—including Mia—they all just . . . stare. Blank-eyed. Like their brains blue-screened from sheer disbelief. I can almost hear the dial-up tone going off in Sierra’s skull as she looks from Dante’s perfect, sculpted jawline to my face as if someone’s dropped a bloody murder weapon in her lap and said, "Hey, it’s yours now."I’d laugh if I weren’t so goddamn tired.Mia's eyes flick between us. “Your . . . husband?”I smile, slow and smug, fingers still pressed to Dante’s chest though [I’ve claimed him with a fucking brand. “Mm-hmm.”Her lip curls just slightly—so fast the average bitch might miss it, but not me. Not when I’ve survived being raised in a den full of smiling wolves.Sierra recovers first, because of course she does. “Oh. Wow. You just . . . moved on up, didn’t you?”I don’t take the bait.But Mia, bless her little Prada-wrapped heart, lets her di

The fireworks are still cracking in the sky behind me, but the world’s gone dim.It’s as someone shoved me out of the spotlight mid-scene. And handed Irene the mic.She stumbles closer, all dainty steps and calculated breathlessness, clutching her phone like it’s her grandma’s ashes.“I was feeling so much better . . . and I didn’t want to be left behind.”She says it softly, a small smile, big eyes. Straight to Konstantin as her life support. Leonid stiffens at my side. I feel his little hand tighten around mine. Not Konstantin’s.Mine.He glares at her like a pissed-off cat. “I thought you were dying earlier.”I nearly choke on a laugh, but bite it back. Irene laughs it off. A breathy, helpless thing. “I just needed rest . . . but I didn’t want to miss out. We’re family, right?”Sure. Family.The kind that poisons your tea and smiles while you drink it.Konstantin doesn’t say anything. He doesn’t move either. Which is worse, somehow.Because Irene takes that as a yes and latches on

The car ride feels like getting shoved between a live wire and a ticking time bomb. Leonid’s on my left, fidgeting like he’s got caffeine for blood.Konstantin’s on my right, legs spread, arms crossed, brooding like he’s plotting world domination—or someone’s death. Probably mine.I reach for the window latch just to breathe, because the tension in here is thick enough to bottle and sell as an aphrodisiac to desperate housewives. As I lean slightly, my arm brushes his. Hard. Muscle and heat and everything I shouldn’t be thinking about.His voice comes low. Mocking. Dangerous. “You that desperate to breathe near me, zayka?”I freeze. Of fucking course. Before I can bite out a retort, a lollipop hits his shoulder. Leonid doesn’t even blink. “Stop flirting with her, old man.” I snort so hard I choke on my own spit.Konstantin turns slowly, red eyes narrowing on his brat of a cousin like he’s one sarcastic comment away from putting him up for adoption. “Say that again,” he says.Leonid gr

I should’ve drowned myself in the bathtub the moment the words “trio date” left my mouth.Because now, I’m standing in front of the damn closet, regretting everything about my life, my choices, and most of all, this stupid idea.I mutter curses under my breath as I dig through the mess of silk and lace in my section of the closet, trying to find a dress that doesn’t scream “please choke me with daddy’s money” or “take me hostage.” Something nice. Something normal. Something that’ll make me blend in while being third-wheeled by a bratty child and my emotionally constipated captor-husband.And just when I think I’ll finally get three minutes of peace, I hear his voice.“I need to grab a suit.”Konstantin’s tone is dry. Casual. As if he hasn’t avoided stepping foot in this room for weeks like the fucking plague.I whip around. “You have another goddamn closet. Use that.”He shrugs, already walking in like this is his space. Like he didn’t say on our honeymoon night that he couldn’t stoma

The lounge smells like chlorine and sugar. Leonid’s curled up on the far end of the long cream couch, his stupid tablet on his lap, and for once, he’s not scowling at me like I just kicked his puppy. I sit on the opposite end, legs tucked under me, a little awkward.The sun from the giant glass doors spills across the marble floor and catches in his dark hair. We’ve been here the entire afternoon. God, the things I do for this kid already. He keeps pretending he’s not looking at me. But he is. Every few seconds, his eyes flick up from his screen and shoot me a weird little glare that isn’t really a glare.“What?” I mutter, quirking a brow. His lips purse.“You don’t sit like a normal adult.”Okay. That’s . . . new.“Sorry,” I say with a snort, stretching one leg out and resting my arm over the back of the couch. “Is there a formal seating posture you’re expecting from your soon-to-be pool buddy?”Leonid’s head jerks up. “I didn’t say you could swim with me.”“You didn’t not say it,” I

I’m in Konstantin’s office in a heartbeat. I don’t know why I did that. Maybe I just wanna know why. Fuck, what do I even came here for? I slam his fucking desk. Papers, folders, a pen cup—everything jumps.“Was it because of the allergy?” I snap, eyes drilling into the back of Konstantin’s head as he types something on his laptop though I didn’t just barge in like a lunatic. “The reason you told me to ‘get the fuck away’? Was it because Irene’s skin condition is contagious?”He doesn’t flinch. Not even a twitch. He just closes the damn laptop with a slow, deliberate motion that pisses me off more than if he had just screamed at me. Then, he leans back in his chair, fingers steepled, and looks at me as though I’m a fucking puzzle he already knows how to solve. His lips twitch into a smirk.“Why? Did that get you wet, kotyonok?” His red eyes trail down slowly, unapologetically. “Knowing I was protecting your delicate little skin?”I blink. Blink. What the actual fuck? I mean, I stormed

The hallway’s silent when I pass through it. Not that it’s unusual—this place is built like a fucking mausoleum, all polished floors and pristine chandeliers, so quiet you can hear your own regrets echo off the goddamn marble.I don’t bother going back to the office tonight. Carlos didn’t say anything, but I know he’s starting to notice how often I work overtime. It's not as though I enjoy swimming in spreadsheets for fun, but . . . it’s easier than going back to a cold room where a certain red-eyed psychopath sometimes sleeps.I head straight to our bedroom. I use that word lightly. It's more his territory than mine, like a cage I’m allowed to dress pretty in. He’s not there. Of course he’s not.I stare at the empty side of the bed—the one I don’t touch, don’t breathe near, don’t even let the blankets wrinkle toward. Still perfectly made, as no one even exists on that side. He’s probably still with her. Irene.My throat tightens. It shouldn’t sting. Not after everything. Not after th