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50. Ready for the Gala
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2025-09-22 01:43:58
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Alpha’s Little Plaything 53. The Dance
Draco’s PoV The moment the announcer introduced Loriah’s dance and dinner, my wolf surged forward, claws scraping against my chest. Destroy. His growl reverberated in my head, low and lethal, a promise of violence if I so much as hesitated. My jaw clenched. I didn’t care that Marla sat at the table next to mine, draped in crimson silk like some queen of tragedy, pretending her world was collapsing. I didn’t care that her father, Magnus, kept a hawk’s eye on me. None of it mattered. What mattered was the woman standing under the stage lights, forced smile tugging her lips, her hands clasped like she was bracing against the weight of a storm. Loriah. My mate. My secret, my obsession, my undoing. The announcer cleared his throat. “The bidding starts at fifty thousand.” A murmur rippled across the ballroom. Hands went up immediately. Fifty. Seventy. Ninety. The numbers climbed effortlessly—these people loved nothing more than to parade their wealth while pretending it was fo
Alpha’s Little Plaything 52. The Auction
Loriah’s PoV The second Marla swept into the elegant restroom the air seemed to compress—her presence sucked the light right out of the room and replaced it with something cold and sharp. She moved like she owned every inch of space, every startled breath. My chest tightened. Mrs. Allard stepped forward before Marla could have her say. Her eyes were warm and apologetic; her voice a soft reprimand. “Now, Marla. This is not the place for your theatrics. We are here for the children, not for scenes. Don’t ruin the evening.” Marla’s smirk snapped like a wire. “Excuse me, Mrs. Allard. Sister Nora must be looking for me,” I said, seizing the moment to slip away. “Why are you taking the side of this — this mistress, Mother?” Marla hissed after me, the venom in her tone following me down the corridor. Mrs. Allard’s chastising murmur chased it: “Marla, please. This is a charity gala.” I closed the door behind me and stepped back onto the ballroom floor. The music wrapped around me,
Alpha’s Little Plaything 51. My Daughter
Luna Layla’s PoV The chandeliers sparkled like falling stars above the grand hall, and yet my eyes never strayed far from her. Loriah. My Aria. Magnus guided me through the marble steps with practiced grace, his hand warm on the small of my back, but my mind was elsewhere—trapped between past and present. Marla had insisted on arriving alone, strutting before the flashing cameras, draped in her wronged wife’s colors though she was far from innocent. She wanted pity. She wanted whispers. She wanted to be the center of every headline, every rumor. I let her have it. Tonight, I only cared about the girl across the room. She shone brighter than all the lights in the hall. Her smile was effortless, genuine in a way that could never be rehearsed. And she was mine—she belonged to me, my daughter. For years, I had convinced myself she had perished in fire, blood, or worse. For years, I let guilt eat away at me like a parasite. I tormented myself with the thought that my baby had suffe
Alpha’s Little Plaything 50. Ready for the Gala
Loriah’s PoV Brea plopped down on my bed, clutching her heels like they were weapons. “You know, I swear if Leo even looks at me tonight, I’m throwing these at his head.” Claire snorted, brushing through her dark waves in front of my vanity. “Please, you wouldn’t. You’d just glare at him and then sulk because he still makes your knees weak.” Brea’s eyes narrowed. “Says the girl who’s being whisked away by Marcus Hale, the youngest mayor in history... History! Who even lands that kind of date?” Claire smirked, cheeks turning the faintest shade of pink. “It’s not a date. Marcus and I are… working on things.” “Working on things,” I repeated, tugging the zipper up the back of my dress. “That sounds suspiciously like code for sneaking around with your favorite on-and-off fling.” She tossed a makeup brush at me, laughing. “Oh, shut up! Like you’re one to talk, Miss Playing It Cool With Draco.” I froze, lips pressing together. “It’s not like that. I just need to wait until the
Alpha’s Little Plaything 49. Breakfast and Divorce
Marla’s PoV I glided downstairs for breakfast, my silk robe swishing around my ankles. The dining room was already alive with clinking china and the scent of freshly baked bread. My parents sat at the head of the long mahogany table, while the maids bustled about, pouring coffee and arranging platters of fruit and smoked meats. Niles, our butler, entered with his usual composure, a folded newspaper in hand. He bowed slightly before setting it in front of my father. I smirked, sipping delicately from my cup. “For a man whose whole fortune revolves around technology, you’re still so old-fashioned, Father. Why not just read the news on your phone like everyone else?” He looked at me, the faintest hint of a smile tugging at his lips—until his eyes flicked to the front page. The air shifted. My father’s chair scraped harshly against the floor as he stood abruptly, his knuckles whitening as the newspaper crumpled in his grip. His face contorted with rage, so dark and furious it
Alpha’s Little Plaything 48. Nocturne Night Club
Draco’s PoV I left Loriah’s apartment after she practically shoved me out the door. The taste of her lips still burned on mine, the memory of her in that lacy lingerie etched into my brain like a brand. I got into my car, gripping the steering wheel, breathing hard. What I needed was a cold shower—or chains to keep me from storming back up to her door. I dialed Leon. He answered on the second ring. “Everything’s according to schedule. Marla won’t know a thing until tomorrow,” he said. “It’ll even be on morning television. Imagine Alpha Magnus and Alpha Roman choking on their breakfast,” he chuckled. “I told them, Leon. This could’ve been discreet, but they forced my hand.” My jaw clenched. “They want blood spilled in public.” Silence. Then Leon asked, “Why not just tell them about Loriah? They’d understand. Hell, they might even be thrilled.” “No,” I snapped. “Until I know who tried to get rid of her, she’s still in danger.” That gnawing sensation tightened in my gut.
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