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Episode 137
Last Updated:
2025-09-06 23:55:11
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BOUGHT BY CRUELEST ALPHA Episode 138
The old, paranoid fear, the one I thought we’d buried, uncoils in my gut. Cold. Familiar. He’s leaving. He’s going to leave you. It’s the fear from the beginning, from when he was just a ghost and I was just a cage. It’s back.I try to bridge the gap. A gentle nudge through the bond during dinner. You’re quiet tonight.His smile is a brittle thing. Just tired, my love. The endearment feels rehearsed. A word from a script. Through the Graft, I feel nothing but a careful, guarded wall.He starts spending time in the old workshop, a part of the ship we’d sealed off after his rebirth. He says he’s cataloging remnants. Preserving memories. But the Graft, even muted, tells a different story. I feel intense, focused concentration. A grim determination. And underneath it, a current of deep, sorrowful resolve that makes my blood run cold.He’s hiding something. Building something.The Debt’s final words echo in my own memory, a poison I’d tried to forget: “The last breath is always the one tha
BOUGHT BY CRUELEST ALPHA Episode 137
Now their movements are sharp, jagged. Their auras pulse. Lily-Arthur. Lily-Arthur. Not their own rhythm. Ours.Then the stone-shapers, a pair of hulking, silent beings who reinforce the foundations. Their usual, slow, grinding patience is gone. Replaced by a frantic, almost angry energy that mirrors Arthur’s possessive intensity. I feel their chisels strike stone in time with the frantic hammer of my own heart when I’m afraid of losing him.It’s not just mimicry. It’s absorption. Our private, sacred rhythm is leaking. Spilling out of us and into them, forcing their hearts, their emotions, into sync with ours. A cult. A hive mind. And we’re the unwilling, horrified queen and king.The horror is a physical nausea. I feel their adoration—a sickly-sweet, worshipful tide that makes me want to claw my skin off. I feel their resentment—a bitter, metallic tang at the back of my throat, their anger at being forced into this intimacy. Worst of all, I feel their pathetic, clumsy attempts to rep
BOUGHT BY CRUELEST ALPHA Episode 136
It’s just there. One morning. Where a wall of throbbing, veined stone was, now there is a door. Plain. Unvarnished wood. A simple brass knob. It doesn’t belong. It’s an obscenity of normalcy in our living cathedral of flesh and stone.We both feel it at the same time. A jolt through the Graft. Not recognition. The opposite. A void. A blank spot in our shared perception. This thing was not made by us. Not by our love, our pain, our power. It is alien. Not with sound. With promise. The idea slips into the space between our thoughts, cool and smooth as a knife blade.*Your life without the Graft. Your individual selves. Just turn the key.*The key. It’s in the lock. A simple, old-fashioned iron key.The temptation is not a thought. It’s a physical pull. A yawning hunger in the pit of my stomach that has nothing to do with Arthur, and everything to do with *me*. Just Lily. Alone in her own skin. The terrifying, glorious silence of her own mind. No shared heartbeat. No borrowed pain. No c
BOUGHT BY CRUELEST ALPHA Episode 135
The thought isn’t ours. It is the universe stating a simple, terrible truth. The energy I poured into Arthur’s resurrection, the power I ripped from my own soul to weave him a new body… it wasn’t a gift. It was a loan. And the creditor has come to collect.It isn’t a person. It’s a presence. The embodiment of a fundamental law: All things must be paid for. It has no form, no voice. It simply is, a pressure in the room, a weight on the soul, a cold equation waiting to be balanced.The cosmic dread is a taste of iron on my tongue. This isn’t a battle. You can’t fight math.Equivalent value, the pressure whispers directly into my consciousness. For a life reforged. A soul called back from the brink. Payment is due.Images, suggestions, flicker in my mind, offered not with malice, but with the cold neutrality of a scale. Our memories of our first meeting—the dizzying cocktail of attraction and fear, the scent of rain on his ship’s deck. Our capacity to feel joy—the simple, uncomplicated w
BOUGHT BY CRUELEST ALPHA Episode 134
It’s not a gentle sharing. It’s a violent usurpation. One moment, Arthur is standing by the bed, his face a mask of concern. The next, his eyes widen. A violent shudder wracks his powerful frame. His skin, usually so warm and alive, pales to a sickly gray.“Lily?” he slurs, his voice thick, unfamiliar. He stumbles, catching himself on the bedpost. “I feel… strange.”The role-reversal is instantaneous and bizarre. I am the veteran of fragility. This is my native land. But him? His reborn body, forged in cosmic energy and starlight, has never known something so… banal. So physical. It reacts not with grace, but with a violent, panicked rejection.His fever spikes higher than mine. His chills are seismic, shaking the bed. Through the Graft, I feel it all. The ache in his muscles is a dull, throbbing echo of my own. The pounding in his head is a second, more brutal drum alongside mine. But laced with his experience is a layer of pure, unadulterated panic. His body doesn’t understand this
BOUGHT BY CRUELEST ALPHA Episode 133
The air in our strange, living home doesn’t just change. It stills. Not like before. This is a different quiet. A held breath on a cosmic scale. He is here. Our son. Not the starlit child, not the furious judge. A guardian. His form is less defined, woven from the shimmering threads of possibility itself. He carries the weight of timelines like a cloak.He doesn’t greet us. He offers. The words are not sounds, but concepts laid gently in the space between our minds.I can give you a gift. A single edit. A subtraction.My breath catches. Arthur goes very still beside me. I feel the sudden, frantic leap of his hope through the Graft. A chance to undo the one thing we never could.The moment of my transition, he thinks, and the words are careful, precise. The event of my death. I can isolate it. Remove it from the historical stream. It would be as if it never occurred.The temptation is not a whisper. It is a physical blow. To not have the cold weight of him dying in my arms as a constan
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