Kiara

Kiara

He shifted his gaze to the files on the table. “Go make something to eat. I’m starving.”

I blinked. The seductive smile I’d practiced faltered.

“Maybe you’re confused,” I said, my voice dripping with false bravado. “You didn't call me here to cook, Thomas. I came here to sleep with you. Fuck me and let me go.”

Thomas moved.

He didn't walk; he prowled. In a flash of Alpha speed, he was in my space.

He hooked his thumb under my chin and tilted my head back. Thomas forced my eyes to lock onto his emerald, predatory stare.

"You’re being paid to do what I say," he hissed. His breath warm against my lips. "But it seems you’re too desperate, Kiara. Don't worry. I’ll quench all your thirst tonight."

I glared at him. My heart hammered a rhythm of pure defiance.

He was mocking me. I pushed against his chest.

“As you wish, sir..” My voice dripping with professionalism.

I turned and walked toward the kitchen. The familiar layout of the marble counters felt like a slap in the face.

During our marriage, I had spent hours here. I had learned every one of his favorite recipes from the pack chef.

I had poured my heart into every meal, hoping a well-cooked dinner would make him see me.

He never did. He never even looked at the plates I set out. He’d walk past me like I was part of the furniture.

I started cooking. The sizzle of the pan and the aroma of spices filled the air. I could feel his eyes on my back.

From the corner of my eye, I saw him sitting at the dining table. A strange, dark smile played on his lips as he watched me move.

When the meal was finished, I set the plate in front of him. The steam rose between us, smelling of the effort I used to waste on him.

"Sit," Thomas said. He gestured to the chair opposite him. Luna queen’s place. The place I left a year ago.

"No, thanks," I snapped and wiped my hands on a towel. "I’m not hungry."

Thomas didn't growl. Instead, he reached for a second plate. He served a portion of the food—my favorite parts—and set it down firmly on the table.

I froze. I stared at the plate, then at him. He had never done this.

Not once.

"Eat," he commanded. His eyes traced the pulse in my throat. "We’ve got a long session ahead of us tonight. I don't want you passing out like a weakling this time."

He pointed at the chair. It wasn't an invitation. It was an order.

A command from Alpha King Thomas that no one could deny.

My stomach twisted—half from hunger and half from the terrifying realization that tonight, he planned to do much more than just break my body.

I sat down. The chair felt like a throne of thorns. How easily I used to sit on this chair once. Now it felt like a burden. As if I knew I don’t belong to this chair. I never did.

“What are you staring at? Start eating? We should be in the bedroom by nine.” Alpha king Thomas smirked.

I picked up the fork. My hand trembled so slightly I hoped he wouldn't notice.

I stared at the food I had prepared. It was exactly what he liked—the way I used to make it every night for a year, only to scrape it into the trash while I cried in the dark.

A bitter laugh bubbled in my throat, but I choked it back.

During our marriage, this was my only dream. Just one meal. Just one moment where we sat across from each other like a normal couple, instead of him treating me like a plague he was forced to endure. I

 had prayed for this. I had begged the Moon Goddess for it.

Now, my prayer had been answered. But the cost was my dignity. A red silk dress, and a cheque that proved I was nothing more than a commodity.

I took a bite. It tasted like ash and irony. But then he asked something and my heart stopped beating.