MasukâI, Amara, reject you, Alpha Damon, as my mate,â Amara said firmly, but her eyes glistened with un-shed tears. Damon felt his heart drop to the pit of his stomach. His worst fear materialising. âNo, I wonât.â He shook his head, his jaw set tight. âI wonât reject you, Amara.â âReject me, Damon,â Amara pressed, already tired of the conversation. âIt would be best for both of us. Youâre not listening to me, Amara.â âI donât want to listen to you,â Amara raised her voice, her chest heaving. âIâm done chasing you, waiting for you to look my way. Iâm done.â âDamon.â Amara. Damonâs eyes softened, pleading. He racked his brain for something to say, but nothing seemed right enough. For the first time, he was rendered completely speechless. Amara regained her composure, and a moment of silence passed between them. The real struggle was holding back her tears because she refused to cry in front of him.
The next morning, Damon stirred, his eyes slowly opening as the morning sunâs rays flashed on his face. Slowly, he forced his eyes open, his groggy mind gradually coming to clarity. His head throbbed and his body felt heavy, but something felt off. The scent in the air clung to him, one that was familiar, yet wrong in the subtlest way. Amara. He croaked, his voice hoarse as he turned his head, scanning the empty room. There was no response. His fingers clutched the sheets, pulling them closer, as fragments of the last moments before he blacked out played in his mind. He tried to sit up, but winced as his body protested the movement. He didnât understand what had happened, but he could remember seeing Amara in his room. But how was that possible? What was she doing on top of him? His wolf stirred weakly in his mind. Somethingâs wrong, it growled. The usual fiery energy dulled. That wasnât her. Damon froze, his blo
âWhy must I wear this wig and put on these clothes?â the woman asked, staring at the dress and red wig in Dariusâs hands. âShush. Keep your voice down,â Darius urged, and the woman frowned but obeyed. Darius looked back at Damon to be sure his brother was still knocked out. When he was certain, he turned back to her. âDamon desires only one woman, and that is Amara. This is her dress, and this wig matches the color of her hair. âIâm doing this so that if he opens his eyes while still drugged, he will think you are Amara. The dress will give you her scent, and the wig will make you look like her. That way, he wonât struggle much with you. âNow do you get it?â The woman swallowed hard and nodded. âGood. Now go into the bathroom and change,â he demanded, handing the dress and wig to her. She took them and went into the bathroom. Darius moved hi
The moment Damon left his room, Darius moved with silent precision toward Damonâs door. His fingers gripped the small vial of spell-infused liquid tightly as he slipped inside, his heart hammering in his chest. He wore a mask over his nose and mouth to shield himself from the potionâs effects. Damonâs room was impeccably tidy, a reflection of his disciplined nature. The faint scent of his cologne lingered in the air. Darius glanced at the closed door behind him before stepping further inside. His gaze landed on the perfectly arranged bed, the pillow neatly fluffed at the head of it. He pulled the stopper from the vial, a sharp herbal tang wafting from the potion. Carefully, he poured a thin stream of the liquid onto Damonâs pillow. Using his gloved hand to spread it evenly, the potion absorbed into the fabric, leaving no trace of its presence. Darius whispered to himself. Though unease c
Damon heard a faint sound of discomfort echoing through the hallway. His instincts kicked in, and he immediately left his room, following the sound. It led him to Amaraâs room, where the door was slightly ajar. Peeking inside, he saw Amara seated upright on her bed, her face scrunched in pain as the doctor carefully worked on her injured legs. Two nurses stood nearby, ready to assist, while the older nurse offered encouraging words. âYouâre doing great, Amara,â the doctor said calmly, though his voice was firm. âI know it hurts, but we need to work on restoring your mobility. Just a little more.â Amara bit her lip, sweat forming on her brow. She didnât want to cry in front of everyone, but the pain was overwhelming. Damon stepped into the room, his presence commanding immediate attention. âWhatâs going on here?â he demanded, his voice edged with concern. The doctor glance
Amara was having breakfast in bed while her two personal nurses were seated in the room, watching her as Amara forced the food down her throat. She hated her condition and couldnât wait to start using her legs. She was used to eating meals downstairs with the twins, but now it seemed she wouldnât do that for a while. âAre you okay? Donât you like the meal?â one of the nurses, an older lady with a low haircut, asked as she stared at Amara with curiosity, noticing she was picking at her food. Amara flashed a weak smile, trying to hide the frustration bubbling inside her. âItâs fine,â she murmured, her voice hoarse. âIâm just not very hungry.â The older nurse exchanged a glance with the younger one, concern flickering in her eyes. âYou need to eat, dear,â she said gently, leaning forward. âYour body needs strength to heal and for further therapy. âThe doctor will not be pleased if youâre sk







