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Chapter 136 – Cars, Kisses, and Chaos
Dernière mise à jour:
2025-06-07 13:06:52
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The executioner and the Alpha King Chapter 289 - “Dinner Table Diplomacy”
Paris’s point of view If there’s one thing I’ve learned after all these years, it’s this: never expect peace at a dinner table full of wolves. Especially not when you’re related to most of them. The food is hot, the air smells like roasted lamb and oregano, and Kanella is already giving Nikos the “don’t you dare pick that with your fingers” look. He ignores her and does it anyway. Katerina smacks his hand. Kostas groans dramatically as if world hunger personally offended him by delaying this meal. Honestly, just another Tuesday. “Why is there parsley in this?” Kostas mutters as he pokes at his plate like the herbs are plotting against him. “Because it’s called flavor, you uncultured goat,” Katerina snaps. “I’m sorry, I must’ve missed the episode where Gordon Ramsay trained you to ruin everything green and edible.” “Keep talking and I’ll garnish you with parsley and throw you to the sea.” “Bold of you to assume the sea would take you back.” Kristina’s already giggli
The executioner and the Alpha King Chapter 288 - “The White Wolf”
Eva’s point of view The sea is calmer than it was this morning. The sky has softened into that gentle blue that only appears after a long walk and a short conversation with a boy I can’t quite figure out. Kostas. He didn’t pry. He didn’t flinch. I think that’s what I liked most. He didn’t try to save me. The cabin is quiet when I return, tucked between olive trees and the open beach, far from any signs of the pack. It still smells like salt and clean linen, with a faint trace of rosemary. I step inside, brush the sand from my ankles, and eat something simple—bread, cheese, an apple. It fills the space in my stomach, but not the space in my chest. I rest after. Just an hour. The silence here feels different. It’s not the silence of punishment or loneliness. It’s just… silence. A silence that lets me breathe. But there are still questions. So many questions. I sit near the window where the sunlight slants across the wooden floor, warm against my skin. I don’t say
The executioner and the Alpha King Chapter 287 - “Breakfast with the Wolves”
Kostas’s point of view By the time I make it back to the pack house, I’m starving. Not just hungry—Greek man whose soul is evaporating kind of starving. The kind where I start eyeing the furniture, wondering which chair leg might taste like lamb if I chew long enough. The scent of breakfast hits me before I even reach the back door. Eggs. Tomatoes. Something sugary, which probably means Kanella got up early again. Saints bless that woman’s chaotic love language: passive-aggressively overfeeding us until our arteries give out. I push open the door and walk in like I own the place—which, technically, I do not. But let’s be honest, I’ve lived here so long even the floorboards know my footsteps. “Look who the sea dragged in,” says Nikos without looking up from his coffee. “Let me guess—you meditated with the seagulls again?” “Close,” I say, grabbing a chair and collapsing into it. “Had a deeply spiritual encounter with a barefoot sea spirit. Or possibly a feral cat. Too early t
The executioner and the Alpha King Chapter 286- The quiet sea
Kostas’s point of view The sea is quiet this morning. A rare thing, really. Usually the wind wrestles with the waves by this hour, but today the water rests like glass, only a whisper of foam curling on the sand. I kick off my shoes at the edge of the path, ignoring how the gravel bites at my soles, and walk down the slope barefoot. The beach is empty—just how I like it. Just how it always is. I roll my shoulders, stretching out the stiffness from sleep and training, breathing in the sharp scent of salt and pine. There’s something sacred about this hour—before the village stirs, before the sun gets too bold. It’s just me, the sea, and the ghosts of my thoughts. Except today, someone else is here. A girl. She’s standing barefoot at the shoreline, her arms wrapped around herself despite the warmth. She doesn’t hear me at first, too caught up in the tide, in the horizon maybe. Her white robe clings to her knees where the sea has kissed it. Her hair is unbrushed, tumbling
The executioner and the Alpha King Chapter 285 – The House by the Sea
Author’s Note This chapter is dedicated to someone who meant allot to me—my dear friend Paris. He left this world too soon, and I still find myself reaching for words that don’t exist. But I do know this: he was the kind of person who made silence feel safe, who protected others without asking for anything in return, and who saw the best in people even when they couldn’t see it themselves. In this story, I’ve given his name to a character who carries the same quiet strength and steady heart. A leader. A father. A man shaped by loss, but not broken by it. A soul the sea itself would respect. Paris, this chapter is a small piece of the legacy you left behind—a way to keep you walking beside me, even now. I hope wherever you are, there’s sunlight on the water, and a gentle wind that reminds you how deeply you were loved. Thank you for being my friend, my anchor and a father when i needed you. Thank you for the laughs, the loyalty, and the light. You’ll always have a place
The executioner and the Alpha King Chapter 284 – The Shore of Forgetting
Eva’s Point of View Warmth. It’s the first thing I feel as the light brushes across my face, soft and golden like a lover’s kiss. I blink, eyes adjusting to the brightness, and slowly sit up. The sheets are cool and crisp, the mattress beneath me firm but comforting. I look around. The room is bathed in sunlight, gently filtered through sheer white curtains that dance in the breeze. The walls are pale, almost ivory, and the furniture is simple—whitewashed wood, smooth lines, no clutter. A small vase with wildflowers sits on the windowsill. Everything feels peaceful. But I don’t. My heart beats a little faster as I swing my legs over the edge of the bed. My bare feet touch the wooden floor, and something tightens in my chest. I don’t know where I am. I don’t know who I am. I walk slowly to the window, pulling the curtains aside. And then I freeze. Stretching out in front of me is an endless beach. The sand is soft and pale, the color of moonlight, and the waves roll in like a
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