All Chapters of Alpha’s Dark Redemption : Chapter 91 - Chapter 100

Selina's POVNo one ever tells you that running the world means killing off your personal time. My coffee was already cold, and my inbox glared at me, 61 unread, as if that was my real job. The only thing more persistent than a Tuesday morning was Vera’s heels—click, click, click—like she wanted the whole building to know someone was about to get verbally flayed alive.She didn’t bother to knock. She never did. Vera shouldered the glass door open, dark hair a little too wild for her silk pantsuit, and planted herself in front of my desk. She dropped a file folder on my mousepad and stared at me. I could tell she was pissed: her lipstick was reapplied halfway up to her nostrils, and her earrings didn’t match.“Tell me you have prepared the proposal,” I said, voice flat enough to iron a shirt.Vera folded her arms and cocked her head. “Why would I waste my time on a Mrs. Blackwood wannabe?”That was new. I put my pen down and glanced at her, eyebrow raised. “Come again?”She slumped int

Selina's POVI didn't know anyone could get so desperate for dick until I met Lydia Sykes. Scratch that. Until I met Lydia Sykes and found out she had less dignity than a Craigslist scammer and more ambition than a starving rat. I wanted to be disgusted, but mostly I was annoyed, because I could already see how this story would play out: Lucas Blackwood, the flavor of the month, dicking down a bottle blonde in a glass elevator, then sending her off with the same dismissive smile he reserved for baristas and board members. He promised he would handle her, but that woman won't give up, and I will end her if she continues like this.What I didn’t see coming was her obsession. When Vera told me who she is, it was hard to believe, but it started to make sense with time. I didn’t see her trailing me like a bloodhound in red-bottoms, peering around corners, timing her “accidental” run-ins at every lunch spot on my block. At first I thought she was stalking Lucas, which would make sense, but

Vera's POVIt was almost two in the morning, and I couldn't take it anymore.For the past three weeks, Grant had been stringing me along with his sweet lips and his clever hands but always, always pulling back just as I lost myself in him. First it was the teasing—his mouth on my neck, his fingers tight on my waist as he backed me into the library stacks or pinned me to the black granite kitchen counter. Then it was his talent for knowing exactly where to stop: one knuckle shy, one breath short, one slow grind before pulling away like he'd left the milk on the stove.Tonight I was going to make him finish what he started, even if I had to drag him there by the dick.I padded barefoot down the hallway, silk robe swishing against my thighs, the house as silent as a held breath. The banister was cold under my palm. There was no one awake but me and my need.Grant’s door was barely cracked. I didn't bother to knock; he was expecting me, or he should have been after the way I'd looked at h

Selina's POVI was already on my second coffee, and the clock on my monitor said 10:27 AM. Vera, queen of punctuality, was a no-show. This was the sort of thing that would get me worried if I didn’t know her priorities in life: orgasms first, salary second, and emotional health and existential dread somewhere in the low forties.Still, she’d never been this late.I’d finished the spreadsheet I wasn’t supposed to start until next week and even flagged the inconsistencies in red, a move that would have sent any other junior associate straight into HR, but my direct report had a soft spot for “independent thinkers.” It was the only way I survived this place: that and Vera, who was currently AWOL, probably somewhere getting her toes curled by the flavor of the week.I was composing a mental text—Hey, did you die, or are you in the throes of post-coital bliss?—when the glass doors of the office shuddered and Vera stumbled in, every eye in the bullpen magnetized to her.She limped, but with

Lydia's POVI fumbled the front door open with hands that shook so violently I nearly tore the knob from its base. My breath left a mist on the wood as I stepped into the house and slammed the door behind me, the echo a small, sharp violence that satisfied nothing. If anything, it punctuated the humiliation, sending it ricocheting from my skull to the base of my spine. My shoes tracked in mud and filth—let them, I thought. Let the whole damn house drown in my misery.My father’s voice stabbed from the den before I’d even kicked off my boots. “If you slam that door again, I’ll have you fix it yourself, Lydia.”He didn’t look up from his ledgers, but I saw the flick of his eyes at my reflection in the glass over the fireplace. Disgust curled his lip; I could almost hear the gears grinding behind that stony face as he catalogued my disarray—blotchy mascara, torn dress strap, bruised knees, and lower lip already swelling from where I’d bitten it through.I considered darting past him, esc