All Chapters of Alpha’s Dark Redemption : Chapter 171 - Chapter 180

Selina’s POVEver since Vera and I watched that damned video, I haven’t slept a single night in peace.Every time I close my eyes, I see it again—Jonathan, my ex, my mistake, sprawled between Lydia Sykes and that filthy councilman like sin had been painted on his skin. Lydia’s laugh echoes in my mind, shrill and fake, and Jonathan’s smirk—it’s burned there like a scar.The part that kills me isn’t the betrayal. It’s the realization that Jonathan was never even human.All those years I thought I was using him—thought I was the one in control, the one playing him. Turns out, I was the game. He was the monster hiding behind a perfect smile, pretending to bleed red when his veins ran black.I glance at my reflection in the glass wall of my office. Twenty-five floors above the city, the skyline glitters beneath me. The world looks small from up here. Power has always been my shield—money, law, and authority. I built this firm from the ground up. People kneel to my name, not my mate’s. Seli

Selina's POVIf I had kept my heels on, I could have stabbed someone with the way my day had gone. Instead, I peeled them off at the door and hurled them—one, then the other—down the marble hallway, where they spun like startled prey and clattered into the paneling. I left them for the maid to find, because I could. It was one of the few perks of being the Luna: someone else always dealt with your mess.I didn’t want to think about Lydia Sykes, or her trembling hands, or the way her mouth never caught up to her thoughts. I definitely didn’t want to think about the fact that she made me want to run, not toward her, but away—hard and fast and feral. So I went straight to my son. He was the only person in the world who didn’t make me feel like I was choking on glass.I found him in the sunroom, which was neither sunny nor a room but a slab of glass perched above the backyard. He was crouched on all fours on the settee, shirtless, wolfing down a sleeve of crackers and growling at some car

Selina's POVI counted every step from one end of the carpet to the other, back and forth, the nap of it crushed and wild under my bare heels. My toes caught on a loose thread with each circuit, a metronome for the grinding panic that had lived behind my breastbone ever since what happened the other night with Damon. Three days of trying to look like a Luna, a mother, someone in control. And now, at two in the morning, with the house reduced to bone-quiet, the only thing holding me together was motion.I’d started in the living room. Then the kitchen, in a circle around the island, until the marble gleamed with my sweat where I gripped it. When that didn’t help, I retreated upstairs, reasoning that at least my body would exhaust itself before my mind could unravel me completely.But it never worked that way.I kept pacing, up and down the length of our bedroom, the windows black, the moon hiding its face behind thunderheads. Even the wolves in the woods were silent, as if they knew so

Jonathan’s POVI like orchestrating things. The world tastes better when I arrange the right pieces and watch how people move—predictable, delicious. So when I decided to ask Selina out, it wasn’t a whim. It was an experiment. A test. A lure.She accepted, of course. She always says yes to meetings that look professional, and she always tries to prove she’s in control. That was the plan: pick a neutral place, remove witnesses, and see what she would do when I stopped smiling and started asking the kinds of questions that don’t have polite answers.The restaurant I chose was discreet—a boutique on the quieter side of town, soft lighting, linen napkins. I reserved a booth that allowed for privacy while still letting me watch her approach. Watching her cross the room, I felt the old thrill—hunger that was not purely physical. She moved like a wolf that had learned to look like prey, controlled and graceful, and even now, fully dressed in her law-firm armor, she carried moonlight with her

Selina’s POVWhen Lucas left the room, the aftershock of him standing so close stayed with me like an ache in my ribs. His promise—the cold certainty behind it—settled over me like armor. He had said the thing I needed to hear and then some: he would make Jonathan disappear. He always said things that removed the immediate fear and then left me to deal with what came after.I should have felt relief. Instead, there was a hollowness that none of his vows could stitch shut. Jonathan’s words kept repeating in my head, an ugly loop: your son should be killed, he won’t survive, a boy who shouldn’t have been born. Each syllable scraped against the insides of me until I could barely breathe.Damon was asleep when I crept up the nursery stairs. The small house was quiet except for the soft wheeze of the baby monitor and the muffled night sounds beyond the windows. His tiny chest rose and fell, ignorant of prophecies and court whispers and monsters who played politics with lives. For a moment