All Chapters of Mated To My Stepbrother : Chapter 81 - Chapter 90

Novah’s POV The whiskey glass was a cold, dead weight in Ashton’s hand. The cool pane of the terrace door pressed against his forehead offered no real relief, just a different kind of numbness. Outside, the moon bathed the manicured gardens in silver, indifferent to the turmoil inside him, inside the hall. The muffled thump of the music, the layered scents of roasted meat, perfume, sweat, and pack – it all pressed in, a physical weight against his chest. He closed his eyes, but the darkness only intensified the image burned onto his retinas: Novah’s face, not as he’d last seen it – scared, hurt – but as he *needed* to see it. Smiling. Hers. *His*.The heavy velvet curtain beside him rustled. He didn’t need to look. The scent – old leather, pine needles, and a deep, steady calm – identified the intruder before the gravelly voice spoke.“Rough night, Ash?”Ashton didn’t move. “Is there another kind?”A low hum vibrated beside him. Jensen, his father’s Beta and the closest thing Ashton

Ashton's POVThe heavy velvet curtain fell back into place behind Jensen, sealing Ashton once more within the suffocating embrace of the pack hall. The noise surged – a tidal wave of forced laughter, clinking glasses, and the low thrum of a dozen conversations overlapping. It washed over him, thick with the scent of pine, damp earth, expensive cologne masking primal musk, and the cloying sweetness of spiced wine. Pack feeling. It wasn’t unity; it was a living, breathing entity composed of ambition, fear, loyalty, and simmering discontent. He felt its currents shift around him like water parting for a stone, dense with speculation. *The Alpha-heir emerges. What did Jensen say? Is he broken? Angry? Planning?*He didn’t walk towards the throng. He drifted, a shadow detaching itself from the deeper darkness near the terrace doors. His movements were deliberate, slow, each step measured against the frantic energy of the celebration. He felt eyes tracking him – Beta Marcus’s assessing gaze

Ashton's POVThe gilded cage of the celebration hall pressed in, a suffocating miasma of perfume, forced laughter, and the low thrum of pack awareness. Loveth’s retreating figure, radiating fury like heat haze, barely registered. The victory – if you could call icy control and veiled threats a victory – tasted like ash. It was hollow, a temporary dam against a flood that threatened to drown him. The pillar at his back offered no real support, just the illusion of it. The moon’s cold eye through the high window was the only truth, a silent witness to the desolation inside him.*Novah.*Her name was a shard of glass twisting in his chest, sharper now after Loveth’s poisoned touch. The pack’s energy shifted around him, a complex current of wary respect, lingering shock, and the ever-present undercurrent of opportunistic speculation. Whispers slithered through the air, brushing against his heightened senses like unwelcome hands. *Alpha-heir… dangerous… control… Loveth… shadow… Novah…*He

Ashton's POV The scent of pine and damp earth, usually a balm to Ashton’s wolf, now tasted like dust and decay. He stood on the wide, weathered porch of the Pack Hall, overlooking the sprawling territory bathed in the weak, late-afternoon sun. Below, clusters of pack members moved with a restless energy that vibrated through the very air – patrols returning, scouts reporting, the low thrum of anxious conversation a constant undercurrent. The search for Novah was entering its third week. Leads, once flickers of desperate hope, had dwindled to cold ash. The pack’s initial urgency was hardening into grim endurance, a collective weight pressing down on Ashton’s shoulders. Alpha Heir. Betrothed. Failure.The heavy oak door behind him groaned open, releasing a wave of stale air and the cloying sweetness of Loveth’s perfume. He didn’t turn. He knew the click of her heels on the wood, the possessive weight of her gaze.“Brooding again, darling?” Her voice was honey poured over shards of glas

Ashton's POVThe engagement dinner wasn’t a celebration. It was an execution.The Pack Hall’s grand dining room, usually echoing with boisterous camaraderie and the clatter of hearty meals, felt like a mausoleum draped in false finery. Heavy oak tables groaned under polished silver and starched linen. Crystal glasses caught the light from the chandeliers, refracting it into cold, sharp shards that stabbed at Ashton’s eyes. The air hung thick with the cloying scent of roasting meat, expensive wine, and the undercurrent of forced cheer – a smell that turned his stomach.He sat beside Loveth, a gilded mannequin propped up in his Alpha Heir’s chair. Her hand, cold and possessive, rested on his forearm beneath the tablecloth, nails digging in just enough to be a warning. A constant, silent reminder of the collar tightening around his neck. She radiated triumph, a sleek predator savoring her kill. Her smile, directed at the assembled pack elders and key families, was a masterpiece of calcul