Semua Bab Falling For The Wrong Alpha : Bab 91 - Bab 100

“Rhunar, what’s wrong with you?” Linda’s voice broke the silence at the gate. He didn’t answer right away. His hands were shoved deep into his pockets, jaw clenched, eyes fixed on the gravel beneath their feet as if the stones had suddenly become the most interesting thing in the world. His shoulders were tense, heavy with something he didn’t want to say. Linda shifted her weight impatiently, her eyes never leaving his face. “Don’t give me that look,” she pressed, tilting her head so she could catch his eyes. “I’ve known you for years. Don’t even try to lie to me. Something’s eating at you. What happened?” “Nothing happened.” The words were flat, clipped, a shield thrown up too fast. “Rhunar.” She folded her arms, narrowing her eyes at him. “Don’t do that with me. Does this… does this have anything to do with Agatha?” The moment her name slipped out, his head jerked up. His lips parted, but no words came out at first. Then, quietly, almost like he regretted saying it, he muttere

“I can’t believe he called me a child,” Linda muttered under her breath, pacing just outside the huge Black mansion. Her shoes clicked sharply against the stone path as she stomped with each word, her hands cutting through the air as if arguing with someone only she could see. “A child. Seriously? Who even says something like that?” Her irritation boiled over the more she thought about it. She mimicked his voice, lowering her tone to something deep and pompous. “‘Let the grown-ups talk, Linda.’” She crossed her arms and jutted out her chin, narrowing her eyes. “Oh please, Mr. Rhunar Vale the Alpha boy. You think you’re the only adult in the world? News flash—you’re not.” She tossed her hair back with a huff, as if closing the imaginary argument. But the air still felt heavy with Rhunar’s dismissive words, the sting lingering longer than she wanted to admit. Linda spun on her heel, prepared to vent some more, but her voice caught in her throat. Someone was leaning casually against t

Agatha’s POV “I don’t like this,” Titi whispered inside my head, her voice curling like smoke through my thoughts. “Something feels wrong. Don’t trust anyone.” I pressed my cheek harder against Fenrik’s chest, the steady rhythm of his heartbeat a fragile anchor in the storm rising inside me. The car hummed softly, the low vibration making the leather seats creak with every bump in the road. The driver, tall and silent, kept his eyes locked on the road ahead, hands gripping the steering wheel like stone. Not once did he look back at us. Fenrik’s hand traced slow circles against my back, each touch grounding, warm, steady. He always did that when he knew I was breaking, as though his hand alone could pull me back from the edge. Still, Titi wouldn’t calm. “I’m serious, Agatha,” she snapped again, sharper this time, her voice laced with a growl. “I can feel it in my bones. Something is coming. We shouldn’t trust this. We shouldn’t trust him.” Her unease spilled into me, a restless

“You must be joking, Marcus! What is the meaning of this?” Fenrik’s voice cut through the thick silence, sharp and raw with fury. His grip around Agatha tightened as if he was ready to tear her away from anyone who dared to touch her. Marcus only smirked, lounging back into the wide chair like it was a throne. He leaned back lazily, stretching one leg forward, his expression dripping with arrogance. Then, with a slow flick of his wrist, he motioned toward the room as though he owned everything inside it—including them. “I want entertainment,” Marcus drawled, his tone mocking, dragging each word like he was savoring it. His eyes darted toward Agatha, and a cruel grin split his face. “You see, I don’t care about your little lycan bitch. My mother won’t do anything except feed on her blood. That’s all she’s good for.” Agatha stiffened in Fenrik’s arms, her jaw clenching as her nails dug into his sleeve. Her body trembled, not with fear, but with a surge of anger that made it harder t

The air inside the black mansion was heavy with silence, broken only by the faint crackle of fire from the hearth. Shadows stretched long across the marble floor, crawling up the walls like black fingers. The curtains were drawn tight, smothering any hint of moonlight. Everything about the room felt suffocating, as if the building itself was holding its breath.Rhunar lay sprawled on the cold floor, his chest rising and falling in slow, unconscious breaths. His body twitched every so often, small shivers running through him as the wolfsbane spread deeper. It was cruel, the way it weakened him—burning through his veins like poison, dragging him down into a forced slumber he couldn’t fight. His face, usually sharp with pride and defiance, was slack now, emptied of strength. His fists, the same ones he had clenched in defiance earlier, now lay open and useless against the stone.Vincent crouched over him, wearing that stolen face—Rhunar’s face. His fingers brushed along his own cheek as