All Chapters of Falling For The Wrong Alpha : Chapter 141 - Chapter 150

Ryan’s voice was a whisper now, disbelief lingering in the space between them. “So… she chose this… all of it?” His hands shook slightly at his sides, fingers curling and uncurling nervously, and he stared at Vincent as though the man had just told him the impossible. His chest felt tight, and every breath was shallow, like the air itself had grown heavy in the room. Vincent leaned back on the edge of the animal table, one leg crossed over the other, his smirk calm and cold, completely at ease. “Relax,” he said softly, as if speaking to a child who had just misunderstood something simple. “Being a Lycan is a gift. A rare one. And in fact… she chose to do it in her own way.” Rhunar’s brow furrowed, confusion and irritation warring in his gaze. His fingers flexed, hands twitching with barely suppressed tension. “In her own way? What do you mean by that?” His voice was sharp now, demanding clarity, and the edge of it made Fenrik glance at him. Vincent finally rose from the table, movi

Marcus tightened the straps of his black leather gloves, his fingers working with slow precision. The faint scent of iron and smoke clung to his clothes, a reminder of the training yard he had just left. The hall around him was wide and shadowed, tall windows letting in slanted beams of pale light that cut across the polished floor. His men stood in a neat row at the far end, heads bowed, waiting for the next order. They were silent, statues in dark uniforms, but Marcus could hear their quiet breathing, the scrape of boots on stone as they shifted their weight. This was his routine: prepare, plan, command. He thrived in control.Nothing ever caught him off guard—until the sound of soft, measured footsteps drifted down from the staircase.He lifted his gaze, and for a heartbeat the hall lost its edges. Arraya was descending the stairs, the pale fabric of her dress gliding like water over the dark wood. The morning light caught strands of her hair, turning them gold at the tips. With ev

“What happened to Madam Matilda?” Arraya’s voice was small, almost swallowed by the wide staircase. She stood at the bottom, watching the older woman’s black gown sway as it disappeared around the corner. The heavy silence of the hall felt like a weight pressing on her chest. Marcus didn’t answer. He reached for her instead, his hand closing around her wrist. His grip was firm, almost too firm, his fingers digging into her skin. The sudden contact sent a sting up her arm. “Come,” he muttered. The sound of it wasn’t a request. Arraya stumbled forward as he pulled her. The polished marble floor blurred beneath her steps. She wanted to speak, to ask again, but his stride was too quick, his grip too tight. The pain under his fingers pulsed like a small, hot fire, but she kept silent. Experience told her silence was safer when Marcus’s eyes looked like that—hard, flat, glowing faintly with the gold of his wolf. The grand hallway, usually alive with the faint echoes of footsteps and mur

“OK, what do we do?” Fenrik’s voice cracked the silence as if it had been waiting to be broken. The words were small—just three of them—but they rolled across the room heavy with everything he felt: fear, fury, and a stubborn, raw protectiveness that had always lived under his skin. The moment Olinda confirmed that the Lycan king was coming for Agatha, the walls seemed to inch closer, shrinking the air from his lungs. He could already see her in his mind, standing alone, fragile in a way only he could sense, a target for a legend he had always hoped was nothing but a story told to scare children. He stood abruptly, the chair legs scraping the floor, the noise harsh in the stillness. His hands balled into fists as if he could squeeze the danger into nothing. He barely felt the sharp bite of his own nails digging into his palms. “There’s nothing else in my head,” he said too fast, his breath coming quick. “I will protect her. Even if my wild beast is still healing—” He swallowed hard,

Snow stretched endlessly beneath her feet. Cold bit through her skin, though she wasn’t shivering. The desert of white went on forever, silent and empty, until a figure appeared at the horizon—soft, steady, walking closer with each step. Agatha knew that face before she even saw it fully.Laida.Her hair was long, bright white like fresh snow, strands glowing faintly under the pale light of the dream sky. Her smile was faint but warm, carrying both welcome and sorrow. The air shifted with her presence, and Agatha’s chest tightened the way it always did when this woman appeared.“Welcome home,” Laida said, her voice smooth as falling snow. “It’s time to fulfill your destiny.”Agatha’s throat closed, her lips parting but no sound coming. She turned her head, realizing she wasn’t alone. Beside her, Titi had taken form—not just a voice this time, but a white poppy blooming against the frozen ground. Its petals glowed softly in the icy air, fragile yet alive.Agatha bent down for a moment,