All Chapters of The Wrong Mate, The Right Alpha: Chapter 151 - Chapter 155

Seraphina's POV The house knows we've lost. It greets us with silence too heavy to be accidental, the wards dimmed, the lights low, the air stale as if it has been holding its breath since word traveled faster than we did. Even the stone beneath my feet feels colder and resentful. This place was built for Alphas. It does not welcome dethroned kings. The doors seal behind us with a sound that feels final. Like a tomb closing. Darius does not speak. Neither do I. We walk through the entry hall like ghosts with cloaks discarded and boots echoing too loudly in a space that once bowed to us. The Alpha crest still hangs on the far wall, our crest, but I know it is already meaningless. Symbols die quickly once power abandons them. I can still see it when I close my eyes. The trial. The circle scorched into the ground. The watching packs. Hundreds of them. Maybe thousands. All of them witnessing. Damon standing across from Darius, bloodied but steady eyes clear with a certainty

Mara's POV The wrong type of silence greets me when I wake up. Not the hush of Damon's estate where even silence breathes with intention. Not the measured stillness of guards changing shifts or the distant heartbeat of a pack at rest. This quiet is empty. Hollow. My thoughts get too loud inside my skull as it pounds against my ears. The first thing I register is cold. It was a moist uneven cold that seeped into my back, shoulders, and palms rather than the crisp coolness of stone flooring or morning air. Earth. leaves. The smell of old rain and pine sap, strong and unpleasant. Forest. My eyes flicker open. I am met with darkness. layered rather than complete. Moonlight fractures into thin streamers that cut across gloom and vanish again as it filters weakly through an unseen canopy. With their sturdy trunks and tangled branches with trees tower like vigilant sentinels. No sounds. No birds. No insects. Wrong. This is incorrect in every way. My head aches. Pounding. Sick

Mara Morning tastes like honey and warmth. Not the kind born of victory or relief those are sharp intoxicating but the quiet sweetness of survival. Of choosing each other before the world intrudes again. Of waking beside him and knowing we fought for this. That we earned it. Sunlight illuminates the long breakfast table in Damon's private dining room, gilding the edges of the china and glass. Light is captured by the crystal and thrown in broken rainbows across the walls. The windows are slightly open letting in the crisp scent of pine and dew. A breeze stirs the curtains and carries with it the scent of the gardens below. Somewhere beyond the estate walls the pack is waking already murmuring with politics and plans and unease. I can feel the pulse of it even from here that low hum of wolves preparing for whatever comes next. But in here— In here it is just us. With his sleeves pushed up to his forearms and his jacket thrown away Damon sit across from me. His hair is still a t