All Chapters of CHOSEN BY THE CURSED ALPHA KING : Chapter 141 - Chapter 150

Emilia’s POV The royal hall was so packed I could feel the heat of every body in the room. Hundreds of alphas, betas, warriors, and their mates filled the marble floor, their eyes all lifted to where I stood beside Maximus. The air smelled of pine, wine, and power. I scanned the sea of faces… and I found him. My father. Alpha Gregor stood amongst the other alphas, trying desperately to blend in with the pillars behind him. His spine was rigid. His gaze stayed glued to the floor. He looked smaller than I’d ever seen him—almost like he wanted to disappear into the stones. Good. Let him feel the humiliation he never cared I felt. I joined my hand with Maximus's hand and squeezed once, soft, secret. “I’ve got you.” He squeezed back, then cleared his throat. The entire hall fell silent so fast you could hear a pin drop. “Thank you for coming,” he began, his voice deep and steady, rolling like thunder over mountains. “We are here, all of us, still breathing, still standing, after

Maximus’s POV I stared down at her, sprawled across my sheets like every filthy dream I’d ever had come to life. Emilia. My Emilia. Lips swollen from sucking me, cheeks flushed, nipples hard and begging for my mouth. Her thighs were still trembling from what she’d just done to me, and fuck if that didn’t make me harder than steel all over again. I couldn’t wait another second. I crashed my mouth onto hers, kissing her like I was starving. My hand wrapped around her throat, not tight, just enough for her to feel who she belonged to. She moaned into me, the sound vibrating against my palm, and I squeezed a little harder, just to hear it again. Her tongue tangled with mine, desperate, needy. I swallowed every little noise she gave me. My other hand found her breast, heavy and perfect, and I squeezed hard. She arched off the bed, pressing herself deeper into my grip, and I rolled her nipple between my fingers until it was a tight little peak. She was shaking already, my sweet, greedy

Maximus’s POV I leaned against the doorway of our bedroom, arms crossed, watching her like she was the only thing in the entire world worth looking at. Because she was. Emilia stood by the window, arms folded tight under her chest, staring out at the snow falling over the mountains like she was personally offended by every single flake. Her brown hair spilled down her back in messy waves, and the firelight painted gold across her skin. She was wearing one of my shirts again and nothing else. My favorite sight in the universe. She’d been grumpy for days. Not just normal grumpy; this was next-level, adorable, fire-breathing little dragon grumpy. Yesterday she yelled at me because I breathed too loud. The day before that, she cried because the bread was too crusty. I didn’t even try to understand anymore. I just let her scold me, kissed her forehead, and waited for the storm to pass. Today’s storm was apparently about the female warriors. “Emilia, love,” I tried again, soft

ADELE’S POV The garden had always been my safe place. A quiet corner of the palace where the flowers never judged and the wind never asked questions I didn’t want to answer. Today, though, even the beauty around me felt dull—muted like my heart. I sat on the stone bench Emilia loved so much, the one tucked beneath the shade of a huge flowering tree. Light filtered through the leaves, warm and soft, but I couldn’t feel any of it. My hands twisted together in my lap. My chest felt tight, like someone had wrapped invisible fingers around my ribs and was slowly squeezing. I didn’t want to cry again. I had cried enough last night to fill the palace fountain. But the ache was still there. Heavy. Constant. Eating me from the inside. Footsteps approached, light but confident. No one else in the palace walked quite like that—graceful yet grounded, like she carried the weight of an entire kingdom but never let it crush her. Emilia. “Adele,” she called softly. I didn’t look up. If I did,

Adele's POV I pushed open the door to my room and stopped dead. The scent hit me first—warm buttered toast, fresh strawberries, and the dark, smoky bite of coffee. A silver tray sat on the little table beside my bed, steam curling from the cup like it had only just been set down. And there, perched on the edge of the mattress like he belonged there, was Lucien. My mate. He was dressed in a black shirt with few buttons open, sleeves shoved up to his elbows, dark hair messy like he’d dragged his hands through it a hundred times. The morning light cut across his sharp cheekbones and made the brown in his eyes look almost violent. He looked up when I stepped inside. For one heartbeat the room was perfectly still. Then his gaze dragged over me—slow, deliberate, like he was memorizing the way my dress clung to me—and something raw flashed across his face before he locked it down. I folded my arms under my breasts and lifted my chin. “What are you doing here?” His jaw flexed. “You di