All Chapters of His to Break: The Biker Alpha's Hated Mate: Chapter 101 - Chapter 110

LIORA'S POVThe walls of the pack house felt heavier than I remembered, as though every beam and stone had absorbed years of my fear and humiliation. It smelled the same, cedar, leather, and something wild underneath but it wasn’t home. It was a cage I had walked back into with my eyes open.I sat on the edge of the bed, fingers knotted in my lap, staring at the breakfast tray on the nightstand. The eggs were still steaming, the bread soft and warm, but my stomach turned. Draven’s touch was everywhere in it. His effort. His need. His guilt.I forced myself to look away and breathed slowly. For Marga, I reminded myself. Every second here is for her.A soft knock broke through my thoughts. Before I could answer, the door creaked open and Luna slipped in, her long brown hair tied loosely at the nape of her neck. She looked surprised to see me sitting there.“I thought you weren’t coming back,” she said quietly, her eyes darting to the tray on the nightstand, then back to me. “When I saw

The words fell from my lips, brittle as glass, but my body betrayed me, pressing itself against the cold wood of the door as if seeking an anchor. His scent, dark pine and smoke, drifted closer, and something hot, primal, and unwelcome clawed up my throat. The bond always did this; it made my heartbeat a weapon turned against me, every breath of his presence a temptation I couldn’t entirely smother.I tilted my chin up, forcing my eyes on his. “I’m serious. Don’t push me.”He smiled, not a smirk, not that familiar cruel curve, but something deeper, softer, as if my defiance amused him. “You’re trembling,” he said quietly, voice dipping low, intimate. “And you think I don’t notice?”My pulse roared in my ears. “I’m trembling because I hate you.” My hand gripped the doorknob tightly, a white-knuckled anchor. “Don’t assume it’s anything else.”He leaned in slightly, not close enough to touch, but enough for his breath to ghost my cheek. Warm, steady, infuriating. “It’s not assumption, Li

ALPHA DRAVEN’S POVThe words rattled inside my skull like a gunshot in a narrow alley. Pregnant. For a second, I thought I had misheard her, that maybe it was the storm outside playing tricks on my ears. But her face was deadly serious, her hands pressed lightly to her stomach, eyes locked on mine as if daring me to deny what she’d just said.Pregnant.My chest tightened with something sharp and cold. The air in the room felt heavier, pressing down on me until I thought I’d choke. Of all the games she could play, of all the knives she could twist, this was the cruelest.I let out a low, humorless laugh, one that tasted of whiskey and bitterness. “You expect me to believe that?” I stepped closer, my boots dragging against the floor like lead. “That you’re carrying my child?”Her chin lifted defiantly. “I don’t expect you to believe me. I expect you to take responsibility.”“Responsibility?” I barked out a laugh that held no joy.“You’ve got to be out of your mind, Blackwood. You think

The sun had already dipped below the jagged treeline when I stepped out of the pack house. The sky was a bruised purple, the kind of evening where shadows looked heavier than they should. My bag, a single duffel with everything I owned, felt like lead on my shoulder. The smell of pine and wet earth clung to my skin as I descended the front steps.Luna waited at the edge of the driveway, her fingers twisting the hem of her cardigan. She had been trying all day to talk me out of leaving, her soft voice following me from room to room like an echo I couldn’t shut out. Now, her eyes were wide and glossy in the dying light.“Liora…” she whispered, reaching out but stopping short of touching me.“It’s dark already. At least wait until morning. Let me drive you back to Marga. Please.”I tightened my grip on the strap of my bag. “No. The sooner I’m gone, the better. I don’t want a scene in the morning.” My voice was steady, but my stomach was a knot.Her throat bobbed as she swallowed. “He’ll

LIORA’S POVThe next morning came too quickly. Sunlight spilled through Marga’s curtains in thin golden blades, cutting across the room and prying me awake. I blinked, my body heavy, my head pounding with the remnants of restless dreams. The knock on the door was soft at first, then firmer.“Liora! Come on, soup’s ready!” Marga’s voice was warm, patient, the same as always.I sat up, running my hands through my tangled hair before dragging myself to the shower. The water was hot, sharp, a relief against the exhaustion in my bones. For a fleeting moment, I stood there under the spray and pretended the steam could wash away everything, the taste of Draven’s blood on my tongue, the sound of his broken voice, the sight of him on his knees. But memories don’t rinse off so easily.When I finally stepped out, Marga was waiting at the small kitchen table, two bowls of soup steaming between us. She smiled the moment she saw me.“Eat,” she urged, pushing one bowl closer. “You look like you have