All Chapters of The Unexpected Fated Mate: Chapter 21 - Chapter 30

Anna Back at the estate, the familiar gates opened as Michael’s SUV pulled through. The ride had been quiet, tense. Anna leaned against the window, her eyes on the passing trees, Ethan snuggled against her side, still groggy from the hospital and everything that had transpired. Michael sat beside them, unusually quiet—his thoughts clearly elsewhere. As they entered the foyer, one of the security guards approached and handed Anna her belongings. Her phone buzzed as soon as it landed in her palm—dozens of missed calls and texts. The screen lit up with names: Ally, Monica, Dawn. Her thumb hovered over Dawn’s name first. She stepped to the side, dialing as her hands trembled slightly. “Anna?” Dawn’s voice cracked through the speaker, heavy with worry and barely held-together relief. “Oh my God. Are you okay? Is Ethan okay? I’ve been going crazy.” “We’re okay,” Anna said softly, swallowing the knot in her throat. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you.” Dawn exhaled loudly

Anna The sun had barely crept past the edge of the horizon when I stirred awake. For a moment, I was wrapped in the comfort of warm sheets, the faint scent of Michael on the pillow beside me grounding me in a fleeting peace. But then the memories started to return. Not all at once—but enough. The cold. The cage. Ethan’s screams. The shadows. And a voice… “Damon will be pleased…” The name echoed inside me like a threat. I sat up, rubbing my temple. My heartbeat was already picking up, and I knew I had to tell him. I slipped from the bed and padded down the hallway toward the bathroom. The sound of running water met me as I stepped into the doorway. Michael was already up and showering. Steam filled the air, warm and thick, and through it I could make out his silhouette moving behind the frosted glass. “Michael?” I called softly. The water turned off almost instantly. A moment later, he stepped out, a towel wrapped around his waist, droplets clinging to his chest

Michael The house was quiet when I stepped inside, save for the low hum of distant laughter and the faint echo of music lingering from earlier in the evening. I could still smell the charcuterie boards and sun-warmed pool water in the air. The day had been long—meetings, phone calls, and, most pressing of all, the ever-present headache that was Damon. Every time I thought I had him cornered, he found a way to slither out of reach. My wolf was restless. Agitated. Protective. But I’d made progress… and that was something. I loosened the top buttons of my shirt and stepped into my office, finally allowing myself to exhale. The fire was low in the corner, casting soft orange shadows across the dark wood of the room. I poured myself a drink, just as I heard a light knock. I turned and there she was. Anna. Wearing nothing but one of my t-shirts—her legs bare, her hair falling soft around her shoulders, her eyes filled with something I couldn’t quite name but wanted to drown in. She s

Anna Michael’s estate was quiet when we arrived, the kind of stillness that settles after chaos. Ethan was already asleep upstairs, tucked away under heavy blankets by one of the guards who had practically become family. Dawn had gone to the guest room to freshen up, but my stomach was in knots knowing the conversation ahead of us. I found Michael in his study, seated on the leather couch with a tumbler of whiskey in one hand, his other arm draped along the backrest. His sleeves were rolled to his elbows, the top few buttons of his shirt undone. He looked like he’d been carrying the weight of the entire world on his shoulders. And I was about to add more to it. “I need to tell her,” I said quietly. His eyes lifted to mine, calm but calculating. “Tell who?” “Dawn.” I stepped closer, the firelight from the hearth casting gold over the walls. “She deserves to know the truth. I can’t keep lying to her. You didn’t hear her today, Michael. She was scared. Confused. She thinks I’ve lo

Vivienne (Michael’s Mother) Limited POV The soft hum of conversation and the gentle splash of water echoed through the upscale nail salon, where only the most elite clients could even dream of booking an appointment. Nestled in one of the plush leather chairs sat Vivienne Stone, regal as ever, her posture poised and back straight despite the lavender robe draped casually over her shoulders. Her manicured fingers cradled a crystal wine glass as a young technician worked carefully on her pedicure. “What on earth are they whispering about?” Vivienne muttered, her voice low but sharp enough to cut. Her eyes scanned the room—two stylists and a few women across the way were hunched over, whispering with animated expressions behind barely-disguised glances. “I swear, people love to gossip.” Marla Westin, her oldest friend and a woman nearly as feared in social circles as Vivienne herself, gave a small smirk and sipped her wine with the ease of someone used to secrets. “They could be talki