All Chapters of Alpha Logan's Mistress: Chapter 141 - Chapter 150

SERAPHINAI shut the door to my chamber with more force than I intended, the sound echoing sharply before being swallowed by thick velvet and stone. My hands trembled as I pressed my back against the door, breath coming out in shallow, uneven pulls. I had made it this far before the tears came, hot and humiliating, spilling down my cheeks despite every ounce of control I tried to summon.I hated crying.Crying meant weakness. Crying meant losing ground.But the sting on my cheek throbbed relentlessly, a physical reminder of something far worse than pain. He had hit me. Logan had raised his hand to me. Not in private where shame could be hidden, but in the hallway, where the walls themselves would remember.I covered my mouth to muffle the sound that tried to escape me, sliding slowly down until I was sitting on the floor, my skirts pooling around me like a mockery of grace.How dare he.How dare he choose her.I stayed like that for a while, letting the storm pass, wiping my face care

GUAPOThe sound of her footsteps faded long before the dungeon swallowed her scent.Silk and perfume did not belong in a place like this. They lingered only briefly, clinging to the damp air like a lie, before stone and rot reclaimed their dominance. I stayed still long after Seraphina disappeared up the stairs, my head bowed, my breathing slow and measured.Then Giovanni laughed.It was a low, brittle sound, scraped raw by pain and bitterness.“So,” he said at last, lifting his head to look at me through the bars. “That’s your plan? That was it?”I did not answer.Gustavo shifted beside me, chains rattling faintly. “Ignore him,” he muttered, but Giovanni was already warming to his cruelty.“She thinks she is powerful,” Giovanni continued, his voice sharp. “And you let her mock us. You let her walk out of here believing she still holds the throne.”I smiled.Not wide. Not openly.Just enough for myself.Giovanni noticed.“Oh,” he sneered. “You are smiling now? What is funny about this

REINAI had learned, over the years, that peace never arrived without knocking first.It always slipped in quietly, smiling too much, speaking softly, asking to be trusted.That was how Seraphina came to me.I was seated by the tall arched window in the solar, one hand resting over my stomach as Moon Rose stirred lazily within me. The afternoon light painted the stone walls gold, deceptive in its warmth, when the doors opened without warning.“Reina,” Seraphina said softly. Too softly.I did not turn immediately. I let the silence stretch until it became uncomfortable, until she shifted on her feet behind me.“State your business,” I said calmly. “Or leave.”She inhaled sharply. “May I sit?”I finally faced her. She looked… different. Dressed in pale colors instead of her usual commanding reds. Her hair was loose, unadorned. Her eyes were rimmed faintly with red, as if she had been crying. It was a performance so carefully curated that it almost impressed me.Almost.Moon Rose scoffed

REINAMercy, I learned, was not gentle.It did not soothe the soul or lighten the heart the way poets claimed it did. Mercy pressed down on the chest like a stone slab, heavy and unyielding, forcing you to breathe carefully so it did not crush you completely. I felt its weight the moment dawn crept through the tall windows of the castle and I realized that the men who had once broken me would walk freely beneath the same roof as I did.The Northern Castle stirred awake slowly that morning, the way it always did, like a massive beast stretching its limbs after a long sleep. Servants moved through the corridors in hushed tones, glancing nervously toward the stairwell that led from the dungeon, as if the very air carried a warning.I sat at the long dining table alone, fingers wrapped around a porcelain cup filled with warm herbal tea. The steam curled upward lazily, carrying the faint scent of chamomile and moonroot, but it did nothing to settle the tight knot in my chest. My other hand

LOGANThe first thing my son did that morning was cry as if the world had personally offended him.Not the weak, uncertain cry of a newborn still learning how to breathe and exist, but a sharp, furious wail that sliced through my chambers and yanked me awake faster than any alarm bell ever had. I jolted upright in bed, heart pounding, already reaching for him before my mind fully caught up with my body.“I’m here,” I murmured hoarsely as I crossed the room in long strides. “I’m here, little one.”The nurses had learned by now not to hover too closely when I was around. They lingered by the door, exchanging glances, whispering about how the Alpha had missed three council meetings in a row, how he had personally carried his son through the eastern gardens at dawn, how he insisted on holding the child himself instead of handing him off like a symbol or a prize.Let them whisper.I scooped my son into my arms, cradling him against my bare chest, feeling the warmth of his small body, the f