All Chapters of Alpha’s Little Plaything : Chapter 11 - Chapter 15

Loriah’s PoV Draco held my shoulders and stared into my eyes, his green eyes searching. “Why didn’t you answer my calls and texts, baby girl? You scared me.” His gaze darted to my cheek. “What happened? How did you scratch yourself?” His brow furrowed with worry, the kind of worry that once would have melted me completely. “It’s nothing,” I lied quickly. “I… scratched myself accidentally.” My chest tightened painfully, the hollow inside me spreading wider. Once upon a time, I would have drowned in his concern, desperate to believe every soft word and touch. But now? Now it only rang false. “Are you mad at me for being gone?” he asked gently, kissing my cheeks. Tears slipped free again despite my best efforts to hold them back. “So that was it?” he murmured, as though he had solved some great mystery. “I promise I won’t leave for long again.” He kissed away my tears with such tenderness that it almost shattered me. He even licked my scratch playfully, claiming that it w

Draco’s POV My father’s words rang in my ears, louder than the pounding of my own heart. Paid off that little gold digger. The growl that ripped from my throat was raw, feral, nothing human. My wolf clawed at the surface, demanding blood, demanding I tear down the insult he had thrown at Loriah. “Careful, son,” my father warned, but his voice was sharper than steel. He was testing me. Daring me. “I am still your Alpha.” I rose to my feet, my fists trembling at my sides. For twenty-five years, his word had been law. His voice had carved the path of my life. His approval was everything. But not now. Not when it came to her. “You can say what you want about me,” I said, my voice rough, dangerous. “But you will never speak of Loriah like that again.” His eyes narrowed, a flash of shock breaking through the usual iron control. “She’s nothing, Draco. A human. A distraction. You shame this family every day you waste on her.” The rage inside me boiled over. My wolf pressed harde

Draco’s POV Five years. Marla called it a celebration. I called it a sentence. Our fifth anniversary dinner was staged like everything else in her world: lavish, glittering, suffocating. The ballroom in our pack’s estate shimmered with crystal chandeliers and polished marble floors. Every table overflowed with silver cutlery, roses imported from Europe, and wines so rare that most of the guests pretended to know their names. Every guest here was a werewolf, though the humans weaving between tables with trays of champagne had no idea. They smiled nervously under the weight of sharp gazes, offering flutes to predators disguised in suits and gowns. Marla basked in it all. She moved through the crowd like she owned the place, her diamond-studded gown catching the light, her voice pitched just loud enough to be heard by those nearby. “The best of society,” she said, slipping her hand into mine, though I hardly noticed her touch. “Only the upper tier. None of those… common peopl