All Chapters of Alpha’s Little Plaything : Chapter 51 - Chapter 60

Luna Layla’s PoV The chandeliers sparkled like falling stars above the grand hall, and yet my eyes never strayed far from her. Loriah. My Aria. Magnus guided me through the marble steps with practiced grace, his hand warm on the small of my back, but my mind was elsewhere—trapped between past and present. Marla had insisted on arriving alone, strutting before the flashing cameras, draped in her wronged wife’s colors though she was far from innocent. She wanted pity. She wanted whispers. She wanted to be the center of every headline, every rumor. I let her have it. Tonight, I only cared about the girl across the room. She shone brighter than all the lights in the hall. Her smile was effortless, genuine in a way that could never be rehearsed. And she was mine—she belonged to me, my daughter. For years, I had convinced myself she had perished in fire, blood, or worse. For years, I let guilt eat away at me like a parasite. I tormented myself with the thought that my baby had suffer

Draco’s PoV The moment the announcer introduced Loriah’s dance and dinner, my wolf surged forward, claws scraping against my chest. Destroy. His growl reverberated in my head, low and lethal, a promise of violence if I so much as hesitated. My jaw clenched. I didn’t care that Marla sat at the table next to mine, draped in crimson silk like some queen of tragedy, pretending her world was collapsing. I didn’t care that her father, Magnus, kept a hawk’s eye on me. None of it mattered. What mattered was the woman standing under the stage lights, forced smile tugging her lips, her hands clasped like she was bracing against the weight of a storm. Loriah. My mate. My secret, my obsession, my undoing. The announcer cleared his throat. “The bidding starts at fifty thousand.” A murmur rippled across the ballroom. Hands went up immediately. Fifty. Seventy. Ninety. The numbers climbed effortlessly—these people loved nothing more than to parade their wealth while pretending it was for c

Draco’s PoV Greg was already there when the paramedics rushed Loriah into the ER. I tried to follow, but the doors slammed shut in my face, the red No Entry sign glowing like fire against my chest. “Wait outside, sir!” a nurse barked, shoving me back. My hands went to my hair, then my face, dragging down in frustration. My heart thundered, my wolf clawing to get inside, to be next to her. I failed her again. A hand slammed into my chest, pinning me hard against the wall. Greg. His eyes were blazing, his jaw set. “All this is your fault, Thorne!” he spat. “Did you have to proclaim your interest in Loriah so blatantly—in front of your wife, your in-laws, half the city?! You painted a target on her back!” I didn’t even defend myself. Because he was right. I left her unprotected. She left without me. And now she was in there, fighting for her life. “Enough!” Leon’s sharp voice cut through the chaos. He stepped between us, his Alpha aura heavy. “This is not the place, Mr. P

Marla’s POV I stepped into his private office at the penthouse, the air heavy with silence. The leather chair behind the vast desk was turned away from me, revealing only his broad shoulders and the faint curl of cigar smoke drifting upward. "I'm disappointed in you, Marla." His voice cut through the room, low and cold. "Do you have any idea what your mother and I sacrificed to get you where you are now?" The chair swiveled slowly, revealing his hard eyes and the steel glint in them. "How the fuck did you let Draco slip through your fingers?" My throat tightened. "Dad, it’s not—it's that filthy human. He’s obsessed with her. I tried everything, even throwing Aria’s death in his face. I—" "We will get rid of her," he said, his tone final, his gaze unyielding. "She escaped this time, but there will be no next time." A chill clawed down my spine. "Now, if only you had given him a child, the divorce wouldn’t be this bad," he said, tone sharp but measured. "I would’ve disposed

Draco’s PoV Her tension was subtle, but I felt it. Loriah had made up her mind. “If you want to,” I told her, keeping my tone even, “we’ll go back together in three days. Let’s spend the weekend here—just us.” She nodded with a soft smile, then she opened her mouth for me to feed her. I slipped a strawberry past her lips. Goddess, she was killing me. I’d kept my distance these past days, respectful of her injury, holding back every instinct to touch, taste, claim. But she was healed now, and my restraint was hanging by a thread. Watching her lips close around that strawberry, rosy and lush, made my blood heat. My wolf surged forward, practically howling. 'Mark her. Ours. Now'. He was beyond thrilled earlier when we’d found her in the forest—he had demanded to take control, and I let him. He promised not to do something reckless, and I trusted him. But I? I had less restraint than my wolf. All I wanted now was to dismiss the staff, lock the doors, and ravish her right h