His Alpha Brother Is My Bedfellow のすべてのチャプター: チャプター 81 - チャプター 90

OLIVIA I sat in office, the bottle in my hand half-empty already.The office was dark, the only light coming from a single lamp on the desk. Shadows danced on the walls, but I didn’t see them. I didn’t see anything except her face—Olivia’s face—the last time I saw her at the auction. Smiling nervously, holding my hand like I was her lifeline.Three days.Three fucking days since she vanished.I had turned the world upside down looking for her. Maps and reports were spread out before me. I had torn through warehouses, threatened packs, broken bones. I had offered obscene amounts of money. I had painted the underworld with fear of my name.And I had found nothing.Lyra’s funeral had been yesterday. Alpha Roderick was a shell, his grief a cold thing that mirrored my own. We didn’t speak. We just stood in the rain, two broken pillars, united only by loss and a promise of vengeance that felt empty without a target.I threw back another mouthful of whiskey. It burned, but it didn’t warm th

OLIVIA I sat on Lucas’s lap like a decoration he didn’t want to let go of.His arm was locked around my waist, fingers digging in just enough to remind me who was in control. The dining hall was full of—his friends—all of them watching me with different looks. Some curious. Some disgusted. Some amused. I forced a smile on my face that felt brittle enough to shatter. I nodded when it seemed appropriate, sipped from a glass of water I didn’t want, and felt the weight of every single gaze in the room.The conversations around the long table were a low hum, but my ears, sharpened by fear and blood, picked out the threads meant to be hidden.“...quite lovely, I suppose, in a quiet way…” a brunette murmured to another lady. “Human-looking. Weak.”“Wonder how much he paid.”“She doesn’t look like… his usual type.”“Perhaps he’s aiming for something more… docile this time.”A male voice, deeper and rougher, chuckled. “Let’s hope this one lasts longer than the last girl. What was her name? T

OLIVIAThe silence stretched between us, tight and intense. Jasmine stood just inside my room, her presence sucking all the air. She stood there in the doorway, red dress clinging to her body, makeup perfect again, hiding the marks I’d left on her cheek. She looked like she hadn’t just been slapped in front of a room full of people. Like she was still the queen of this place.I kept my face a rigid mask, showing nothing. I didn’t want her to see how much she still affected me, how her presence alone made my stomach twist into knots.“I don’t have anything to talk to you about,” I said, voice flat. I turned away from her, walking toward the window, pretending to look at the dark garden outside. My hands were shaking, but I hid them behind my back.To my surprise, I heard her light footsteps move further into the room. A soft, humorless laugh. "Oh, I think you do," Jasmine said. Her voice was different now. Not the loud, brash shriek from the dining hall. This was lower, more deliberat

OLIVIAThe kiss ended as suddenly as it started. He pulled back, his green eyes dancing with a wicked, knowing light. He still held my chin, his thumb smearing the blood from my nose across my cheek. I didn’t move. I couldn’t. My body was frozen.The realization crashed over me, wave after terrible wave.He knew.All this time, he knew.Lucas’s thumb brushed across my split lip. “You look good like this,” he murmured. “All messy. All mine.”The spell of shock broke. I jerked my head back, wrenching my chin from his grip. I scrambled backward on my hands and knees, the damp earth soaking through my dress. "You knew," I breathed, the words ragged. "You knew the whole time."From behind Lucas, Jayson chuckled, a low, dark sound. "Of course he knew, sweetheart. Jasmine's little rebellions are… predictable. And useful."Useful. The word hit me like a second crash. I looked past Lucas to where the driver and the maid were being hauled from the wrecked car by guards. They weren't resisting

OLIVIA POV The world was a blur of whiskey and failure. The motorcycle roar had faded to a dull hum in my ears, matching the one inside my skull. The wind didn’t clear my head. Nothing could. It just screamed the same name on a loop. Olivia. Olivia. I guided the bike through the iron gates of my territory, the engine’s growl echoing off the silent mountains. The pack mansion loomed ahead, a fortress of stone that felt emptier than any desert. I killed the engine, and the sudden silence was worse than the roar. It was full of her absence.I staggered slightly as I dismounted off the bike, my body moving on muscle memory alone. I was drunk, but not on the cheap whiskey I’d been choking down at the clubhouse. I was drunk on a poison of my own making—frustration, fear, a guilt so deep it was a physical weight in my chest.I dragged myself toward the doors, my boots scuffing on the stone. My clothes were rumpled—jacket half-unbuttoned, shirt untucked, collar stained with sweat and spille