All Chapters of Fated to my Alpha nemesis : Chapter 111 - Chapter 120

“How can you even ask me that?” I say quietly, my voice shaking despite my best effort. Damon immediately notices the change in my expression. His brows pull together slightly. “What’s wrong?” I let out a short laugh that sounds nothing like amusement. “You mean to tell me you really don’t know why?” My voice comes out thinner than I want it to. Unsteady. But still, I continue. “You expect me to just forget the fact that I trusted you and you destroyed that trust?” Damon says nothing. Just watches me carefully. My chest tightens painfully. “You mean to tell me,” I continue, my voice sharper now, “that you don’t know I hold you partly responsible for my father’s execution?” Partly responsible because, deep down… More than Damon… I blame myself. For all of it. Damon stills completely at my words. Something shifts across his face. It isn’t anger. Or defensiveness. It almost looks like confusion. “Michaela,” he says slowly, carefully, “do you think I told my father wh

DAMON’S POV The world forms in fragments and pieces of thought. Like something trying to assemble itself in the wrong order. There’s ground beneath my feet. I think. Darkness presses in, thick and absolute, swallowing the space before I can decide where it is I’m standing. A door closes softly behind me. The sound echoes too long. Too clean. I turn slowly, staring at the familiar hardwood floor tugging at the edges of my memory. But I don’t remember opening this door. Strange. There is a voice somewhere at the edge of my mind. It doesn’t sound like mine. And yet it does. It insists on something I cannot hold long enough to understand. It speaks of mistakes. Mistakes made. The words repeat like they are being spoken through water. I try to focus. But the harder I reach for the voice, the more distorted it becomes. The farther away it gets. Then suddenly the darkness shifts. It doesn't seem to retreat. Just… circle. Like it is making room

DAMON’S POVMorning arrives quietly.There is no thunder like the storm had brought.Just light.Soft gold spills through the cabin windows in fractured beams, slipping between the thin gaps in the threadbare curtains and stretching lazily across the floorboards.The rain has finally stopped. Though traces of it still linger everywhere. Humidity clings faintly to the air. The forest outside smells damp and clean, carrying that sharp earthy scent that only comes after heavy storms.For a while, I stay completely still.Listening.The cabin creaks softly around us as wind brushes through the trees outside.Somewhere in the distance, water drips steadily from soaked branches.And beneath all of it—Michaela breathes quietly in my arms.At some point during the night, we shifted again.The careful distance she had tried to maintain before sleep no longer exists.Her back now rests against my chest, one arm of mine wrapped securely around her waist beneath the blankets.Like my body had re

“What are you doing?” I gasp as Damon’s hand slips beneath my shirt. His palm skims slowly across my stomach, fingertips brushing the underside of my breast just enough to send heat flashing through me. “What you asked for,” Damon says against my ear, voice dark and rough around the edges. “You wanted to see what happens when I stop controlling myself, remember?” “I didn’t mean—” The words break apart before I can finish them. Because I don’t entirely know what I meant. A quiet sound leaves him. Not laughter. Something lower. More dangerous. “Then you really shouldn’t have said that,” Damon murmurs, voice rough. “I was barely holding on before. Now Ruin thinks you meant it.” The name shifts something in the air between us. My breath catches. “Ruin?” His hand stills for half a second. Not gentle. Controlled. Like the name had stirred something dangerous beneath his skin. “My wolf,” he says, his mouth brushing the side of my neck like he can’t quite help h

DAMON’S POV We continue our trek through the woods in silence. An hour passes. Then another. Then another. There’s no exact way to measure how long we’ve been moving, but from the position of the sun overhead, I know we’re well past noon now. I keep close track of our direction as we move through the forest, making sure this detour doesn’t leave us hopelessly lost somewhere in the middle of nowhere three days from now. Behind me, Michaela follows carefully through the uneven terrain. Trying to hide the strain in her breathing. Trying to hide the way her ankle keeps slowing her down. Trying to hide the fact that her stomach has been audibly protesting starvation for the last five minutes. “We should rest,” I say finally, stopping and turning toward her. Michaela doesn’t argue. Doesn’t complain that resting means spending even more time trapped out here with me. She just lowers herself carefully against the base of a tree and takes a long drink from the water