All Chapters of Bound to the Alpha Who Ruined Me ( MM Romance): Chapter 31 - Chapter 40

*************** Steam curls in thick, opaque ribbons from the surface of the water, clinging to the tiled walls of the bathroom like a second skin. Aiden lies curled in the bathtub, his knees drawn tight against his chest, knuckles white where he grips the porcelain edge. The heat is not just a temperature; it is a heavy, suffocating blanket that seeps into his marrow, radiating outward from his core. King Damien’s pheromones from the previous day are the spark, but now the fire is fully consuming him. A thin sheen of sweat slicks his forehead, matting his hair to his temples, and his breath comes in shallow, ragged gasps. A slick, viscous fluid leaks from him, coating the insides of his thighs and clouding the bathwater with his scent. He trembles, the muscles in his abdomen contracting in sharp, rhythmic cramps that leave him gasping for air, too weak to lift his own head, let alone stand. "Aiden, please!" Elias’s voice cracks through the wooden door, muffled but desperate. "O

***************** The silence behind Aiden’s eyes is heavy, a physical weight pressing against the base of his skull. For years, ever since the wolf Voice first whispered in his blood, he has carried this uncertainty—a jagged shard of confusion he can’t swallow. He should be happy to hear it, to know the beast is there, but the Voice has been nothing but a mute observer lately. No visions, no guidance, just the unsettling sensation of being watched from the inside. He stands in the doorway of King Damian’s private chamber, the air thick with the scent of musk and old leather, and lets out a breath he didn’t know he was holding. The bed is empty. The sheets are a tangled mess of silk and velvet, but the massive mattress is unoccupied. Aiden’s shoulders drop an inch, the tension draining from his spine. Relief washes over him, cool and sharp. He isn’t ready to face Damian yet—not before the sun fully rises, and certainly not before he begins the daily chaos of scrubbing floors and

************* Two days remain until the annual Full Moon Celebration, the single most important event in the kingdom. This festival occurs only once a year, when the moon reaches its fullest and brightest, bathing the lands in silver light. Every allied Alpha King, royal family, noble bloodline, and high-ranking wolf gathers at King Damien's pack to celebrate the Moon Goddess, renew alliances, discuss political matters, witness traditional ceremonies, and indulge in a grand feast before the sacred moonlit dance. For weeks, the palace has been a hive of frantic activity. Servants polish the marble hallways until they gleam like mirrors, hang heavy silver banners embroidered with intricate moon symbols, and decorate the vast halls with glowing white flowers that bloom only under the full moon. Kitchens bustle as chefs prepare endless feasts for the thousands of guests expected to arrive. King Damien has barely slept. He is buried under a mountain of royal duties that would crush a

****************** Darkness presses against Aiden’s eyelids like a physical weight, a suffocating blanket of black that smells of mildew, rust, and the copper tang of old blood. He huddles in the corner of the cell, his knees pulled tight to his chest, arms wrapped around his shins in a futile attempt to preserve body heat. The stone floor beneath him is a slab of ice, leeching the warmth from his skin through the thin, torn fabric of his trousers. Every shallow breath sends a sharp spike of pain through his ribs, a reminder of the brutal impact with the ground, but the throbbing agony in his left arm is a relentless, pounding drum. He buries his face in his knees, shoulders shaking with silent sobs. The tears are hot and fast, tracking paths through the grime and blood caked on his cheeks. The scene plays out behind his closed eyes in an endless, torturous loop. The flash of silver. The warm spray of blood across his face. The look in Wayne’s eyes—not just anger, but a shattere

************** Time dissolves into a blur of agony and damp stone. Days bleed into one another, marked only by the rhythmic cruelty of the guards. They drag Aiden from the darkness of his cell, their hands rough and invasive, hauling him to the interrogation room where the air smells of old copper and fear. The question is always the same, a broken record skipping in the silence. "Who sent you, you filthy traitor?" Aiden hangs from the shackles, his wrists raw and weeping, his body trembling with exhaustion. "I don't know," he gasps, his voice cracking. "I don't know anything." They don't believe him. They never do. The lash whistles through the air, biting into his skin, or the electricity crackles against his flesh, forcing screams from his throat that he doesn't recognize as his own. They break him, over and over, until he is a heap of shivering meat on the floor, until he can barely remember his own name, let alone a conspiracy. Then they throw him back into the cell, the