Lahat ng Kabanata ng Sold To The Monster Alpha: Kabanata 31 - Kabanata 40

Dominic’s POVThe sudden, sharp shift of the mattress woke me the exact second the dawn fully broke over the horizon.My eyes snapped open. Cynthia—no, the girl wearing her name—was already sitting up beside me, her uninjured hand pushing the sable blankets away from her waist. We were so close our faces were nearly touching, the pale morning light illuminating every sharp line of her profile.I looked at her, my analytical gaze scanning her features, trying to read the shift in her aura. Was she going to scream? Was she going to slide back into the terror of the night before?But as she met my eyes, her expression instantly locked into place. The raw, bleeding vulnerability from the dark had vanished, replaced by that familiar, composed, unreadable mask. She was collected. She was completely pulling her old, fierce self back together right in front of my eyes.Without saying a word, she slid her legs over the edge of the mattress, letting go of my warmth as she tried to stand up

Rosalie’s POV The vibration of his voice—that terrifying, low baritone—still hung in the sweltering air of the sanctuary, a physical pressure that seemed to rattle the very bones in my chest. *“Remember who owns the cliff.”* I sat perfectly rigid beneath the dense weight of the sable blankets, my fingers unconsciously curling into the plush fur. Every muscle in my body was locked, bracing against the sudden, violent shift in the room’s atmosphere. The transition was so abrupt it made my stomach turn; the blistering, raw heat of his bare torso was gone, replaced by a wall of sub-zero, royal detachment. Dominic stood tall at the edge of the mattress, his broad shoulders squared as he drew the cold, unyielding mask of the sovereign seamlessly back over his features. His gold eyes, which had burned with such desperate, unvarnished intensity while he held me through the dark, had narrowed into hardened, lethal slits.He looked exactly like the heartless tyrant the realm feared. The mons

Rosalie POVThe morning light filtering through the high, arched windows of the Crimson Wing felt entirely abrasive. I spent hours sitting stiffly at my vanity console, forcing my hands to remain steady as I went through the clinical, mechanical motions of rebuilding my armor. I brushed out my damp hair, twisted it into a tight, flawless knot at the base of my neck, and applied enough cosmetics to completely erase the bloodless, haunted hollows beneath my eyes. I chose a structured, high-collared gown of slate-grey wool—a color that felt as cold and unyielding as the logic dictating my movements.Internally, the frantic, suffocating panic of the previous night had settled into a dead, icy baseline. I was no longer a prey animal running from a hunter. I was a strategist calculating the exact trajectory of my own destruction.By the time I stepped out of my quarters, leaving a quiet, still-wary Gemma behind, my mind had thoroughly rehearsed the script. I knew the layout of the palace

Rosalie’s POVThe heavy oak door of the suite clicked shut behind me, the sound echoing with the definitive weight of a vault sealing.I stood in the center of a massive, heavily fortified chamber deep within the King’s private wing. The room was draped in dark velvet and shadowed stone, but what caught my attention—what sent a sharp, icy jolt of horror straight through my chest—was the arched threshold on the far wall. The adjoining door was ajar, offering a direct, unobstructed view into Dominic’s personal bedroom. I was completely isolated in his territory, left alone in a deafening silence where every tick of the mantle clock felt like a countdown.The quiet didn't last long.The heavy main latch turned, and Dominic entered. He didn’t storm in. He didn’t slam the door. He walked with a slow, predatory calmness, unpinning his heavy formal cloak and tossing it carelessly onto a leather armchair. Beneath it, his black and gold military regalia was immaculate, his posture complete

Dominic’s POVThe moment the heavy latch of the adjoining door clicked into place, the absolute, unyielding mask I had worn in front of the High Council fractured into a thousand jagged pieces.I threw myself across my master suite like a caged beast, a violent, terrifying rage exploding from the center of my chest. A low, feral snarl ripped from my throat, vibrating against the shadowed stone walls. I slammed my fist into the heavy mahogany pillars of my bed, the solid wood splintering under the raw force of my knuckles, but the physical pain was nothing compared to the suffocating, white-hot agony burning through my veins.In ten years of sovereign rule, through border wars, public executions, and ruthless political betrayals, no one had ever made a fool out of me. No one. But *she* did.The depth of the wound was sickening. I had truly believed her. When she was trembling in that boiler room, when she was weeping in my arms in the dark, I had felt a profound, alien urge to prot