All Chapters of The Alpha's Messy Wolf : Chapter 51 - Chapter 60

Mona POVI waited until the first gray light of morning filtered through the curtains.Alessandro still slept deeply beside me, one arm thrown across my waist, his face turned toward my shoulder. The claim mark on my thigh pulsed quietly under the sheet. Every part of my body still carried the memory of him. That was what made the next part so hard.I slipped out from under his arm carefully. He stirred but didn’t wake. I stood at the edge of the bed, bare feet on the cold floor, and looked at him for a long time. The witch’s words sat in my chest like a blade.*If you love him, let him go the only way that will keep him alive.*My wolf began to growl the moment I formed the intention. She knew. She had always known he was hers. Forcing the words out felt like tearing something vital out of my own ribs.I closed my eyes.“I reject the bond.”The first wave of pain dropped me to my knees.It was not sharp. It was total—an agonizing, full-body rupture that started at the center of my ch

Mona POVBy the second day the rejection sickness had settled into my bones like a fever that refused to break.My skin felt too tight. Every joint ached. A low, constant nausea sat in the base of my throat, and the place in my chest where the bond used to live burned with a cold, empty fire. My wolf remained silent—curled in on herself, refusing to speak or surface. The claim mark on my thigh had faded to a dull, ordinary bruise. Looking at it made my eyes sting.Alessandro refused to let me leave the room for long.He brought food I could barely eat. He forced water into my hands. When the shaking got bad he pulled me against his chest even though the contact now carried a strange, wrong edge—close but no longer complete. The absence of the mate pull made every ordinary touch feel like a reminder of what I had destroyed.On the afternoon of the second day I tried to put distance between us anyway.While he was downstairs taking a call with the Beta, I dressed in loose clothes, packe

Mona POVMom came home early on the third day.I was still in the guest room, curled on my side under the blankets, when I heard her voice downstairs. The rejection sickness had settled into a grinding, low-grade misery—fever that came and went, constant ache in my chest and limbs, a hollow exhaustion that made even sitting up feel like work. Alessandro had barely left the house. He moved through the rooms with the same controlled quiet he used during pack crises, but the strain showed in the tight set of his shoulders and the way he sometimes stopped mid-step, as if the missing bond had left him off-balance too.I heard them talking in the kitchen. Mom’s tone started light, then shifted.Footsteps came up the stairs. She knocked once on the guest room door and opened it without waiting.“Mona?” She stopped in the doorway. Her eyes moved over me—pale face, damp hair, the way I was still in bed in the middle of the afternoon—and her expression tightened. “You look awful. Why didn’t any

Mona POVI didn’t see the confrontation happen.I only felt the moment Alessandro’s control finally slipped its leash.It was late—past midnight—when the front door opened and closed with a controlled violence that made the frame rattle. I was still in the guest room, half-upright against the headboard, the rejection sickness turning every hour into a slow grind of fever and hollow ache. Mom had gone to bed hours earlier after another tense, unfinished conversation with Alessandro. The house had been quiet.Then it wasn’t.I heard him come up the stairs hard and fast. The guest room door opened without a knock. Alessandro stood in the doorway, chest heaving, eyes pure molten gold, the scent of night air and blood and raw Alpha rage rolling off him in waves. There was a smear of red across the knuckles of his right hand. His shirt was torn at the shoulder.My heart lurched. “What did you do?”“What I should have done the first time he put his mouth on you.” His voice was low, rough, st

Mona POV The letter arrived in the afternoon, carried by a neutral messenger who refused to step past the boundary line. I was downstairs for the first time in days—wrapped in a sweater that still felt too heavy on my fever-sensitive skin—when the knock sounded. Alessandro answered. I watched from the hallway as he took the sealed envelope, exchanged a few low words with the messenger, and closed the door with deliberate care. His expression when he turned around told me everything before he spoke. “It’s for you,” he said. “From the man who claims to be your father.” My stomach dropped. The rejection sickness gave a nauseating little twist in answer. I took the envelope with fingers that didn’t feel steady. The paper was thick, expensive, and unmarked except for my name written in sharp, unfamiliar handwriting. Alessandro didn’t leave. He leaned against the wall, arms crossed, watching me with that controlled intensity he wore whenever something new threatened the shrinking spac