Todos los capítulos de The Beta's Castaway, The Alpha King's Queen: Capítulo 11 - Capítulo 20

In the blink of an eye, the day of the matriarch’s eightieth birthday arrived. In previous years, Arabella would have returned to the main estate early in the morning to personally oversee every detail of the celebration. This year, however, she didn't want to lift a finger for a family that would never appreciate her. She lingered in her suite until five in the evening, lazily slipping into the aqua-blue, diamond-embellished gown Richard had sent over, before taking a private transport to the estate. By the time she stepped through the grand entry, night had fallen, and the sprawling villa was already ablaze with glittering lights and packed with elite guests. Draped in her form-fitting evening gown, Arabella looked like a breathtaking siren rising from the sea—exquisite, pure, and utterly radiant. The second she glided into the main hall, she pulled every gaze in the room straight toward her. "Hasn't the young Luna looked even more stunning every time I see her?" "How does

*A fake marriage.* That was the one truth Natalia Roswell never dared to speak aloud. No matter how much she despised Arabella, or how badly she wanted her out of the family, as long as the Roswell enterprise maintained its lucrative partnership with Arabella's family firm, that fatal secret had to remain buried. Natalia pulled a rigid, severe expression, her dry, chapped lips pressing into a thin line of absolute, unspoken authority. "You misheard." She refused to utter another word about the fake marriage. Richard stepped forward to support Natalia, his dark eyes flashing coldly as he glanced back at Arabella. "Arabella, Mom and Dad should be arriving soon. Go outside and welcome them." Without waiting for her agreement, he looped his arm around Natalia's frail frame and ushered her deeper into the hall. Celeste shot Arabella a smug, triumphant look, sliding her arm through Natalia's other side with sickening intimacy. The three of them chattered and laughed together, look

Elena glanced at Arabella, making no effort to hide the sheer, icy contempt in her eyes. She turned to the tear-streaked Celeste, gently pulling her up and wiping the moisture from her cheeks with her thumb. "Don't cry, Celeste. I know everything you and Richard have been through. You've suffered so much just to secure a strong beta heir for the Roswell family line." "As for what Arabella just said—let alone whether she even holds the authority to break the pack bond, even if she steps down, there are plenty of high-ranking women lining up to take her place as the young mistress of the Roswell estate." The matriarch looked straight at Celeste, then unclasped the heavy, obsidian-and-silver ancestral bracelet from her own wrist—the ultimate symbol of family authority—and slid it down onto Celeste’s delicate wrist. "Celeste, I think you're a much better fit to carry our next generation." The sentence drifted softly across the room, landing straight in Arabella's ears like a physic

Arabella and Troy Thatcher were down to their very last unrevealed cards. This was their final chance to wager. Without a single second of hesitation, Arabella pushed her remaining pile of chips straight into the center of the felt. "All-in!" She lifted her striking eyes, locking her gaze directly on Troy. "Call, or fold?" Her voice was impossibly light, as casual as asking about the evening weather. Troy stared at the cards spread out across the table, his eyes narrowing. In all his years dominating this underground sanctuary, he had never run into a hand like this—where both players were fighting for the exact same card to complete their victory. The entire game boiled down to who pulled the Black Spade King. Troy loosened his tie, his gaze tracking the towering mountain of chips as raw, high-stakes temptation surged through his veins. "Call!" He gritted his teeth, his eyes flushing red with competitive heat. "I refuse to believe your hidden hole card is the Spade King

Hot tears spilled down her resolute face, dripping onto Richard’s hand with a scalding heat that made him instinctively want to pull away. Yet looking at that breathtaking face, he thought back to every single argument over the past three years. When had Arabella not cried just like this, mouthing harsh words about not loving him and demanding a divorce? Then, within a couple of days, with a little coaxing from him, she would obediently lower her head, admit that her temper tantrums were her fault, and promise never to mention a divorce again. Over the past three years, Richard had heard those threats many times, believed them many times, and knew how it always ended: with mutual forgiveness, reconciliation, and returning to the picture-perfect couple the public envied. This time would be no different. Using his free hand, Richard wiped away the crystalline moisture from Arabella’s face, treating her tears with the careless flick one might use to brush dust off an old piece