The Alpha's Fated Kiss
The river sang.
Not a sound. A feeling. It was Javier’s laugh in the restaurant’s kitchen, Elena’s first steps on the checkered floor, Marco’s fingers on a busted keyboard, Alexander’s proposal by the East River, Lila’s choice to stay. It was us, woven into the city’s foundation, the wager’s final clause, inked in blood and love and sacrifice. The alley shivered. The rubble became La Isla Dorada, the night Javier signed the loan, the air thick with sizzle and smoke, the scent of mofongo curling like a memory I couldn’t bury. Javier was there, alive, his eyes crinkling as he ruffled Elena’s hair, but his hand was wrong, fingers red, nails pulsing. The river smiled with his mouth.
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