Mated to My Fiancé’s Alpha King Brother novel Chapter 202

Seraphina’s POV 1

The door slammed shut behind him.

The sound echoed through the empty suite like a gunshot. Final. Damning.

I stayed curled on the bed, his jacket wrapped around me like armor that couldn’t protect me from anything that actually mattered.

My whole body shook. Not from cold. From everything else.

His hands on me. His mouth. His voice promising I’d never escape again.

The tears came harder. Hot. Endless. Soaking into the expensive sheets.

I pulled the jacket tighter. It smelled like him. That familiar scent that used to mean safety. Home. Everything good in my life.

Now it just smelled like a cage.

My ribs screamed with every breath. The bruises from the fight throbbed in time with my heartbeat. But the physical pain was nothing

compared to the rest of it.

Three years.

Three years I’d been gone. Three years I’d convinced myself I was doing the right thing. That staying away was protecting them.

Protecting him.

From what? From me being weak? From me not being good enough?

*You were right about that,* a cruel voice whispered in my head. *You’re not good enough. You never were.*

I pushed myself up slowly. Everything hurt. My face felt like someone had used it as a punching bag. Which they had. My hands shook as

I touched the bandages someone–Damien–had put on while I was unconscious.

He’d changed my clothes. Cleaned my wounds. Taken care of me.

Then attacked me like I was prey.

The kiss flashed through my mind–violent and desperate and absolutely terrifying. His hands everywhere. His weight pinning me

down. Those words.

*You’re mine. You’ve always been mine.*

I forced myself to stand. My legs trembled but held. The room spun for a second before steadying.

I needed to get out. Needed to run. That’s what I was good at, right? Running away when things got hard?

The door mocked me from across the room. Locked. Of course it was locked.

I tried anyway. Stumbled over on shaking legs and pulled at the handle until my already–damaged hands screamed in protest.

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202 Chapter 202

Nothing. It wouldn’t budge.

“Fuck.” The word came out broken. Wet with tears I couldn’t stop.

I looked around desperately. Windows. But I was too high up. Even if I could break them–which I probably couldn’t–the fall would kill

1. me.

My phone. I needed my phone.

I tore through the room like a madwoman. Checked every drawer. Every surface. Under the bed. In the bathroom.

Gone. Everything was gone. My phone. My wallet. My keys. Even my bloody fighting clothes had disappeared.

He’d taken everything.

Trapped me here like some kind of prisoner.

I sank onto the bathroom floor. The cold tile felt good against my burning skin. The tears wouldn’t stop coming no matter how hard I

tried.

*Why did you come for me?*

That’s what I couldn’t understand. Why now? After three years, why did he suddenly care? 1

Then the answer hit me like a punch to the gut.

That woman.

The one I’d seen him with. Brown hair. Beautiful smile. Standing next to him at that restaurant like she belonged there.

*Oh God.*

The pieces fell into place with sickening clarity.

He’d moved on. Found someone new. Someone better. Someone who could actually be a proper Luna for his pack. Who could stand

beside him without being a constant reminder of failure.

Someone who wasn’t broken.

And now he’d found me. Dragged me back. Locked me in this expensive cage.

Why?

Unless…

*No.*

But the thought wouldn’t leave. It burrowed into my brain like poison.

What if he wanted both? Wanted his perfect new Luna for show. His legitimate wife. His respectable partner. 1

And me? Kept hidden. Secret. The dirty little secret he could visit when he wanted. The woman he could claim without having to

acknowledge in daylight.

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202 Chapter 202

The mistress.

A sob tore out of me. Loud. Ugly. The kind of crying that came from somewhere deep and wounded.

*Is that what I am now? The woman on the side?*

It made horrible sense. He’d made it clear I wasn’t leaving. That he’d hunt me down if I ran. But he hadn’t said anything about our

children. About bringing me home. About us being a family again.

Just that I was his. That I belonged to him.

Like property. Like something to own and hide away.

“No.” I pressed my hands over my mouth. “No, no, no.”

But the more I thought about it, the more it made sense. 2

He couldn’t bring me home. Not after three years. Not looking like this–covered in bruises and scars and evidence of everything I’d

become. The pack would never accept me. Children barely remembered me.

I couldn’t go back. Couldn’t waltz back into their lives and expect everything to be okay. Couldn’t erase three years of absence with

apologies and explanations.

They’d moved on. Built a life without me. Found happiness with someone new. Someone better.

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