Page 22 of Betrayed Alpha Mate

I will remain indifferent toward Sean—as I’ve managed to do for the past four years.

Catching my reflection in the mirror, I notice my puffy eyes from a night spent wallowing in my sorrows. Yeah, I know. I shouldn’t be getting emotional about becoming the alpha’s mate and the luna of this pack, but it feels so severely overwhelming.

Even if I hate Sean, I can’t ignore that life is about to change for me.

The only change I’m looking forward to is stepping into my power as a Golden Tree Sister. Being a witch was a most unexpected turn of events, but it’s a surprise I can live with, one that makes me feel liberated. Free.

I’ve hardly felt free since discovering that Sean was my fated mate. I’d become bound to that fate, bound to those feelings, and tied to the heartbreak that ripped through me like deadly claws.

I became a prisoner to that heartbreak, and it’s been like that for years. A taste of freedom came when I suspected I was a witch, and now I’ll cling to it like the lifeline it is.

It’s the only way I’ll survive living with Sean in his house.

As I head to the door, I glance at the white wedding gown hanging on the hook, and a pang of regret, of longing, grips my heart for a moment. There was once a time when I dreamed about wearing a dress like that and being married to the man I love.

That dream was crushed by his very hands, and love turned to hate. Now, I’m stuck in his house, having to navigate my way through this like I’m back in special missions.

Taking a deep breath behind the door, I grab my vanity bag from the chair and wield it in front of me like a weapon. It’s just a precaution, and luckily for me, I don’t encounter Sean on my way to the bathroom.

Good thing I swapped rooms.

What was he thinking, anyway?

I’m surprised he remembered what my dream bedroom would look like, back when I fantasized about gold ornaments and olive walls in a room inside a home that would be shared with him. I’d spoken about it once, while we dined at Pete’s place in town and spoke about the simpler things in life. For a few stolen moments, I thought he knew what I meant when I described the interior of my dream home and the pups running around while their father chased them in the garden. I thought he knew that I was speaking about him. That was just another dream that was crushed when he rejected me, and he can’t bring it back in an instant when he’s the one who crushed that dream.

Like a bedroom is going to fix things.

After washing up, I make my way to the kitchen, as if subconsciously gravitating toward the mere thought of food when my tummy rumbles.

Right.

Food.

I haven’t had a meal since yesterday afternoon, when the witches forced lunch onto me before I got dressed for the ceremony.

I need to eat now, and maybe it’s hunger that has me imagining the rich aroma of bell peppers and bacon wafting from the kitchen into the hallway. My tummy grumbles again, but my heart sinks the moment I round the corner to find the island spread out with breakfast fit for royalty.

Pancakes, syrups, fruit, muesli, bacon, and omelets make up the breakfast spread, and Sean is at the far end flipping something in a pan, an apron tied around his narrow waist, while broad shoulders cover most of the stove area.

Gulping hard, I want to make a quiet escape, but my rumbling tummy betrays me, and the groan it makes is audible enough for Sean to notice and turn around with the broadest morning grin.

“Good morning, Emily,” he says, his voice dripping with sweetness. “Breakfast? I noticed you hardly ate at dinner last night. You must be starving.”

I gulp hard as I hesitate to respond, my tummy tightening with hunger while my brain tries to process the skip of my heartbeat. What was that? Am I becoming soft, all because he’s acting sweet, caring, and invested in my well-being?

Not to mention noticing that I barely touched my food at last night’s feast. I couldn’t stomach the festivities, and now I’m suffering for it. But I can’t give in like this. I can’t relent and give him the benefit of feeling like he accomplished something.

The mask he’s wearing right now isn’t his true face. I saw his true face years ago, outside at the base of the mountain, by that bench, and that face has been etched into my mind for eternity, committed to memory where I can never erase it.

He’s only acting this way because of the binding spell that I accidentally cast on him.

Goddess knows I despise myself for what I did, and now my punishment comes in the form of Sean oozing sweetness, overly domesticated, as if he isn’t the alpha of this pack who runs his family’s construction company in the city.

This is weird.

This is crazy.

Suddenly, my appetite dies when he turns around and flings a towel over one shoulder, carrying the pan toward the table.