Devils Apartment

Alpha's Regret: Losing His True Mate

Only_Shila

For years, I belonged to him. Not his mate. Not his love. But his bedmate. His Gamma. His shadow in the night. Alpha Calhoun made sure no man dared touch me, no wolf dared look at me. I was his possession, his secret, his sin wrapped in skin. And I endured it all-his rough hands, his dark devotion, his kisses that tasted like fire and chains because at least, for a while, he was mine. Until she returned. His destined mate. His so-called true love. And suddenly, I was nothing. Cast aside, silenced, left to wither in the shadows of a love that had never been mine to claim. But the thing about being claimed by a man like Calhoun. is that he never truly lets you go. "Try to leave me, Elodie," his voice had been a snarl against my throat, his grip bruising my waist. "I'll burn down every border, tear apart every wolf that stands in my way, until you crawl back to me. You're mine, even if the Moon Goddess herself wants to rip you away." He didn't know then that I already had one foot out the door. And when I finally left his pack. I took more than just my broken heart with me.

Werewolf CEO Alpha Badboy

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The rain hit the city hard, making it feel colder than it really was. Drops sliced through the sky like shards of glass.

I pulled the hood of my worn-out jacket tighter around my face. My fingers trembled, not from the chill but from the letter burning a hole in my pocket. I'd received it earlier today, and it had set everything in motion.

My last name used to mean something. The Marco family was once a powerful name in Spain, running shipping lanes and vineyards.

But after my father's mysterious death and the betrayal that followed, everything came crashing down. I was just seventeen when the wolves showed up.

Bankers, enemies, and traitors came in and stripped us of our legacy. Now, at twenty-three, I was just a shadow of the heiress I used to be.

I was stuck working double shifts at a coffee shop, barely scraping by to pay rent on my tiny apartment with peeling paint and cracked tiles.

But today wasn't about survival; it was about revenge. And it all started with him.

I walked into the lobby of the Seraphim Tower. Sixty floors of glass and steel, radiating danger. Everything about that building screamed power, and it all belonged to one man.

Domain Cross.

They called him "the devil in a suit." Born into the mafia, a billionaire by thirty, and untouchable by the law. Rumors said his hands were stained with blood, but no one had ever proved it. I didn't need proof. My father had whispered his name with his last breath, and that was enough for me.

The elevator doors opened to a private floor. Everything was black marble with silver accents, and the silence pressed down like a weight. I stepped out, my heart pounding as I prepared to face the devil himself.

Damian stood by the window, his back to me. He was tall and broad-shouldered, dressed in a custom black suit that probably cost more than my yearly salary.

His presence filled the room, exuding a stillness that felt almost unnatural. Everything smelled like power, control, and danger.

"You're late," he said, his voice deep and smooth, laced with amusement. I swallowed hard. I didn't realize that I was on your schedule.

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