Not in This Lifetime, Alpha

At the cocktail party before the Coming-of-Age Ceremony, Draven arrived late—with Rowan plastered to his side.

Her lips were swollen, and fresh, red scratches were stark against his collarbone.

People nearby exchanged smirks. The air was thick with their mingled pheromones, telling a story I didn't need to hear.

They'd been at it in some corner, no doubt.

In my past life, I would have stormed over, ripped their deceitful masks off, and demanded to know why they’d dare humiliate me at my own ceremony.

Now? I shot them a single, dismissive glance and looked away, treating them like dust on my shoe.

Draven caught that flash of contempt. He reached out, shielding Rowan behind him.

When I didn't flinch, he grew agitated. Then he let out a low, insidious laugh. "What's wrong, Lyris? Playing the saint now because you're scared I won't choose you? Don't be silly. Tell you what…"

He leaned in, his voice low, his eyes raking over me. "After the ceremony, come to my penthouse suite. Don’t wear a thing. If your body is worthy, maybe I'll let you crawl into my bed."

Rowan pouted, tugging on his sleeve. "Draven, how could you say that? You think her body's better than mine?"

Draven chuckled, pinching her cheek. "Of course you're better. A thousand times better. That suite? It's yours. I even had your favorite aromatherapy prepared. Just waiting for your ankle to heal."

Rowan's eyes lit up, and she shot me a triumphant little look.

The guests around us roared with laughter—whistles and lewd jokes flew like daggers.

The sound hit me like a switch. Memories of my past life flooded back.

He’d done this before—humiliated me in front of everyone. Treated me like a toy.

I had trembled with rage. He had just laughed, saying my shame turned him on.

Someone had tried to defend me. Draven had shut them down, branding me a whore desperate for his status.

Pathetic.

I turned to leave—and his hand clamped around my wrist.

"Still playing pretend?" His grip tightened, digging into my bones. "A woman like you can't fake what you really are."

I ripped my hand away, my knuckles white. "Watch your mouth."

He sneered. "Respect? Didn't you put the entire Hawthorne Design firm's future on the line just to bond with me? You're going to crawl into my bed one way or another, so why act so pure now?"

"Who said I was going to choose you?"

Silence fell like a knife to the throat.

Then—laughter. Loud, ugly, and everywhere.

Draven laughed the hardest. "Not bonding with me? Then who? Everyone knows you'd die for me. What—Blaze?"

He snorted. "Blaze's been rotting in the shadows of Eastern Europe for years. Everyone says he's gone feral. He reeks of blood and gunpowder."

"You plan to bond with him? Are you hoping to get torn to shreds by his enemies sooner rather than later?"