Alpha Zuko’s Discarded Mate Is Now A Quintillionaire

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Amira Smith’s POV:

I let out a long, tired sigh as I finished cleaning the last room for the day. My arms ached, and there was a dull throb at the base of my neck that refused to go away, no matter how many times I rolled my shoulders.

I had pushed myself harder than usual tonight, choosing to finish most of the work ahead of time so that tomorrow morning wouldn’t feel like a race against the clock.

My responsibilities have doubled. Assisting Vanessa at school meant I had to leave earlier than before, and there was no room for mistakes.

Dropping the mop stick against the wall, I wiped my damp hands on the edge of my dress and turned off the light. Darkness folded into the room instantly, quiet and heavy, like it had been waiting for me to leave.

I stepped out into the open corridor, the cool night air brushing against my skin. It felt like the first real breath I had taken all day. My gaze drifted upward without thinking, and that was when I noticed the moon, full and pale, hanging quietly in the sky as if it had always been there, watching.

For a moment, I just stood there.

I hadn’t even realized night had fallen.

That was how consumed I had been by work, moving from one task to another, barely pausing long enough to think. It made something inside me twist, though I wasn’t sure if it was exhaustion or something else entirely.

Still, there was a small relief settling in my chest.

I hadn’t run into any of the Esposito family today.

After everything that had happened, the thought of crossing paths with any of them made my stomach tighten. I didn’t trust myself to stay composed, and I certainly didn’t trust them to pretend nothing had changed. Avoiding them felt like the safest option, for now.

A low growl interrupted my thoughts.

I blinked, then pressed a hand against my stomach as it rumbled again, louder this time.

Right. Dinner.

I had completely missed it.

A tired laugh almost escaped me, but it died before it could fully form. There was nothing amusing about it. Hunger was becoming familiar, something I pushed aside as easily as I did everything else.

By the time I reached the door to my room, my steps had slowed. The quiet here felt different, thicker, almost expectant. I hesitated for half a second, then shook it off and reached for the knob.

I turned it and stepped inside.

“You’re late.”

My heart lurched violently against my ribs, and I instinctively clutched my chest, a sharp breath catching in my throat. The voice cut through the darkness like a blade, low, familiar, and entirely unwelcome.

My eyes strained, adjusting to the dimness, and that was when I saw them.

Two glowing red eyes staring straight at me from the dark.

My pulse spiked.

My hand fumbled for the switch, but before I could reach it, a pair of strong arms wrapped around my waist and yanked me backward. My back collided with a solid chest, the impact knocking the air from my lungs.

A sharp gasp left me.

Warm breath brushed against my skin, followed by the press of lips against my nape–slow, deliberate, claiming.

My body tensed instantly.

I twisted, trying to break free, but his grip only tightened, unyielding as iron.

“Zuko, what are you doing?” My voice cut through the silence, thinner than I intended, edged with both fear and frustration.

“Cleansing you,” he muttered.

His voice was low, almost velvety, the kind that used to make my thoughts blur and my defenses crumble. But tonight, something was off.

Then I caught it.

Beneath the familiar scent that once pulled me in, there was something sharper, bitter and unmistakable.

Alcohol.

My stomach dropped.

He was drunk.

“Let go of me, Zuko,” I said, more firmly this time, pushing against his arms. My strength felt useless against him. He barely budged, as if I weighed nothing at all.

Instead, he leaned in closer.

His lips moved again, trailing from my nape down along my neck, then lower, brushing against my back. Each touch sent an involuntary shiver through me, one I hated, because it wasn’t just fear.

“Stop,” I whispered, though it lacked the force I needed.

“I told you not to talk to Mattia,” he said, his voice darkening, the softness gone as quickly as it had come. “You disobeyed me.”

His grip tightened at my waist, fingers pressing into my skin in a way that would probably leave marks.

“He shouldn’t have touched you,” he continued, his tone dipping into something possessive, something dangerous. “You’re mine.”