I Left After Alpha’s Lover Broke My Leg

Chapter 5

I flashed back to years ago.

Madeline had snuck into Maxwell's car, sprawled n***d on his seat, begging,

"Maxwell, touch me, just once."

He didn't even glance at her, calling the enforcers to drag her away.

He'd covered my eyes, growling,

"Don't look at that filth. You're the only she-wolf I'll ever touch."

Now, his hands roamed her body, his eyes burning not with disgust but with raw desire.

I couldn't watch anymore.

My legs shook as I stumbled away.

When Maxwell returned, he held a gift box.

"Sophie, this is the deed to this hotel. It witnessed our love tonight, so it's yours."

A hundred-billion-dollar hotel, gifted like it was nothing. The crowd's envious stares burned into me.

Madeline reappeared downstairs, her new skirt hiding her face's expression behind a mask, but her clenched fists screamed her displeasure.

Moments later, she unclenched, playing the meek server as she prepped the champagne tower. She tiptoed to pour into the top glass, but her ankle twisted.

In a panic, she yanked the tablecloth, and the whole tower crashed down.

Shards of glass flew toward her—and me, standing just behind.

Gasps erupted.

Maxwell's face twisted with panic as he sprinted forward, pulling Madeline into his arms, shielding her.

I'd already dodged, but his rush knocked me hard to the ground.

My head cracked against the floor, warm blood trickling down.

Glass shards sliced into my skin, each cut like a blade flaying me alive.

Pain screamed through me, but I laughed, hollow and broken.

I woke up in the hospital, my head throbbing, my body a map of cuts.

Maxwell sat beside me, his eyes red-rimmed, voice thick with guilt.

"Sophie—my claws only meant to shield you." His breath ragged, fangs bared in frustration. "Panic clouded my scent. Grabbed the wrong she-wolf—damn my muddled senses."

He kissed my hand over and over, as if he could pour his love and regret through my skin. Too bad he forgot it was a prosthetic.

His kisses landed on cold, fake flesh, and his words felt just as hollow.

"What about that server? What's her punishment?"

I saw it clear as day—the champagne tower's collapse wasn't an accident. Madeline did it on purpose.

Maxwell's face flickered, then smoothed out.

"She dared to slack—my order’s gone out. Her scent’s been marked pack-forbidden." His voice dropped, cold as winter pines. "No den in our territory will let her serve—ever again."

I froze, then laughed—a brittle, broken sound.

Madeline wasn't a server.

Banning her from serving was like banning a wolf from being a cat.

Utterly ridiculous.

He saw me laugh and smiled, thinking we were on the same page.

From then on, he was at my side constantly, doting on me.

He watched the IV drip like a hawk. He cleaned my wounds himself, his touch gentle.

He sliced open a mango, scooping the ripe flesh onto a fork and bringing it to my lips, then held out his palm to catch the stringy bits I didn’t want.

Every healer and nurse who passed by shot me envious looks, whispering about my luck.

Then his phone chimed—her ringtone.

He hesitated, then said calmly, "Sophie, pack business. I'll be right back."

Once he was gone, I flicked on the ring's receiver.

Madeline was in the hospital too.

But Maxwell didn't fuss over her IV or change her bandages—her minor scrapes had already healed. No mangos for her either.

Instead, he told her to place the fruit on her body, letting him devour it, leaving nothing behind.

I couldn't listen anymore.