Chapter 0480

My stomach churns as I meet Alpha Dominic's gaze, the food turning to ash in my mouth. Every instinct screams that something is terribly wrong here.

After breakfast, he insists on showing me around the packhouse, including his private quarters. Disgusting. The room is as suffocatingly dark as the rest of this gaudy mansion. My blood runs cold when I realize he's placed me directly across the hall from his suite. That door will be bolted shut tonight.

The tour of pack lands is worse. His hands keep finding excuses to linger—pressing against my lower back to "guide" me, fingers trailing along my spine when he points at landmarks. My skin crawls. I want to sprint into the woods and never look back.

I learn he's ruled for fifteen years since losing his fated mate. Part of me wants to sympathize, but nothing explains the predatory way he watches me.

Finally, he deposits me at my room, claiming work demands his attention before dinner in two hours. I wait until his footsteps fade before slamming the lock home. Sunlight floods in as I wrench open the blinds. My phone feels like a lifeline as I text Grant, though I know he's hunting rogues with the warriors.

No reply comes.

The shower scalds away his touch, but sleep brings no relief. The screech of metal jolts me awake—Dominic picking my lock like some twisted fairytale villain.

"You've slept long enough, Ivy." He strides inside without invitation. "Dinner awaits."

I vault off the bed. "Just need to freshen up!"

He blocks my path to the bathroom. "Wear this first." From the closet, he produces a scandalous red satin number with black lace that wouldn't cover a handkerchief. The lingerie-esque atrocity matches this place's vulgar aesthetic.

"It'll complement your lovely hair," he murmurs, tangling his fingers in my locks. I suppress a shudder as his eyes darken with misplaced desire.

He actually expects me to change in front of him. Not happening. I slam the bathroom door, listening for any movement.

The dress fits like a second skin. I'm adjusting the precarious bodice when the door swings open—no knock. His hungry appraisal makes my flesh prickle.

"Exquisite. Now these." He produces towering stiletto platforms that bring me eye-level with him.

A limo waits outside. He crowds beside me, close enough to smell his cloying cologne. "You've noticed my wealth, I'm sure. I deal in fortunes and fantasies."

Whatever that means.

The restaurant reeks of old money. Valets bow as we approach. "Alpha," the maître d' greets with obsequious deference. "Your table is prepared."