The Alpha CEO’s Unloved Wife

Tied to the Bed 

She went to her room, passing through the grand entrance hall, her eyes to the precise joins in the expensive marble tiles so that she did not need to meet the butler Heathridge’s eyes.

Heathridge usually poised between pity for her, and frustration in her failure to live up to the potential of her heritage. After tonight, she suspected frustration would win.

She went up the left arch of stairs, towards the wing that was hers. The right was Baron’s and Angelique’s. She wondered how the blonde she-wolf was getting home, seeing as Baron had not paused in order for her to join them, and then wondered why she cared.

She went into her room. A pretty room, decorated in shades of eggshell blue. Decorations selected before she had arrived; she hated the colour herself. It was one of the guest rooms on this wing of the house. Not the mistresses’ room – Angelique slept there, adjoined to Baron through an internal door. This was the room for a wife that was not wanted, and was not loved.

She pushed the door closed behind her, her heart racing in her chest, her claws

rising and piercing the wood as she Vinhaled heavily. She leaned against that door, sucking in air, anger fierce within her. 

weight would normally be too great for her, but, in her heat, she dragged and shoved it

blockade, and she shredded the remains of her dress with her claws, before turning on the shower at cold. She stood, sobbing, and dragging in air, under the frigid flow of water knowing one thing, and one thing alone, that she did not want Baron in

out of the shower, she heard the screech

of his palm against the door.

the furniture heave and not give, proud of her

trying, and the door stopped

windows, the glass closed to the night, but the curtains open, and writhed under the demands of her flesh. She slid her hand down her body,

room, pulling at the furniture, seeking to free it in order to admit him, and angrily tore her bed sheets, using them and her teeth to bind herself to the bed. She shrieked against the gag of cloth that she herself had placed, her body straining to the point that ligaments and bones popped and groaned, sweat breading across her and sticking her hair to her face as she

against the furniture piled against the door in the other room, roaring out her name through the slither

him lift himself in over the broken glass, shirtless, muscles standing out against his skin in an impressive display of strength, his eyes reflecting the light, glowing, as he crossed the room. He had wrapped cloth around the palms of his hands to protect them from the glass. He stood by the end

had tied herself to the bed to prevent this, she thought, and in doing

his expression raw, and turned his face away from her breathing in heavily. “You would do this rather than submit to me?” He snarled finally. “You would do this rather