The Alpha CEO’s Unloved Wife

Ask Don’t Tell 

She could not find the words to speak to him, locked in her own shocked anguish, and he lifted her from the toilet, held her over the sink and brushed her teeth for her, before starting the shower, and stepping, bare, under the flow of water with her, holding her up against him whilst he washed the vomit from her.

Once they were both dry, he carried her out of the bathroom and curled around her in the bed. The contradiction was not lost on her that he was both her comfort and the source of her pain. “I am sorry,” he whispered. “It was not taken with the intention that anyone other than I ever saw it.”

She squirmed against his hold, the pain and shame too massive to be contained, her body contorting beneath its weight, the scream that built in her chest seeming to get stuck in her throat, choking her with it so that the sound that broke forth was a strangled sob of pain and betrayal.

She suddenly understood the sort of pain that would have inspired her mother to take her own life.

She curled tightly into herself, her fists pressed to her mouth, and wept until she slept.

It was late in the morning when she woke, and she knew that the job that she had won the day before had been lost in sleep, and that was another cut to add to the multitude of tiny wounds that she bled from that small hope pinched out like the flame of candle beneath the cruelty of others.

Baron slept next to her, his eyes shadowed, the stubble dark on his jaw, and his hands held onto her even in his sleep, holding her to the bed where he had photographed her spent and soiled by his f-king, and then shared it, so that now, it appeared that every werewolf had a copy on their phone.

she could hear both their phones vibrating with messages and calls, and she knew that there was no

his hands

home. When she walked out of the closet, he was sitting on the side of the bed, the sheet covering his lap but otherwise naked. He ran his nails

hers, but she would not look at him. “The person who took this image from my

she breathed sandpaper, the sides of her lungs scraping against each other. He rose to his feet, gloriously naked, but his beauty did not arouse her, the taste in her mouth bitter, and her body too tightly coiled in

“I am very sorry that this happened,” he murmured and waited, seeming to expect a response,

to dress. “Stay inside today, Jane,” he said quietly. “Until I sort

folding herself into the tightest corner in the closed, dark space, her heels tucked tightly

on the

door to the sitting room open, and someone in the bedroom and bathroom, cleaning, opening the curtains, making the bed, and then,

Heathridge called hesitantly.

raised in anger, distracting Heathridge,

curled onto the closet floor, with the argument

a habit of this,” he commented as he carried her to the bed. “It has been taken care of, Jane,” he told her firmly as he