The Alpha Who Broke Me

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

I unlock the door to my house, the key sliding in with a satisfying click. Stepping inside, I can't help the soft smile that spreads across my face as I close the door behind me. Tonight was absolutely perfect.

I press a hand to my chest, feeling the steady thump of my heartbeat beneath my palm. The warmth spreading through me has everything to do with how Lewis looked at me across that candlelit table. His blue eyes had been so intense, so focused, like I was the only person in the entire world. With Lewis, I feel... safe. Respected.

My fingertips drift unconsciously to my lips, remembering that moment outside my house. The way he'd leaned in, his breath warm against my skin, our lips just inches apart. That almost-kiss that had my knees weak and my pulse racing. I'd pulled back at the last second, not quite ready, and he'd respected that too. No pressure, just a soft smile and a promise for next time.

Maybe I could really fall for him.

The thought catches me off guard with its intensity as I slip my shoes off, feeling the plush carpet beneath my tired feet. My dress rustles softly as I move to turn on the light and—

"Where the f**k are you coming from?"

My heart slams against my ribs so violently I feel physically pushed backward. The house is pitch black, save for the faint moonlight filtering through the partially open blinds. But I'm not alone.

I fumble for the light switch, my fingers trembling as they slide along the wall. Finding it, I flick it on and freeze.

Vincent sits on my couch, his long legs spread wide, arms stretched across the back like he owns the place. His strong jaw is tight with tension, a muscle twitching beneath the stubble. He's wearing dark jeans and a black henley that stretches across his broad shoulders, the sleeves pushed up to reveal the corded muscles of his forearms. His eyes—those burning dark eyes are unreadable, but the intensity in them makes my skin prickle with awareness.

"What the hell are you doing here?" I demand, willing my voice not to shake.

Vincent ignores my question completely, his gaze traveling slowly down my body and back up in a way that makes me feel both exposed and exhilarated. "Where were you?" he asks again, his deep voice rumbling through the quiet house.

I cross my arms defensively across my chest, straightening my spine. "Out."

"With Thornfield?" The way he says Lewis's name—like it tastes bitter on his tongue—makes something twist in my stomach.

I lift my chin defiantly. "Yes. And it's none of your business."

His jaw tightens further, his fingers flexing against the soft fabric of my couch. The silence stretches between us, heavy and charged. He doesn't respond. Just stares at me with those penetrating eyes that seem to see straight through me.

"Why do you care, Vincent?" I push, my voice rising with frustration. "You made it very clear seven years ago that I wasn't worth your time. What's changed?"

Vincent goes very still, his eyes narrowing as he studies my face. "What are you talking about? I never said you weren't worth my time."

"Didn't you?" The words slip out before I can stop them, years of buried hurt bleeding through. "Kaia..." His voice drops to barely a whisper. "What aren't you telling me?"

"Nothing," I say quickly, but it's too late. I can see the wheels turning in his head, the way his expression shifts from possessive anger to something more calculating.

"You have no idea what you're getting yourself into with him," Vincent says finally, but his voice has changed. There's an urgency there now, like he's trying to distract me from whatever I almost revealed.

"Don't I?" I laugh bitterly. "At least he treats me with respect. At least he doesn't break into my house and threaten me."

"I'm not threatening you." But the way he says it, the way his whole body radiates barely controlled tension, suggests otherwise.

"Then what would you call this?" I gesture around the room. "Breaking into my home, waiting in the dark like some stalker?"

Vincent stands slowly, his full height making the room feel smaller. He steps toward me, and I know I should back away and put some distance between us. But instead, I suck in a sharp breath as his scent crashes into me, causing my wolf to stir inside me.

"I call it protecting what's mine." His voice is calm, but there's something dangerous edging it, something that sends a shiver down my spine.

It sends an unwelcome thrill through me, but I force myself to stay angry. "I'm not yours, Vincent. I haven't been yours for seven years. And after tonight..."

A small, knowing smile curves his lips. "That's not what your body's saying." His voice drops lower, a husky rumble that vibrates through me.

He steps even closer, the air between us charged with electricity. I can feel the heat radiating off him, see the golden flecks in his dark eyes, and count each individual eyelash. My back hits the wall—I didn't even realize I was stepping backward—and suddenly there's nowhere to go. His intensity pins me in place just as effectively as if he'd placed his hands on either side of my head.

"Tell me, Kaia..." His voice drops even lower as his thumb traces my jawline, leaving fire in its wake. "Do you really think he can satisfy you?"

My body is burning—not just from anger at his presumption, but from something deeper. Darker. A primal recognition that no matter how much I want to deny it, my body knows who it belongs to. And it's not Lewis.

I hate that he still has this effect on me. Hate it with every fiber of my being. Hate that no matter how much I try to move on, my treacherous body still responds to him like this.

His hand slides up, tilting my chin, forcing me to look directly into his eyes. The raw possession I see there makes my breath catch. For a second—just a second—it feels like he might kiss me. His eyes drop to my lips, and I can't help it—I inhale sharply, my lips parting, every nerve ending in my body buzzing, waiting—

But then he pulls back, that familiar smirk tugging at his lips.

"Good night, amor," he whispers in my ear and places a soft peck on my cheek. Without another word, he turns and leaves.

I stare at the empty space where he stood just moments ago, my pulse still racing, my skin still tingling from his peck. Unconsciously, I press my fingers to my cheek, dazed and confused by the entire encounter.

"What the hell just happened?" I whisper to the empty room.

Outside, I hear the roar of a motorcycle engine starting up, then fading into the distance. I slide down the wall until I'm sitting on the floor, my legs too shaky to hold me anymore.

I should be angry. I should be furious that he broke into my house, that he waited in the dark like some stalker, that he had the audacity to question me about my date. I should be livid about the way he touched me, spoke to me, looked at me like he still had any right to.

But beneath the anger is something else—a dangerous, reckless feeling that I thought I'd buried long ago. A feeling that's now clawing its way back to the surface.

Across the room, my phone buzzes with an incoming text. With trembling fingers, I pull it from my purse.

It's from Lewis: Had an amazing time tonight. Sweet dreams, beautiful.

I stare at the message, guilt washing over me. Sweet, kind, respectful Lewis. Lewis, who wants to take me on proper dates and meet my mom when I'm ready. Lewis, who is everything Vincent isn't.

So why is it Vincent's touch that still burns on my skin? Why is it Vincent's scent that still fills my lungs? Why is it Vincent who can still make my heart race with just a look?

I close my eyes, letting my head fall back against the wall.

This is dangerous territory. Vincent lost his chance with me years ago. He doesn't get another one just because he wants it.

No matter what my body wants, I know better than to give my heart to someone who's already crushed it once before.

With newfound determination, I push myself to my feet and head to the bathroom. I need a shower—a cold one—to wash away Vincent's scent and the effect he still has on me.

Tomorrow, I'll call Lewis. Tomorrow, I'll focus on building something real with a man who actually wants me.

But tonight, as I step under the cold spray of water, I can't quite shake the feeling that my carefully constructed new life is about to get a whole lot more complicated.