The Alpha Behind The Mask-Chapter 48: Game

​Aurora’s POV

​I leaned back against the headboard, pulling the blanket tighter around my shoulders. I couldn’t take my eyes off him.

​He moved with a quiet, practiced grace. He wasn’t clumsy or out of place in the small kitchen; he seemed completely at ease, as if standing over a stove was just as natural to him as holding a weapon.

​As I watched his back, the way his shoulders moved as he whisked the eggs and the way he tilted his head to check the heat of the pan made my breath hitch. It was like a ghost was standing in my kitchen. It reminded me so much of Alpha Oliver that day in his mansion, moving through his own kitchen with the same effortless confidence.

​No, I told myself, shaking my head slightly to clear the thought. Stop it. You’re just traumatized. Two men can have the same build. Two men can move the same way.

The sizzle of the butter and the scent of toasting bread filled the tiny room, replacing the awful smell of blood that had been stuck in my nose. It was a domestic, peaceful sound that felt completely wrong for a night that had started with a murder.

​He didn’t speak while he worked. He just focused on the food, his movements steady and calm. Seeing him like this—this terrifying man—doing something as simple as making me breakfast for dinner made my chest ache with a confusing mix of hatred and safety.

​He plated the food—simple scrambled eggs and perfectly browned toast—and turned around. He didn’t bring it to the small table; he walked straight toward the bed where I was sitting.

​"Eat," he said, handing me the plate.

​I took the plate from him, my fingers brushing against his warm skin. My heart hammered against my ribs. "Thank you, Raymond."

​He didn’t go back to the chair. Instead, he leaned against the small counter just a few feet away, crossing his arms over his chest, watching me intently through those green eyes.

​I took a bite of the eggs, and I almost groaned out loud. It was incredible: rich, buttery, and cooked to perfection. I hadn’t realized how hungry I was until that moment. I kept eating, but I could feel his gaze on me the entire time. It was heavy and unblinking. Why is he looking at me like that? I wondered, a chill running down my spine. Am I his next victim? I shook my head; if he wanted to kill me, he could have done it a long time ago.

​When I finished every last bite, I whispered another thank you. He stepped forward, took the empty plate from my hands, and set it on the counter before sitting back down in the small chair.

​I glanced at the clock on the wall. It was 11 PM. My body was exhausted, but my mind was racing like a high-speed train. Every time I closed my eyes, I saw the alley. Every time the building settled with a creak, I flinched.

​"I’m sorry," I said, my voice small in the quiet room. "I just... I can’t sleep."

​He nodded slowly. "Take your time. I’m not going anywhere."

​We sat in silence for a long while. The tension was thick, and the silence was starting to make me feel itchy. I needed a distraction—something to keep the dark thoughts away.

​"Let’s play cards," I said suddenly.

​He stiffened, and for a moment, he looked genuinely annoyed. His eyes narrowed behind the mask, and the air grew cold again.

​"I’m sorry!" I quickly added, pulling the blanket higher. "Forget I said anything. It was a stupid idea."

​"No," he said, his voice a low rumble. He looked away for a second, his jaw tightening. "It’s okay. It’s not you... I just remembered something." He let out a long breath, then looked back at me. "Bring the cards."

​I nodded, reached into my nightstand, and pulled out a worn deck.

​I moved to the floor, and he did the same, his long legs folding easily as he sat opposite me. The sight was ridiculous. An Alpha assassin sitting on a stained rug in a tiny apartment, preparing to play a card game with a girl who had just committed a crime.

​"We’re playing Speed," I said, shuffling the cards with slightly steadier hands. "Do you even know how to play, or do you only know how to... you know...."

​He let out a dry, gravelly huff that might have been a laugh. "I think I can manage a card game, Aurora. Deal."

​We started playing, and at first, the tension was thick. But as the game sped up, the adrenaline from the match started to replace the adrenaline from my fear. I was fast, but he was faster. His hands moved like lightning, slamming cards down before I could even blink.

​"Cheat!" I giggled, trying to block his hand with mine. "There’s no way a human is that fast."

​"I’m not exactly ’just’ human, remember?" he reminded me, his eyes crinkling at the corners.

​I actually managed to win the third round by distracting him with a fake gasp toward the window. When I slammed my last card down, I let out a genuine, bright laugh of victory.

​"I beat the Great Dom Raymond!" I cheered, leaning back and shaking the deck at him.

​And then, it happened.

​He let out a low, deep chuckle. It started in his chest and rumbled out—a warm, rich sound that filled the small room. My laughter died in my throat as I froze, staring at him.

​Damn.

​He laughed exactly like... no. I searched my memory. Had I ever actually heard Alpha Oliver laugh? He was always so cold, so stony and professional. But I had heard him hum once, and the vibration was identical. This laugh was heavy, masculine, and felt like shivers against my skin. It was a beautiful sound, and it belonged to a monster.

​He caught me staring, and the laughter died away, replaced by a sudden, heavy stillness. The fun evaporated, leaving us sitting inches apart on the floor.

​"You have a nice laugh," I whispered, the cards forgotten in my lap. "I didn’t think men like you... laughed."

​He looked at his hands, his voice dropping into a murmur. "Men like me usually have very little to laugh about, Aurora."