Dumped by the Alpha, I Became His Uncle's Wife

I'm here, in this dimly lit, opulent office of Alpha Asher.

A concealed door creaked open.

Rows of provocative costumes hung from ornate racks.

Kinky props, from leather restraints to jeweled whips, were artfully arranged on polished shelves, as if they were some kind of twisted art collection.

I look down at myself, clad in this tight - fitting leather outfit that feels like it's been painted onto my skin.

The pants hug my curves in a way that's both sinfully alluring and utterly demeaning. The top is a flimsy excuse for clothing, leaving my chest half - exposed, and the cut is so daring that I can feel the chill in the air on parts of me that should never be seen.

As the sultry, hypnotic music pulses through the air, its rhythm like a siren's call from the depths of hell, I begin to move. My body is stiff at first, but slowly, I start to undulate in a slow, sensuous dance.

It's a strip - tease.

I can see Alpha Asher lounging in a large, ornate chair that's more like a throne. He's watching me with a look of pure, unadulterated amusement.

A cigarette dangles from his lips, and the thin tendrils of smoke curl around his face like serpents.

He picks up a long, thick candle.

The wax, already starting to melt from the heat of the nearby lamp, drips slowly onto the polished wooden table.

With a slow, deliberate movement that's almost torturous in its slowness, he tilts the candle over my exposed chest.

The hot wax, like liquid fire, drips onto my skin, and I let out a sharp, involuntary cry of pain. "It hurts!"

He leans forward and grabs me by the neck.

His fingers dig into my soft flesh, leaving behind angry red marks, and he pulls me towards him with such force that I stumble. His lips crash onto mine in a rough, possessive kiss.

"Suck it," he growls.

He then pushes my head down forcefully, pressing me beneath his body.

And then, a few moments later, he lets out a deep, satisfied moan.

There's a sudden, sharp knock at the door.

His eyes still clouded with pleasure and a hint of annoyance at the interruption, he quickly yanks me to the side, as if I'm nothing more than a discarded toy.

He adjusts his clothes with a nonchalant air.

The assistant enters the room. His gaze lingers on me, huddled on the side, my body covered in fresh burns from the wax and the red welts of the whip. A sneer of contempt curls his lips.

Everyone in the Shattered Dreams Pack knew I was once the goddess - like figure, as pure and innocent as the full moon. I used to blush at the mere thought of talking to a man.

But now, I've become the talk of the town - a so - called "slut", a plaything that Alpha Asher can discard at a moment's notice.

All because