I Paid the Alpha King for One Night

Delilah POV

Pain. That was the first thing that registered—a splitting headache that felt like someone was taking a sledgehammer to my temples.

I groaned, shifting on the mattress that felt like a cloud, far too soft to be the lumpy bed I shared with Jaden. My movement sent a ripple of sensation through my body, a dull ache between my legs that brought a sudden, horrifying clarity to my mind.

Memories of the Gala flashed behind my eyes like a broken film reel. The champagne that tasted too sweet. The heat that had consumed me. And then... him.

I froze.

A heavy arm was draped over my waist, pinning me to the sheets. The heat radiating from the body behind me was scorching, like lying next to a furnace. But it was the scent that truly paralyzed me.

Sandalwood, storm, and musk.

It was thick, intoxicating, and commanded obedience. My inner wolf, usually a cowering, whimpering mess after three years of Jaden's verbal abuse, was currently purring. She was at peace. A deep, soulful peace that I had never experienced in my life.

Mate, she whispered, her voice dripping with longing.

Panic, cold and sharp, pierced through the haze of the bond. I scrambled out from under the heavy arm, my heart hammering against my ribs like a trapped bird. I fell off the bed, landing on the plush carpet with a soft thud, and scrambled backward until my back hit the wall.

The room was massive. Floor-to-ceiling windows revealed the city skyline, still slumbering under the grey light of dawn. But my eyes locked onto the nightstand.

There, next to a platinum Rolex that probably cost more than my life, was a notepad. The embossed gold crest at the top made my blood run cold.

The Mcclain Citadel.

I stopped breathing.

I hadn't just slept with a stranger. I had slept with a Mcclain.

Jaden was a Mcclain, albeit a lesser cousin on the fringes of the main lineage. If this man was his relative—a cousin, an uncle, or god forbid, someone high up in the Pack hierarchy—I was dead. Adultery was frowned upon, but betraying the Mcclain bloodline? That was a death sentence.

I looked at the man on the bed. He was sleeping on his stomach, the sheet pooled at his waist. His back was a landscape of corded muscle and old battle scars, broad and powerful. Even in sleep, he radiated an aura of absolute dominance that made the air in the room feel heavy.

I had to leave. Now.

I grabbed my torn silver dress from the floor, my hands shaking so badly I could barely pull it over my head. The silk was ruined, ripped in the heat of the moment, but it would have to do.

My eyes darted back to the man. He hadn't moved.

I couldn't just leave. If he woke up and remembered... if he came looking for me...

I needed to make him hate me. I needed to