Page 104 of The Alpha King’s Hidden Mute Mate

My last conscious thought: I've been fucking played.

When I woke up, I was somewhere completely unfamiliar.

A cave. Cold, damp, reeking of mold. Torches jutted from the walls, orange flames flickering, casting twisted shadows. The air smelled of earth and blood, making my stomach churn.

My hands were bound behind me, rope digging tight into my wrists. A cloth stuffed my mouth, throat dry as sandpaper.

Then I saw her.

Leah.

She stood in the center of the cave, back to me, wearing a filthy black dress. Her golden hair hung in tangled clumps like dead straw. She was much thinner—cheekbones jutting, collarbones protruding like knife edges from her neckline. In her hand: a dagger, blade glinting coldly in the firelight.

She turned around.

I almost didn't recognize her. Her eyes—once lake-blue—were now bloodshot, pupils dilated, burning with unstable fervor. Her mouth curved in a smile, but not a normal smile. Something twisted, carved into her face with a blade.

"Awake?" Her voice rasped like sandpaper on wood. "I thought I'd be waiting longer."

I glared at her, angry sounds muffled in my throat.

"Don't rush to curse me." She approached, crouching before me, trailing the dagger's flat edge along my cheek. "We have plenty of time."

She stood and began pacing the cave. Fast, agitated steps, like a caged beast.

"You know how I've spent these five years?" Her voice trembled with neurotic intensity. "Exiled from the palace, spat on by everyone, wandering like a stray dog. I went to the northern mines and washed dishes for two years. Fingers rotting in soapy water, every night lying on a hard wooden plank, listening to men snore next door, thinking—this is all your fault."

She stopped, turned to look at me. Her eyes burned with something that chilled my spine—not anger. Madness.

"If not for you, I'd be Luna by now. If not for you, Zane would love me. If not for you—" Her voice pitched up, shrill as nails scraping a chalkboard. "I could have had everything!"

I looked at her. At this woman I once thought was my best friend. Who stood up for me when I was mocked. Who kept me company when I was lonely. Who—stole everything from me and stabbed me in the back.

Complex emotions surged through me. Anger? Yes. Sadness? Of course. But mostly—a deep sorrow. A bone-deep, seeping sorrow.

Sorrow that she had a beautiful voice but chose to steal someone else's talent. Sorrow that she could have earned everything through her own effort but chose the most despicable path. Sorrow that she stood before me like a broken doll, blaming me for everything, never reflecting on what she'd done.

"You ruined me," she said, voice suddenly calm—that calm more terrifying than her madness. "So I'm going to ruin you."

She approached and yanked the cloth from my mouth.

"Any last words?" She tilted her head, smile sweet as a poisonous flower. "Oh, right, you can talk now. So talk. Say something."

I looked at her. Silent for a few seconds.

Then I spoke, voice hoarse but clear. "Leah, you're pathetic."

Her smile froze.

"What?"

"I said you're pathetic." I repeated it, enunciating each word. "You have a beautiful voice, a pretty face, a smart mind—but you chose to steal. You stole my songs, stole my identity, stole my fated mate. Because deep down, you know you can't accomplish anything on your own."

Her face went deathly pale. The hand holding the dagger started shaking.

"Shut up—"

"You stole everything, but you still lost," I continued, voice calm as stating fact. "Because the things that truly belonged to you, you couldn't keep a single one."