Page 33 of The Alpha King’s Hidden Mute Mate

What are you saying? I lunged for her shoulders, but Zane caught my wrist and yanked me back.

"Keep going." His voice was terrifyingly calm.

"Lady Mia... She was furious," Aila sobbed. "She said she was Your Majesty's fated mate. Why should Miss Taylor get everything... She made me help her come up with a plan, made me lie with her and say those songs were hers..."

I felt my blood flowing backward.

This wasn't real. This couldn't be real!

Why was Aila saying this?

Aila looked up at me—that look held apology, held fear. Then she dropped her head and kept crying.

"Enough." Zane released my wrist. I stumbled backward, hitting the bedpost. He turned to Aila, his voice carrying a judge's cold finality. "You're dismissed. Pack your things. Be out of the palace before dark."

"Your Majesty, please—"

"One more word and I'll ship you to the border mines."

Aila ran out, face in her hands.

Only he and I remained.

He turned to face me. Those gray-blue eyes held no anger, no disappointment. Only a cold, complete contempt. That expression hurt worse than any insult—because it meant he didn't even think I was worth getting angry at.

"I thought you at least had some kind of bottom line," he said, voice low and calm. "Turns out you're exactly what I thought you were."

I opened my mouth.

My throat couldn't force out a single sound.

I just stood there, watching him turn and leave, the door slamming shut in my face.

That night, he came again.

Rougher than before.

I didn't fight. I lay there, staring at the cracks in the ceiling, counting the rhythm of his breathing, waiting for it to end. My body hurt, but somewhere inside, a part of me had gone numb. That numbness was more terrifying than the pain—because it meant I was getting used to this.

Used to being treated like a tool.

Used to not being believed.

Used to being seen as a liar, a manipulative mute, by the man I'd once fallen for at first sight.

Four months.

A full four months.

My life became a grotesque loop. Locked in my room during the day. Waiting for Zane at night. He came once a week, sometimes twice, like checking off an item on his schedule. He never talked to me, never looked at me for more than three seconds. When he finished, he'd get up, get dressed, and leave, as if staying one second longer would make him sick.

I learned to stare at a crack on the wall, counting sheep in my head. By the time I reached a thousand, it was over.

I learned to eat breakfast alone, read alone, count the cracks in the ceiling alone.

I wanted to escape. Wanted to leave this cage.

But one morning, I threw up.