Page 69 of The Alpha King’s Hidden Mute Mate

Then I let go, stood up, and walked toward the stage.

The show was a success.

Every seat filled. Glow sticks formed a colorful ocean. I sang every song from the new album, the hits, that lullaby I wrote for Lily. On the last line, my eyes still stung, but the lights were dim—no one saw.

After the final song, the crowd's roar nearly lifted the roof. I bowed, waved goodbye, and exited through applause and screams.

Then my legs buckled.

Here we go again.

Low blood sugar was an old problem. The tour schedule was brutal—I often skipped meals. After every show, the dizziness hit.

I made it to the dressing room. Suddenly, everything went black. But the pain I expected never came—someone caught me.

My vision was dark, but then I tasted something sweet in my mouth—honey.

Consciousness returned slowly. I opened my eyes. The dressing room lights stung. I squinted, taking several seconds to focus.

Then I saw that face.

Gray-blue eyes. That infuriatingly sharp jawline. And that expression I never wanted to see again—shock mixed with regret.

Zane Caster. My fated mate. The man who'd sent me to my death five years ago.

He knelt beside me, one hand cradling my head, the other holding a half-empty honey jar. He looked like he'd crawled off a battlefield—wrinkled clothes, hair like a hurricane hit it, dark circles under his eyes.

He stared at me, lips moving like he wanted to speak, but his throat was blocked.

I sat up.

Too fast. Vision went black again, but I steadied myself against the sofa. I looked down—performance dress still on, mask not on my face. When the low blood sugar hit, my mask had slipped off.

Which meant Zane had seen my face.

"Mia—" He finally spoke, voice scraped raw.

"You've got the wrong person," I said.

His expression looked like he'd been slapped.

"What?"

"I said, you've got the wrong person." I stood and walked around him to the mirror. The face in the reflection was pale, but the eyes were steady. I bent down, picked up the silver mask from the floor, and put it back on. Fingers steady. Not shaking at all. "I'm Vela. That name you mentioned—I don't know it."

"Impossible." He stood too. His movements were unsteady, like his knees had gone numb from kneeling too long. He stood behind me, looking at me through the mirror, those gray-blue eyes churning with too many emotions—shock, pain, and a desperate stubbornness. "Your face, your scent, your—"

"Could be a coincidence." I cut him off, turned around, crossed my arms, looking at him like a stranger. "Lots of people look alike."

I saw his jaw muscle tighten. His Adam's apple bobbed, swallowing something bitter. He opened his mouth to speak, but I didn't give him the chance.

"Security!" I raised my voice toward the door.

Two large men burst in. They saw the scene and immediately went on alert.

"Sir," the lead guard stepped forward, blocking the space between us. "You need to leave. Now."

"Mia—" He kept saying my name, voice edged with desperate stubbornness.