The Alpha Behind The Mask-Chapter 111: Could Not Be Him
Aurora’s POV
How did he get it? Why is it here?
The questions swirled in my head, making me panic. I tried to shift, intending to slide out of bed and get a closer look, but I didn’t even make it an inch. In his sleep, Oliver’s arm tightened around my waist, pulling me flush against his solid, warm chest. He let out a low, content hum, nuzzling his face into the crook of my neck.
I lay back, my heart still thudding a panicked rhythm against my ribs. I was sure of it. That ring—the heavy gold band, the way the onyx seemed to swallow the light—it was exactly the same. I looked up at Oliver’s sleeping face, his features softened by rest, and the thought finally bubbled to the surface.
"Are you...?" I whispered, the words barely a breath.
I immediately shook my head. It was ridiculous. It was impossible. How could Oliver and Raymond be the same person? What possible reason would Oliver have to hide who he was like that?
I started counting the differences in my head, desperate to anchor myself back to reality. Oliver had vibrant red hair; Raymond’s was as black as a raven’s wing. Raymond had piercing, cold green eyes; Oliver’s were the color of a deep, restless sea.
And then there was the most important detail—the one I could never forget. Raymond had a dark, intricate scorpion tattoo curled around his right wrist, a mark of the monster who murdered my parents. I looked down at Oliver’s wrist, resting near my hip. It was bare. His skin was clear, smooth, and untainted by any ink. Raymond was a cold-blooded assassin, a man who lived for the kill, while Oliver was a King, a man who built things and cared for his people.
"It’s just a ring," I whispered to myself, feeling a wave of relief wash over me.
I remembered hearing that certain high-ranking Alphas wore similar jewelry as a status symbol. Maybe it was a gift, or maybe it was a trophy from a battle I didn’t know about. Raymond was an Alpha, after all; it stood to reason that other Alphas might have the same taste.
I cleared the dark thoughts from my mind, forcing my muscles to lose their tension. I forced myself to forget all about who Raymond was and focus on this warm bed, surrounded by the scent of roses and the man who had just told me he loved me.
I let out a long, shaky breath and let my head rest back on Oliver’s chest. I closed my eyes, letting the steady, powerful beat of his heart lull me into a deep, exhausted sleep.
The sunlight was streaming through the tall windows when I finally blinked my eyes open. The bed was still warm, but the space beside me was empty. I sat up, the silk sheets slipping down my skin, and looked toward the dresser.
The tray was gone. The ring was gone.
Before I could process the chill that ran down my spine, the door to the bedroom pushed open. Oliver walked in, fully dressed in a crisp black shirt that made his red hair pop. He was carrying a tray with fresh fruit, rolls, and a single white lily.
"Morning, beautiful," he said, his voice bright and full of energy. "I was going to let you sleep all day, but I missed you too much."
He set the tray on the bed, but he didn’t just stand there. He immediately moved to me, his hands bracing on either side of my hips, hovering over me. His jaw was tight, and his blue eyes were dark with an obvious frustration that had nothing to do with me and everything to do with the world outside this room.
"I have to go into the city for a few hours," he grumbled, his voice dropping into a low, protective growl. "An emergency with the council. I don’t want to go. If it weren’t so important, I’d stay right here. I’d spend the whole day showing you exactly how much last night meant to me."
He leaned down, burying his face in the crook of my neck, inhaling sharply as if trying to memorize my scent. He stayed there for a long moment, then pulled back just enough to look me in the eyes. His thumb reached out, tracing the line of my jaw with infinite gentleness, his brow furrowing with genuine, deep-seated concern.
"How are you feeling, Aurora?" he whispered, his voice trembling slightly. "Are you in any pain? Any... discomfort? I know I was rough at the end, and I haven’t stopped thinking about it. I hate the thought that I might have hurt you."
"I’m okay, Oliver," I promised, my voice a little breathless, my heart softening at the worry in his gaze. "A little sore... but it’s a good kind of sore."
A flicker of that dark, possessive pride returned to his expression, but it was quickly masked by the annoyance of his impending departure. He groaned, pressing a hard, lingering kiss to my lips that tasted of mint, coffee, and an intense possessiveness.
"Two hours," he vowed, his forehead resting against mine. "I will be back in two hours. Not a minute later. My men know that if they take a second more of my time, there will be hell to pay."
He kissed me one last time—a deep, soul-stirring contact—before he forced himself to stand up. "Eat your breakfast. And remember, I have a present for you. It should be here soon."
He didn’t wait for an answer before he stepped out and closed the door.
I sat in the silence, my eyes drifting back to the empty dresser, wondering why the ring had vanished so suddenly. A cold prickle of unease danced over my skin, but I tried to shake it off.
I reached for a piece of fruit, forcing myself to relax.
I was just finishing a roll when a soft knock sounded at the door.
"Enter," I called out, pulling the duvet higher around my chest.
His housekeeper, a middle-aged lady, stepped in, her head bowed respectfully. In her hands, she carried a long, rectangular box.
"His Majesty sent this for you," she murmured, placing it at the foot of the bed before scurrying out.
