Villainess Marked For Her Alpha-Chapter 54: Is Emily a Witch?

Hellen flung her clutch purse onto the velvet sofa with a muffled thud as the mansion’s doors sighed shut behind her, the grand foyer echoing hollow under crystal chandeliers that cast fractured light across marble floors.

Her face was a blank mask—ice-blue eyes distant, blonde ponytail dishevelled from the drive, navy blazer creased from restaurant tension—but inside, memories crashed like waves—Emily’s soft folds glimpsed under that stall gap, undeniable omega truth she’d buried deep.

That woman had lied from day one, alpha facade cracking now. Did she trust Hellen at all? Why hide it—fear? Shame? The betrayal stung sharp.

’Why am I even surprised? That woman gave clear signs of an omega. There was nothing alpha about her.’

And Emily’s ’dream omega’—that was haunting her? Emily must have faked it, trying to confuse her.

Heat flooded Hellen’s cheeks crimson as flashes hit—Emily trapped beneath her on the office sofa, soft body yielding plush, small huggable waist arching into her grip, pouty red lips parted begging-kissable, nape exposed vulnerable like an invitation. Breaths mingling, curves squishing heat through silk—alpha control frayed to threads.

Her arms twitched uncontrollable, muscles coiling phantom-crave. She bowed her head low, shaking it sharp—ponytail whipping—to dispel the haze.

"Emily, don’t blame me now," she growled to the empty foyer, voice gravel-raw echoing off gilded walls. "I will chase you wherever you run. Make you my wife. Your alpha."

Anger simmered hot at the deception—Emily misleading her, forcing self-doubt. She’d practiced mirror-mantras daily—You like an alpha, so you’re gay. Nights staring at her reflection, repeating it like gospel, wrestling urges she thought twisted. Even the mirror was getting tired of her. If the mirror could speak, it would have already yelled at Hellen for pathetic words.

You’re gay.

You like an alpha, so you’re gay.

You’re gay.

You like an alpha, so you’re gay.

Only to unravel straight as steel. Relief crashed with fury—she wasn’t broken. No past flings, no tangled history; first spark was Emily, this fool omega hiding her nature, complicating everything with lies. Even if Emily was an omega, she was willing to become gay for her. She had already accepted her fate, but Emily’s omega status changed everything.

"I am straight," Hellen declared to the shadows, stripping off her blazer—tossing it over the purse—white silk blouse clinging to her frame.

"I am straight and not gay."

"I am straight and not gay."

She paced the foyer deliberate, fists clenching, ponytail swaying like a pendulum. "Emily, I’ll wait—for you to confess the truth."

Moonlight slanted through tall windows, silvering her sharp features. "But once you do... I’ll mark you deep, knot you senseless till you beg, fill that belly swollen with our babies." Alpha promise rumbled final, eyes darkening possessive storm. 𝐟𝗿𝐞𝚎𝚠𝐞𝚋𝕟𝐨𝚟𝐞𝕝.𝕔𝕠𝚖

"But that pussy was really cute," Hellen whispered to herself, the words slipping husky and ragged into the mansion foyer’s shadowed hush, cheeks igniting volcanic crimson as the illicit glimpse replayed in torturous detail.

Emily’s soft, delicate folds peeking vulnerable from the restroom stall’s narrow gap, rosy petals flushed and glistening faint under marble light, petite slit nestled innocent between plush thighs, omega essence bared unwitting about Hellen’s presence.

Perfectly formed, smooth like silk invitation, folds plump and dewy—tight entrance winking shy, outer lips curving full and kissable, clit hooded pearl begging coax.

Hellen’s pants strained, traitorous throb pulsing insistent, corded arms twitching uncontrollable with raw ache to spread those thighs wide, bury tongue deep in slick heat, claim every quiver as hers—then, open of her pants...

’No, don’t entertain these thoughts. For now. Still... Emily must be a witch. No one has ever caught my eye, but with one meeting... she changed everything.’

Blonde ponytail slipped forward tousled, brushing her burning face as gloved—no, bare now—hands gripped the marble console tightly, knuckles whitening, eyes fluttering shut against the alpha surge crashing blood-hot.

She exhaled sharp through gritted teeth, shaking her head fierce—ponytail whipping wild—straight, not gay mantra fracturing under the image’s taunt—Emily’s pouty vulnerability fuelling the storm she’d barely reined at dinner, soft body yielding beneath her, lips parted gasp-ready.

"Truth first," she growled low, resolve hardening steel despite the whisper’s pull.

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Reyes flicked the single overhead bulb to life in her cramped apartment, harsh fluorescents buzzing awake over the chaos—takeout boxes stacked precarious on the counter, gym bag unzipped mid-floor spilling socks and protein bars, bed unmade with sheets twisted from restless nights.

Dust motes danced lazy in the beam, air stale with gun oil and yesterday’s sweat—but she didn’t care, kicking boots off haphazard, tactical jacket slung over a rickety chair.

Cleanliness was for civilians; her mind was battlefield, occupied fully by her. Emily.

That woman haunted her like a sniper’s scope—single meeting, and Reyes was enchanted, alpha instincts locked target.

She collapsed onto the sagging bed, springs groaning under her six-foot-one frame, scarred jaw slack as memories replayed HD vivid—Emily’s petite curves hugged lush in that dress, raven hair spilling wild halo; flushed cheeks rosy when sand-tumbled helpless into her arms.

"Was that woman even an alpha? She had a very soft body..."

Full lips pouting dramatic over movie popcorn, emerald eyes sparkling guileless as gloved hands cradled those rosy toes—dainty arches perfect, skin petal-soft begging touch.

Brown silk tube top clinging second-skin at the theatre, swirling hips like invitation, every sway hypnotic—waist nipping tiny huggable, breasts full and yielding when hugged tight, nape arching trusting.

Too soft, too trusting, Reyes thought, pulse kicking low, her scent spiking her own stale air. There was nothing alpha about her in those eyes, and her body screamed omega—mine to shield. Reyes was shocked by her thoughts. How? One night—park laughs, movie snorts, heel service—and she’d spellbound unbreakable.

Reyes raked gloved fingers through her razor pixie cut, gray eyes distant ceiling cracks. She craved the app ping—rebook. Next shift, I’ll guard closer—chase shadows, claim space. Whatever spell you wove, Emily... I’m hooked. That woman must be a witch.

Bed creaked as she lay back, Emily’s pouty smile looping endless, waiting the call like a soldier for orders.