The morning sun hit the gold curtains of the royal bedroom, making Silas's head throb even harder. He lay still, staring at the ceiling. He was Silas Vane. He was a 30-year-old Mafia Enforcer. He was a killer. But today... today he had to be a "fiancé."
The heavy oak doors opened. Prince Alaric walked in, followed by two servants carrying a silver tray. The smell of fresh coffee and expensive spices filled the room, but underneath it, Silas could smell the Prince's Alpha scent—now stronger, more possessive.
"Good morning, my love," Alaric said. He dismissed the servants with a wave of his hand. He sat on the edge of the bed, the mattress dipping under his weight.
Silas forced his eyes to look wide and innocent. "I... I'm still confused. Did I really live here?"
Alaric picked up a piece of fruit and held it to Silas's lips. "You lived in my heart, Silas. That is all that matters."
Silas bit the fruit. His mind was racing. I need to find that digital drive. I need to get out of this palace. "You said we were getting married today?"
"I moved the wedding," Alaric whispered, leaning in so close their noses almost touched. "I want you to rest. But since you don't remember our life together, perhaps I should help you... feel it."
Alaric reached out and pulled the collar of Silas's silk shirt aside. He exposed the pale skin of Silas's shoulder. There was no mating mark there—not yet.
"Every morning," Alaric lied, his voice dropping to a low growl, "you used to wake me up with a kiss. You used to tell me that being my Omega was the only thing that made you happy."
Silas felt a surge of disgust. I would never say that! he thought. But aloud, he whispered, "I did? I must have loved you very much."
"Oh, you did," Alaric said. A small, dark smirk appeared on the Prince's youthful face. He knew Silas was lying. He had seen Silas's combat skills last night. No "innocent fiancé" could fight like that. "In fact, you even told me all your secrets. You told me about your friends in the city... and the people you used to work for."
Silas froze. His heart skipped a beat. Is he testing me? Does he know about the Vane family?
"What... what did I tell you?" Silas asked, trying to keep his voice from shaking.
Alaric ran a thumb over Silas's bottom lip. "You told me you were tired of your old life. You told me you wanted to start over. And I promised I would protect you from your past."
Alaric leaned down, his lips brushing against Silas's ear. "But if you're faking this amnesia, Silas... then I can't protect you. If you're a spy, the King will have you executed by sunset."
The room went silent. The "Prince" was no longer acting like a sweet lover. He was a 25-year-old King asserting his power over a trapped 30-year-old wolf.
Silas looked him in the eye. "I'm not faking. I don't know who I am. If I'm a spy... please, don't let them kill me." Silas even let a single tear fall down his cheek. It was a masterpiece of acting.
Alaric stared at the tear. He reached out and wiped it away with his thumb. For a moment, his eyes softened, but then they turned back to steel.
"I won't let them kill you," Alaric said, standing up. "Because you belong to me now. Whether you remember or not, you are never leaving this room."
As Alaric walked out and locked the door from the outside, Silas sat up. The "innocent" look vanished from his face. He looked at the window. He looked at the locked door.
"You think you've caught a pet, little Prince," Silas hissed to the empty room. "But you've just locked yourself in with a monster."