Chained By The Alpha Jessica Hall

Book 2 Chapter 25

"I don't need your help. I don't need anyone's help," I say, the words sharp like knives, slicing through the air between us. My hands clench into fists at my sides, nails digging into my palms. "Just leave, Vance."

I expect him to argue, to push back as he's done previously. But he surprises me. Vance doesn't move, his gray eyes locked on mine. There's a flicker of something - disappointment? frustration? - before his expression hardens

He nods slowly, his jaw set. "Fine," he says, hisContent held by NôvelDrama.Org.

voice low and even. "See you tomorrow, Maya.'

My stomach lurches. What does he mean by that? Before I can demand an explanation, he

turns on his heel and walks away

I stand frozen for a moment, my mind reeling

Part of me wants to call after him, to demand answers. But pride keeps my lips sealed. With a growl of frustration, I slam the door shut, the bang echoing through the empty halls of my once-grand home

Leaning against the closed door, I slide down to the floor, my legs suddenly weak. What game is Vance playing? And why do I feel so..

conflicted when it comes to that man? Eventually dragging my ass off the floor I move to my bed and fall into it, knowing I have an early start tomorrow since I managed to get an extra shift tomorrow morning at the library, and then I am pulling a double shift at the club to make up for my mistake of fucking up my first night on the VIP floor.

Exhausted, I peel myself off the floor and drag my weary body toward the corner where my portable gas stove sits on a rickety table; I bought it the other day since I still haven't decided if I will pay the electric bill. The coolness of the floor under my feet reminds me Just how empty and cold this mansion has become, a shell of its former glory. I rummage through the cupboard-what's left of my pantry 1s pitiful, but I manage to find a box of macaroni. Simple, quick, and it fills the void, and I can't handle eating any more noodles right now

As I wait for the water to boil, I sit cross-legged on the floor, staring at the blue flame. The gentle hiss of the gas is soothing, a rare, comforting sound in the echoing silence of this too-large house, and warms me some, considering I still haven't had a chance to chop more wood for the fireplace. The macaroni

cooks, bubbling in the pot, and I stir it absentmindedly, my thoughts drifting to the bills piled up on the hallway table

The electric bill glares back at me from my mental checklist, a looming expense that I could just barely cover if I decided to ignore the property tax notice that also came this week to add to last quarter's one. It's a balancing act; paying the electric bill means lights, warmth, a semblance of normalcy. But then, the city might come knocking for their due if I skip out on the property taxes again

Once dinner is ready, I spoon the steaming macaroni into a paper bowl. It's plain, with no cheese or butter, just salt for flavor. I carry it over to the bay window and sit on the small bench, the one spot where the moonlight streams in, casting long shadows across the floor

As J eat, a small, dark figure darts out from the crack in the wall-the mouse. It's become an unwanted friendly pest. I watch it sniff the air, its tiny nose twitching. It's just as hungry as I am, maybe more

I know I should probably deal with it and lay down traps, but there's something about its persistent survival that resonates with me. This little mouse, scrappy and persistent, is the only living being that shares my space and my struggles

"Here," I whisper, scooping out some of the macaroni and placing it on the floor. The mouse hesitates, then scurries over, nibbling on the offering. It watches me with petrified eyes but 1s hungry enough, and it doesn't scamper away as I continue eating

"It's not cheese, but it's food," I tell the mouse