The Alpha’s Eternal Mate

The aftermath of the raid left an unsettling quiet in the air. The warehouse, once a hive of illicit activity, now stood empty save for the unconscious bodies left behind and the flickering overhead lights casting eerie shadows against the cold concrete walls.

Lyra leaned against a rusted metal crate, her breathing heavy as she wiped the sweat from her brow. Her heart still pounded from the adrenaline rush, but a different kind of unease settled deep within her chest.

Ethan stood a few feet away, his dark eyes scanning the remnants of the battle with an expression of cold calculation. Even after all these years, he was still the same—always in control, always a step ahead.

"We need to get out of here," Logan's voice cut through the silence, his sharp gaze flickering between them. "The authorities will be sniffing around soon."

Ethan nodded once, his attention shifting back to Lyra. "Are you hurt?"

Lyra shook her head, pushing off the crate. "No, I'm fine."

His gaze lingered a second too long, and she saw it—the flicker of something buried beneath his hardened exterior. Concern? Guilt? She couldn't tell anymore.

Ethan turned away, barking orders to his men, and Lyra let out a slow breath. She followed them out into the cool night air, her eyes scanning the darkened streets.

As they climbed into the black SUVs waiting outside, Lyra couldn't shake the feeling that they weren't alone.

Someone was watching.

Midnight Crest Tower – War Room

The lights in the war room buzzed softly, illuminating the tense faces gathered around the long conference table. Logan stood by the monitor, reviewing the data collected from the warehouse, while Ethan sat at the head of the table, his jaw tight and his fingers tapping rhythmically against the wood.

Lyra sat across from him, clutching a cup of coffee she didn't have the appetite for. Her mind swirled with thoughts of the men they had encountered, the whispers of her name in their coded messages.

"So," Logan began, clearing his throat. "Westwood's men were moving more than just weapons."

Ethan's dark gaze snapped to the screen as Logan pulled up surveillance images of marked crates. "Smuggling, trafficking, and more money laundering than we initially thought."

Lyra frowned, leaning closer. "And the connection to me?"

Logan tapped a few keys, pulling up an intercepted email thread. "They weren't just after Ethan's assets. They were looking for someone specific. You."

The room fell into heavy silence.

Lyra swallowed the lump in her throat. "Why?"

Ethan's fingers stopped tapping, his voice dangerously low. "That's what we're going to find out."

Lyra met his gaze, trying to mask the unease creeping into her bones. "They knew I was here, Ethan. That means there's a leak in your pack."

Ethan's expression darkened. "And I intend to root them out."

Logan shifted in his seat. "The question is, how do they know who she really is?"

Lyra stiffened, forcing herself to stay calm. "It could just be coincidence."

Ethan's eyes never left hers. "I don't believe in coincidence."

Her fingers curled tightly around the coffee cup. He was right, of course. Whoever was after her knew too much, and it was only a matter of time before they came again.

"We need to set a trap," Ethan said, standing abruptly. "Let them think they have the upper hand."

Lyra blinked. "You want to use me as bait?"

Ethan's gaze hardened. "You were always the bait, Lyra. Whether you like it or not."

The words stung more than they should have, but she pushed down the frustration rising in her chest. "Fine," she said. "Let's do it."

Later That Night – Lyra's Suite

Sleep was elusive.

Lyra sat curled on the edge of the plush sofa, staring at the city lights beyond the floor-to-ceiling windows. The weight of the day pressed down on her, but she couldn't stop thinking about Ethan—about the way he looked at her now, so different from before.

He was colder, more ruthless, but still... there was something beneath the surface. Something that reminded her of the man she had once loved.

A soft knock at the door made her tense.

She rose carefully, her bare feet silent against the floor as she opened it to find Ethan standing there.

For a moment, neither of them spoke. The tension that always lingered between them felt heavier in the stillness of the night.

"Couldn't sleep?" he asked, his voice softer than usual.

Lyra crossed her arms. "Something like that."

Ethan stepped inside, closing the door behind him. His presence filled the space effortlessly, making the room feel smaller.

"Are you afraid?" he asked, his dark eyes searching hers.

Lyra let out a breathy laugh. "Of what? The people trying to kill me, or the fact that I'm stuck here with you?"

Ethan smirked, but it didn't reach his eyes. "Both, probably."

She shook her head, running a hand through her hair. "I can handle myself, Ethan."

He stepped closer, his gaze dropping to her lips for the briefest of moments before snapping back to her eyes. "I know."

Lyra swallowed hard. "Then why do you keep looking at me like I'm going to break?"

Ethan's jaw tightened, his hand lifting as if to touch her but stopping halfway. "Because I remember what happened the last time I let my guard down."

The air between them grew thick, charged with a history neither of them could escape.

Lyra's voice softened. "That wasn't your fault."

Ethan's eyes darkened, and for a moment, she thought he might say something—might finally acknowledge the weight of their past. But instead, he stepped back, his expression closing off once more.

"Get some rest, Lyra," he said, turning toward the door.

She watched him leave, the ache in her chest growing heavier with each step he took.

When the door clicked shut behind him, Lyra sank back onto the couch, her fingers trembling slightly.

Ethan Graves was a force she had never been able to escape.

And she wasn't sure she wanted to anymore.