The Alpha’s Broken Mate

Aurora’s POV

Three years had passed since the mate bond was shattered. That’s how long it had been when I saw Alpha Alexander again, in the lobby of the Manhattan Grand Hotel.

I was working the front desk the evening he checked into the presidential suite, a sleek she-wolf draped on his arm like an accessory.

By the midpoint of my shift, the phone at my station had already rung three times, all from his room.

The first call, his voice was clipped. “The sheets are soiled. Have them replaced.”

I dispatched a housekeeper without a word.

Two hours later, the phone rang again. Same demand. Fresh sheets.

I sent another attendant up, my expression neutral.

Then, at two in the morning, the line lit up once more. I answered, preempting him this time. “My apologies, Alpha. The housekeeping department is closed for the night.”

A low, amused chuckle traveled down the line, tinged with a familiarity that grated. “Then you come up and do it.”

I said nothing.

I simply placed the receiver back in its cradle.

My job was front desk concierge, not maid service. I had no obligation to perform duties outside my role.

Chloe, my coworker, leaned in, her voice dropping to a whisper. “Was that him again? The Alpha in the penthouse?”

I gave a slight nod. She covered her mouth, a sly grin spreading. “Three sheet changes in one night? Someone’s having quite the energetic evening. What did he say when you told him no staff was available?”

“He instructed me to go up and handle it myself,” I replied flatly.

Chloe’s eyes widened briefly before she snorted. “Just because he’s in the presidential suite doesn’t mean he owns the place. Who does he think he is, ordering front desk staff around like personal valets—”

Her rant was cut short as her own phone rang. She straightened, adopting a professional tone. “Front desk, Chloe speaking.”

I couldn’t hear the other side of the conversation, but I saw her posture stiffen. Her gaze snapped to me, incredulous. “You… you want Aurora to go up to the presidential suite now to change the linens?”

Fifteen minutes later, I found myself standing before the heavy oak door of the suite, my fist hovering before I finally pressed the bell.

Alexander answered the door wearing nothing but a plush hotel robe.

Seeing me, he stepped back wordlessly, granting entry. The faint sound of a shower running echoed from the ensuite bathroom.

He led me into the master bedroom before settling onto a nearby armchair with an air of utter nonchalance. Taking his time, he pulled a cigarette from a case, placed it between his lips, and lit it.

I moved to the bed in silence and pulled back the duvet.

The sight that greeted me was a visceral punch to the gut. The sheets were tangled, marked with unmistakable, damp patches.

A sharp, phantom ache lanced through my chest—a cruel echo from a bond that no longer existed. If my wolf spirit were still with me, she would have been keening in sorrow.

He exhaled a slow stream of smoke, his voice laced with the smug satisfaction of a man recently satiated. “My apologies for the inconvenience. My companion is rather… particular. She finds it difficult to rest on soiled linen. Do be quick. She’s exhausted.”

I forced my voice to remain level. “Five minutes.”

My movements were efficient, mechanical. I stripped the bed, bundling the used sheets, and made it anew with crisp, white linens.

Task complete, I gathered the soiled bundle in my arms and turned to leave.

He moved suddenly, a blur of motion, closing the distance and caging me against the footboard of the massive bed. As he advanced, I lost my balance and fell back onto the freshly made mattress.