Chosen By The Cursed Alpha King Chapter 58

EMILIA'S POV

The door shut with a heavy thud, leaving me alone with him.

Lucien's presence had been like a lifeline, a buffer between me and the storm that was the King. But now—now it was just the two of us. His fury. My trembling defiance. And the silence.

Goddess, the silence.

It pressed against my ears, filled my lungs like smoke, thick and suffocating. He stood across the room, his chest rising and falling with uneven breaths, every muscle in his body wound tight as a bowstring. His hands flexed at his sides, veins bulging, and though his face was angled away, I could feel the weight of his presence, the raw power rolling off him in suffocating waves.

Then, slowly, his head turned. His gaze found mine, pinning me where I stood. The air crackled with unspoken things, with everything he wanted to say and everything I was too afraid to hear.

And then his lips parted.

"I'm a monster."

The words landed between us like shards of glass. My breath caught, my body locking into stillness. He wasn't yelling now. He wasn't raging. His voice was low, flat, but laced with something so much worse than fury.

Conviction.

He believed it. Every word.

I shook my head before I even realized I was doing it. "You're not a monster."

A sound burst from him then—not the dark growl I'd expected, not the roar of anger that made the walls quake. No, this was worse.

He laughed.

But it wasn't the laughter I'd heard at the lake—the rare, fleeting sound that had surprised me so much it had made my heart skip. That laughter had been almost human, almost boyish, like a glimpse into a part of him that no one else had ever touched.

This one was nothing like that.

This laugh was hollow. Bitter. Broken. It scraped against my skin like claws, stripped of warmth, stripped of life. It chilled me to my bones.

"You don't understand," he said, his mouth curling into something that wasn't quite a smile. "I am a monster. An ugly, disgusting beast. I am not capable of love."

The words struck me harder than any roar, any threat.

"Stop saying that," I whispered, my throat tight.

He cocked his head, his eyes dark, a cruel glimmer in them. "Stop saying what? The truth?"

I swallowed hard, my heart slamming against my ribs, but I forced myself to meet his gaze. "But you didn't kill me last night." My voice was shaking, but I pushed through. "Or that night."

His jaw tightened. "You must really be born with a lot of luck."

I barked out a laugh, sharp and humorless, my own bitterness slipping free before I could stop it. "Yeah. Luck. Like how my father made me an omega. Like how he sent me away to die." My chest heaved, the words spilling from me like poison. "Yeah. Tell me about luck."

The silence that followed was so heavy it pressed down on me, stealing the air from my lungs. He didn't respond. He didn't even blink. He just... looked at me, something unreadable flickering in the depths of his eyes.

And for a second, I hated him for it. Hated him for holding all his pain so close while mine spilled out like an open wound.

"Just because I saw you at your weakest doesn't make you weak," I said, softer now. My voice trembled, but I pushed the words out anyway, as if they had claws of their own. "You're—"

"Stop."

The single word cracked through the room like a whip. His voice was sharp, cutting, slicing clean through my sentence.

"You could have died," he hissed, his hands clenching into fists so tight I swore I heard his knuckles crack. His chest rose and fell with jagged breaths, his entire body trembling with barely restrained rage—or was it fear? "Do you think I could live with myself if something like that happened..."

His words faltered.

"...again."

Again.

The single word sent a chill racing down my spine. My brows furrowed before I could stop them. "Again?"

He stilled. His hands twitched, clenching tighter, his jaw locked so hard a muscle jumped in his cheek. His eyes burned into me, but there was something behind them now—something raw and dangerous.

Something he didn't want me to see.

But I saw it anyway.

Pain.

Deep, festering pain.

And then—he shut it down. Just like that. As if a door slammed shut inside him.

"We have a deal, Emilia," he said, his voice rough, clipped, like every word cost him something. "I need a child."

There was something in his tone—a desperation he didn't quite hide fast enough.

It startled me.

I blinked, my lips parting, but before I could speak, he continued.

"I don't have time," he bit out, regaining his composure. His eyes locked onto mine, hard and unyielding. "Just do this for me. And stop trying to get yourself killed."

The silence stretched. His chest heaved. My pulse pounded.

And then, almost too soft to hear—

"Please."

The word shattered me.

I froze, every thought in my head stalling at once.

The King—this ruthless, feared man, the one who ruled with claws and blood and unrelenting force—had just told me please.

My lips parted, but no words came. Shock held me in its grip, my heart stumbling in my chest. He had bared something he never should have, and I didn't know what to do with it.

"Never speak of what happened last night," he said suddenly, his voice snapping back into steel, slicing away the moment of weakness. His tone left no room for argument. "Not to anyone."

I swallowed, my throat dry. "How long?" My voice was a whisper.

His brows furrowed, suspicion flickering in his eyes. "How long what?"

"How long have you been suffering like this?"

His eyes narrowed, a dangerous gleam flashing in them. "Emilia—"

"You don't have to suffer alone anymore," I blurted, my words tumbling recklessly, recklessly. Too much. Too far.

His jaw tightened, but he didn't speak.

My heart thudded painfully in my chest, and I cursed myself silently. This wasn't the plan. I wasn't supposed to pity him. I wasn't supposed to care.

I was supposed to break him down, slip past his walls, get into his heart—so I could escape this palace.

But now? Now the thought of fisting my hands around his weakness, of using his pain against him, made bile rise in my throat.

Could I really be that cruel? Even if he was the King? Even if he deserved it?

I needed to leave this place. I had to. That had always been the plan.

So why was my heart faltering now?

"Emilia."

His voice cut through my spiraling thoughts, sharp and commanding. My head snapped up, my eyes meeting his.

I forced a neutral expression onto my face. "Nothing," I said quickly, the word tumbling out. "It's nothing."

He studied me, his eyes narrowed as if trying to peel away my lies layer by layer. Then, finally, he straightened.

"You need to leave."

I swallowed hard, forcing myself to nod. "Yes, Your Majesty."

Something flickered in his eyes at the words, a shadow of something I couldn't name. He raised a brow but said nothing.

I lingered for a moment, my feet rooted to the spot, my heart pounding so violently it hurt. Then I forced myself to turn. Forced myself to walk toward the door.

Every step echoed in the silence.

At the threshold, I paused. Against every instinct, every ounce of self-preservation, I turned my head, just enough to look back at him one last time.

He stood there, shadowed, his back straight, his hands clenched at his sides, his eyes fixed on me like he was burning my image into his memory.

My heart thundered.

I turned away quickly, before my resolve could shatter completely, before the treacherous doubts in my chest could drown me.

I walked out.

But the question gnawed at me with every step.

Why was I suddenly doubting my decision?

Why was I holding back?