Mated by Contract to the Alpha Chapter 87

Rebecca’s POV

The next morning, Dr. Winters entered my room with a pleased expression, clipboard in hand.

"Good news, Ms. Brown," she announced. "Your test results look excellent. With proper rest and care, you can continue your recovery at home. I've prepared discharge instructions and prescriptions for pain management."

I'd barely had time to process this information when the door opened again, and Dominic strode in. He wore an impeccably tailored charcoal suit that emphasized his broad shoulders, his presence immediately filling the small room. His eyes found mine first, a flash of warmth breaking through his professional exterior, but it vanished as quickly as it appeared when his gaze shifted to the bedside table.

"Perfect timing, Mr. Sterling," Dr. Winters said. "I was just telling Ms. Brown she can be discharged today."

Dominic barely acknowledged her words. His attention was fixed on the bouquet of sunflowers Adrian had brought, prominently displayed in a vase. I watched his face transform—the softness in his eyes hardening to ice, his jaw clenching so tightly I could see the muscle jumping beneath his skin.

"Who sent these?" he asked, though his tone suggested he already knew the answer.

I watched nervously as he plucked the small card from among the bright yellow petals, his fingers gripping it with unnecessary force.

"'Wishing you a swift recovery. Adrian Lane,'" he read aloud, his voice dropping to a dangerous whisper that made the hair on my arms stand on end.

Dr. Winters, sensing the sudden shift in atmosphere, excused herself with a promise to return with my discharge papers. The door had barely closed behind her when Dominic turned to me, his blue eyes frigid with barely contained fury.

"Adrian Lane," he repeated, each syllable sharp and precise. "It's him again. Your professor seems particularly attentive."

"He was just being kind," I said, gathering the few personal items within reach, trying to appear casual despite the tension crackling in the air. "It's normal for professors to check on their students when they're ill."

Dominic's gaze moved to the small decorative box on the nightstand—the one containing the clay bowl I'd made during the pottery demonstration. "And this?" he asked, reaching for it.

"That's—" I started, but before I could finish, Dominic had already picked up the bouquet of sunflowers and dropped it into the trash can with such force that the stems snapped, scattering yellow petals across the sterile white floor.

"Dominic!" I gasped, shocked by the sudden display of temper. His nostrils flared as he took a deep breath, his eyes never leaving mine, challenging me to protest further.

His hand moved toward the box containing my pottery piece, and I lunged forward, ignoring the stab of pain from my ribs. "No! That's my work!"

Our eyes locked as I clutched the box to my chest, his hand frozen mid-air. The blue of his eyes darkened, almost glowing with an inhuman intensity that reminded me of exactly what he was—not just a man, but a predator.

"You seem very attached to your professor's gifts," he said, his voice low and controlled, but I could hear the accusation beneath the words.

"It's not his gift—it's my work," I countered, my heart pounding so hard I was sure he could hear it. "You can't destroy my things just because you're jealous."

The word hung between us, charged and volatile. Dominic's face went completely still, the only movement the slight flare of his nostrils as he inhaled sharply. Then he stepped back, his expression shuttering closed like blinds over a window.

"Get dressed," he said flatly. "We're going home."

---

The drive to Dominic's villa was painfully silent. I stared out the window, my mind racing between Dylan's threats and Dominic's controlling behavior. The medication Dr. Winters had given me dulled the physical pain, but did nothing for the emotional turmoil that made my stomach clench and my head pound.

Raymond kept shooting concerned glances in the rearview mirror, but neither of us spoke. Beside me, Dominic typed furiously on his phone, his profile rigid with unspoken anger. Every few minutes, his jaw would clench and release, the only indication of the storm brewing beneath his composed exterior.

As the car pulled through the elegant gates of the villa, I found myself dreading what should have been a relief—coming home. But was it really home? Or just another place where I didn't truly belong?

The massive front doors opened as we approached, revealing Diana, the housekeeper, her face lighting up with a genuine smile.

"Welcome home, Mr. Sterling, Miss Brown," she said warmly. "Miss Brown, are you feeling better? I've prepared chamomile tea and—"

Dominic brushed past her, his hand firmly gripping my wrist as he pulled me toward the main staircase. The contact wasn't painful, but the possessiveness of the gesture made my skin burn. I threw an apologetic glance back at Diana, whose smile faltered as she registered her employer's mood.

We reached the master bedroom, and Dominic closed the door firmly behind us, the lock clicking with finality. When he turned to face me, his expression was tightly controlled, but his eyes betrayed his agitation—bright with an intensity that made my breath catch.

"Adrian Lane," he said without preamble. "What is he to you?"

I set my bag down with deliberate care, buying myself a moment to steady my voice. "He's my professor, Dominic. Nothing more."

"He brings you flowers. Gifts. Visits you in the hospital." Each statement punctuated by a step closer to me, his voice dropping lower with each word.

"He was being kind," I repeated, holding my ground despite the urge to step back. "And at least he respects my work and my choices."

Dominic's eyebrows rose, his eyes widening slightly in disbelief. "Respects? You think he doesn't want more? You think he sits in his office thinking about your academic potential when he looks at you?" His laugh was short and harsh. "You're naive if you believe his interest is purely academic."

My patience snapped, a hot flash of anger replacing my apprehension. "So what if he's interested? Why is it acceptable for Elizabeth to throw herself at you, but unthinkable that another man might talk to me?"

"That's different," Dominic growled, his hands clenching into fists at his sides.

"How?" I challenged, my voice rising to match the fury building in my chest. "Elizabeth can touch you, smile at you, pursue you openly. But I can't even have a male professor bring me flowers without you going ballistic? Without you destroying things that matter to me?"

"Elizabeth is pack," he said, as if that explained everything, his expression hardening.

"And I'm not," I shot back, the words tasting bitter. "I'm human. But I'm still a person, Dominic. Not property. Not a trophy. If you can't accept that I have my own friends, my own life, maybe we shouldn't be doing... whatever this is."

The words left my mouth before I could consider their impact. Dominic went completely still, something complex and unreadable crossing his features—shock, anger, and beneath it all, a flash of fear so brief I almost missed it. Then he crossed the distance between us in smooth strides.

Without speaking, he lifted me into his arms, ignoring my startled protest. He carried me to the bed and set me down with surprising gentleness, then leaned over me, his hands bracketing my face. His eyes searched mine, the anger melting into something more intense, more primal.

"Little doe," he murmured, his voice a dangerous velvet that sent shivers down my spine, "you shouldn't say such things."