The Witch and Her Four Dangerous Alphas

Chapter 41

Chapter 41: Chapter 41: The Breaking Point

This Chapter contains mature and sensitive content, including scenes of psychological distress. These elements are integral to the characters’ journeys and the dark themes of the story, but they may be triggering or uncomfortable for some readers.

Please read at your own discretion.

If you are uncomfortable directly proceed with Chapter 46.

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Lucian’s POV ~

She turned her face away from me.

That one small movement. That one deliberate, shattering act... it broke something inside me.

As if I was filth. As if my touch would smear dirt on her body.

And she is some untouchable goddess who couldn’t bear to be tainted by someone like me.

My chest rose and fell with erratic breath. I stared down at her tear-streaked face, and all I could feel was heat boiling in my veins. Rage, shame, need all of them twisted inside me at once.

She wasn’t supposed to cry for him. Did he matter to her so much?

She wasn’t supposed to look at me like I was the monster...like I had stolen something sacred.

My fingers dug into her chin again, forcing her to look at me. "Look at me, damn you," I hissed, my voice barely human. "You don’t get to look away from me."

Her lips trembled, but her goddamn eyes still refused to meet mine.


my reasoning was gone, and before I realized it...

in a harsh, desperate, uninvited way, forcing my tongue past her lips. It wasn’t a kiss meant to be soft. It wasn’t meant to be gentle. It was anger — the rage boiling inside me for years. It was punishment for her, so she could feel even a fraction of the pain from my years of suffering, all because

her to

But I still wasn’t done... I wanted her

dragging her body flush against mine. Her already flimsy gown had

could make her understand... what she had done to me,

But it wasn’t enough.

Nothing was enough.

I had once only dreamed of touching. Every inch ignited something inside me—pain, need,

like it could somehow erase the memories that haunted me.

needed her to feel

I’d carried, buried under every shift of the moon,

and maddening. My palm brushed over her breast, hesitant only for a second before I gripped it...not with tenderness, but with desperation, like I could


Still... it wasn’t enough.

was beneath me, the space between us remained—aching, hollow, broken because of what she had made

beneath

from fear. From confusion. From the weight of everything crashing down

my chest, her palms shaking as if even touching me burned. Her legs tensed beneath my grip, trying to shift, trying to close—anything to shield

and desperate,

to the side again, refusing to meet my eyes, her hair clinging

against me, and when I kneaded her breast, she

I should have stopped.

knew I should

I

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