The Witch and Her Four Dangerous Alphas

Chapter 72: Chapter 72: The Bouquet

Selene’s POV~

The sharp ring of the doorbell pulled me out of sleep like a blade dragging across silk. My head felt heavy, as though the weight of the bond still pressed me down. A groan slipped past my lips as I rolled from bed, bare feet dragging across the floorboards.

Sara wasn’t here; she had left for her own home earlier, so the silence of the house pressed against me, thick and suffocating. I rubbed at my eyes, still half lost in dreams, and shuffled toward the door.

Already impatient from being disturbed, I could hardly get any good sleep. The thing I hated most was when someone woke me up—I rather preferred waking up naturally.

Another impatient ring.

"I’m coming..." I mumbled, more to myself than to whoever waited outside.

The lock clicked under my hand, and the door creaked open.

And a wall of color filled my vision. Roses. Carnations. Lilies. A bouquet so large it nearly swallowed me whole. My sleepy mind blinked at the absurdity of it—petals brushing my nose, the faint dampness of rain clinging to the stems.

Before I could gather my wits, a low voice, smooth and faintly edged, murmured from behind the flowers.

"Good morning, dear. Are you awake yet?"

Recognition stirred. My lips curved before my mind caught up. "Why are you giving me a bouquet?"

around the stems as though accepting were instinct. I placed the flowers on the table, their

I turned back, he was

believe he has more capabilities than

much, but as time passed, we kept encountering each other, and I never

businessman with deep connections across all races, and with his help, Sara and I were able to obtain many useful

him the moment he stepped into it. His hair was

of his gaze. For a heartbeat,

scar from fire. Yet it did nothing to lessen his beauty—for beauty was never just in the

that sank into the silence, "flowers might

him that I was alone here so he could come and accompany me. I don’t

a restrained motion, he reached for my hand.

as though testing the words

I glanced at him, his expression was unreadable...eyes lowered, mask shadowing most of his face. Perhaps I had imagined

I said quickly, pulling my hand back. "I’ll make something simple for breakfast." I tried to shove him away. I didn’t know why, but whenever he was close, my heart

someone’s hand like that—in his mind, it was pretty common, as most human men did

seemed to be elsewhere—on the table, on the rain streaking the window, on the

I wasn’t looking, I felt it—that quiet pressure against my

me stiffen. He moved closer, slow enough that I noticed only when the warmth of

quietly, as though it wasn’t advice but