Page 81 of The Alpha King’s Hidden Mute Mate

My hand holding the empty cup was shaking.

"You're insane," I said, my voice shakier than I expected. "You're fucking insane."

"Maybe," he said, voice barely audible.

The crowd kept growing. I heard people shouting "Fight! Fight!", someone squealing excitedly. Flashes machine-gunned the chaotic scene. Tomorrow morning, headlines everywhere would be this. Moonhowl king brawls in street over female singer.

I took a deep breath and tried to keep my voice steady. "Leave. Now."

He didn't move.

"Zane, I said leave—"

"I have nowhere to go."

His words stopped me cold.

"What?"

"I have nowhere to go," he repeated, voice so low it was nearly drowned by surrounding noise. "Before I came here, I left everything behind. The throne, duties, attendants, lodging—left it all. Right now, I only have a backpack, a guitar, and these bruises."

He raised his hand, wiped the water from his face, the motion carrying an indescribable exhaustion. When his fingers brushed the cut at his eye, he flinched slightly.

I looked at that cut, at the bruise below his collarbone, at the dried blood on his scraped knuckles, at his soaked shirt clinging to his frame—thinner. He was much thinner than five years ago. Sharper cheekbones, harder jawline, like something had carved away a layer.

Something inside me was loosening.

No. Can't soften.

"That's your choice," I said, voice forcing coldness. "Your path, you walk it back."

"What if I can't walk back?"

His voice was too soft, soft as a feather landing on water. But that sentence weighed like a stone, thudding heavily on my heart.

I looked at him. He looked at me.

I couldn't hear what people around us shouted. Couldn't see the flashes. The whole world seemed reduced to just us two, separated by three steps, by shattered ice and puddles, by five years of emptiness and pain.

Damn it.

Damn damn damn.

"Follow me," I said.

I turned toward the building entrance and didn't look back to see if he followed. I heard footsteps behind me—heavy, slow, slightly staggering steps—following.

Ethan called from behind. "Mia!"

I didn't stop.

"Mia, you can't—"

"Ethan," I stopped but didn't turn. "Go home. We'll talk tomorrow. Please."

Silence for a few seconds. Then I heard a car engine starting, tires on pavement, fading away.

I entered the building and pressed the elevator button.