CHAPTER 315: INTOXICATED BY THE ALPHA

Evaline:

When my silence stretched too long, River finally leaned back slightly, his gaze never leaving mine.

"Time’s up," he said quietly, but there was no mockery in his tone. Just certainty. "You lost."

Heat rushed to my cheeks. I couldn’t even argue, not when he was right... I had failed to answer. My lips parted as if to protest, but instead I whispered, "I... I accept my defeat."

Something flickered in his eyes, satisfied and warm. "Then it’s decided. Tonight goes as per my plan."

And as though my body had been waiting for that exact cue, my stomach growled loudly, breaking the moment in the most humiliating way possible. My eyes widened, and I felt my face burning hotter. Perfect timing, stomach.

When I dared to glance up at him, he had a knowing smile on his lips... the kind that made me feel even more exposed. He clapped his hands once, lightly. "Then first, dinner. I’ll cook for us."

Before I could say anything, he was already leading the way toward the kitchen.

The staff looked stunned when we walked in, their gazes flickering between me and River like they couldn’t believe their eyes. It was so similar to their reaction from the previous time that it was almost comical.

But I didn’t blame them. How often did their Alpha stroll into the kitchen? Twice now, and both times because of me. Before they could even process River’s presence, his voice cut through the air. Calm. Commanding. "You may leave. I’ll handle it."

Some of them exchanged quick looks before they all bowed, and then they were gone, leaving me standing in the wide, gleaming kitchen with him.

My heart thudded.

He was about to tell me to sit down again, I could feel it. So before he got the chance, I blurted, "I want to help this time."

For a moment, he just studied me, and I braced myself for his refusal. But instead, he nodded once. "Alright."

That single word almost made me stumble. I hadn’t expected him to agree. But before I could feel relieved, he was pulling an apron from a drawer. He stepped closer, holding it out. I reached automatically to take it, but he ignored my hand completely, lifting the apron and looping it around my neck.

Then... oh stars... he didn’t step behind me to tie it. No. He stepped closer. So close his chest brushed mine lightly as he leaned forward. His arms wrapped around me as though it was the most natural thing in the world, and my heart went absolutely wild.

I froze, utterly trapped in his warmth, his scent, his steady presence that pressed in on every nerve of my body. His fingers worked at the knot at the small of my back, but he took his time, far longer than necessary.

By the time he finally stepped back, my legs were feeling like jelly. His expression was calm, composed, as though he had done nothing unusual. But I knew better. My heart knew better.

I quickly turned away, desperate for distraction.

And then he began undoing his suit. He draped the coat neatly over a stool, pulled his tie loose, unbuttoned the top two buttons of his shirt, and rolled up his sleeves with deliberate precision. My throat went dry.

It was just like the other night. Except this time, I wasn’t just an observer... I was supposed to participate. My eyes shamelessly followed the strong lines of his forearms as he folded his sleeves up.

And then he looked up.

Our gazes collided, and I knew I had been caught staring. Heat flooded my cheeks, and I spun around quickly, grabbing the nearest thing on the counter just to look busy.

Smooth, Eva. Very smooth.

He didn’t comment, though I could feel his gaze lingering. Instead, he put on an apron himself and began pulling out ingredients. Vegetables. Chicken. Eggs. Herbs. Before I knew it, the two of us were working side by side.

It was... surprisingly easy. Comfortable, even. He handled the main dishes, his movements practiced and precise, while I took on the smaller tasks he assigned me. Washing vegetables, peeling potatoes, chopping onions.

It was almost normal. Almost.

Until it wasn’t.

I was cutting carrots when I glanced at him. "Did I slice this the right way?" I asked, half-proud of myself.

He looked over. Then, instead of answering, he crossed the small distance and stepped behind me.

"Not quite," he murmured, his voice low by my ear. And before I could react, his hands closed over mine. His larger hands guided mine gently, moving the knife to cut thinner, cleaner slices.

My breath caught.

Every nerve in my body lit up under his touch. He was so close I could feel the warmth radiating from him. His chest brushed my back each time he leaned slightly forward to adjust my grip. My heart pounded so loudly I was convinced he could hear it.

He didn’t move away after showing me. He stayed there, his hands over mine, guiding me through the entire carrot. Slice after slice. He moved deliberately and unhurried, as if savoring every second of this unnecessary closeness.

I wanted to tell him I understood. That I could do it myself now. But my voice refused to work, my lungs forgot how to breathe properly, and my body - traitorous as ever - didn’t want him to let go.

When the last slice fell onto the board, his hands finally slipped away, leaving mine cold and trembling.

"Better," he said simply, his tone smooth, as if nothing out of the ordinary had happened.

I exhaled shakily, gripping the knife a little too hard to keep from showing how much he had affected me.

And that was only the beginning.

Every so often, he found some excuse to brush against me, to stand close enough that his arm grazed mine, to reach past me when there was plenty of space to go around.

Once, when I struggled with opening a jar, he took it from me, but instead of stepping back, he popped it open with effortless strength while still standing so near I could feel the faint heat of his breath against my temple.

Each moment left me more flustered, more shaken, and yet... a part of me thrilled in it. In him.

By the time the food was simmering and filling the kitchen with mouthwatering aromas, I wasn’t sure if I was more intoxicated by the smell of dinner or by River himself.