Chapter 6: Househusband or Hunter

I try to push him away, but he’s immovable. His strength is absolute.

Finally, I can’t take it anymore and slap him—only to find that he actually enjoys it! He shudders, wicked and pleased.

“Don’t move—” His voice is half command, half promise.

I stare at him in horror. I didn’t sign up for discovering his kinks.

He holds me tight, taking a long time to recover, then presses a kiss to my head, his voice full of warning. It threads through me.

“The past is the past. But if you ever get with another guy while you’re with me, don’t blame me for what happens.”

I give him a smug pat on the cheek. I can’t help myself.

“We’ll see how you behave.”

…And then I paid for that comment. With interest.

It started at noon. The day turned into a blur.

When I wake up again, limp and exhausted, it’s already eight at night. The sense of time is shredded.

The sheets have been changed, and I’m cleaned up and fresh. From the kitchen, I can smell my favorite BBQ ribs. Sweet, smoky, perfect.

I try to move, but my whole body aches so much I can’t lift a finger. I feel rung out, steamrolled, blissed and doomed.

Colton really is an ace at everything. A terrifying overachiever.

He can lead a pack, fight on the front lines, and cook a mean meal—especially all the original me’s favorite dishes! He’s memorized my cravings.

Thankfully, the original had good taste, and our preferences overlap. I can work with this.

It’s like Colton has eyes in the back of his head—just as I wake up, he comes in to call me for dinner. He reads me like a clock.

I act spoiled. When in doubt, play the role.

“I’m tired. Feed me.”

Colton is the perfect househusband—he actually finds a small table, brings over the dishes one by one, and feeds me bite by bite. It’s domestic and absurdly intimate.

He’s so practiced at it, it’s like he’s done it a thousand times before. Muscle memory doesn’t lie.

Wow, so this was how the original couple interacted? There’s a rhythm here I didn’t invent.

A househusband who can cook—what a dream! If you ignore the wolf tail, he’s a Pinterest board.

No wonder the heroine is green with envy. This is the kind of care you can’t fake.

Halfway through eating, I suddenly realize something’s off. My brain catches up with my mouth.

Wait… wasn’t BBQ ribs the original’s favorite? That detail isn’t random.

Didn’t the Alpha lose his memory? That was the whole hook.

How did he know to make this dish for me? The question tastes like smoke and suspicion.

“Why aren’t you eating?” He notices the pause immediately.

The way he looks at me is unsettling. I can’t help but ask, honesty slipping through my act.

“Aren’t you hungry?”

He gives me a meaningful smile, his eyes almost wicked. It’s a tug-of-war between affection and hunger.

“I’ll eat later.”

I don’t get a chance to think about it any further. Thought becomes a luxury.

Halfway through dinner, the table is forgotten. Plates go cold.

Colton is like a starving wolf, starting right there at the table— the world narrows to breath and touch.

In the chaos, I hear his voice, hoarse and low. It’s a growl wrapped in velvet.

“Thanks for the meal.”

My voice is barely coherent. I’m trying to remember how to breathe.

“Get your tail… away from me!” I choke on the last word.

He laughs, sending shivers down my spine. The sound is sinful.

“No.”

When I wake up in his arms the next morning, it finally hits me— the pattern, the possessiveness, the jealousy simmering beneath the sweetness.

Was he jealous last night? Oh, he was starving all right, but not just for food.