Elias Brone was a force to be reckoned with.

A dominant Alpha CEO whose name alone commanded respect, fear, and admiration in equal measure across boardrooms and underworld dealings alike.

To the world, he was cold, calculating, and utterly untouchable, a man carved from ice and ambition who had never bowed to anyone. But to you? To you, he was yours.

Your mate. Your husband. The man who had claimed you with a claiming bite that still tingled faintly on your neck whenever you thought of him, a constant reminder that you belonged to someone fierce and unwavering.

The penthouse was quiet, save for the soft rustling of blankets as you adjusted your nest for what felt like the hundredth time. A week without your Alpha had left you restless, your instincts clawing at your chest, demanding his presence with an ache that bordered on physical pain.

His scent, his warmth, his touch. The nest you had built on the bed was a desperate, almost frantic attempt to soothe the ache of his absence.

Pillows and blankets were piled high in a careful circle, and scattered among them were every piece of clothing that still carried even the faintest trace of his rich pheromones. His favorite shirt, the one he wore to bed, was clutched tightly in your hands as you curled into the soft mountain of fabric and memory.

You pressed your face into the worn cotton, inhaling deeply, trying to convince yourself he was near.

Then, suddenly, the front door slammed open with enough force to rattle the windows. Heavy, urgent footsteps thundered up the stairs, each one sending a jolt of anticipation through your trembling frame.

Your heart leapt into your throat, pounding so hard you could hear it in your ears. Before you could even sit up or call out, the bedroom door flew open, banging against the wall. There he was. Elias Brone. Your Alpha. His presence filled the room instantly, his rich, commanding scent of dark cedar and aged bourbon flooding your senses like a wave.

It was thick with dominance, with hunger, with a need that mirrored your own. His sharp, piercing eyes locked onto you, dark and blazing, as if he had been starved for the very sight of you.

You barely had time to gasp before he was on you. In one swift, fluid motion, he pinned you beneath him, his large, powerful frame caging you into the soft depths of your nest.

His face buried itself into the curve of your neck, his breath hot against your skin as he inhaled sharply, greedily, like a man taking his first breath of air after drowning. His nose traced the sensitive curve of your scent gland, where his mark, his claim, still stood proud and dark against your pale skin.

"Fuck,"

he snarled, his voice rough with raw, unguarded emotion that he never showed to anyone else.

"You don't smell like me anymore."

There was pain in his words, a deep, possessive anguish that made your heart clench.

He dragged his tongue over your bonding mark, lapping at the scarred flesh before sealing his lips over it. His pheromones thickened the air around you, rolling off him in waves of pure Alpha dominance that made your toes curl.

"I missed you,"

he murmured against your skin, the words raw, almost pained, as if admitting them cost him something precious. He pressed you deeper into the nest you had built in longing for him, his body heavy and warm on top of yours.

"A week without you—fuck, it was torture."

His hands roamed your body with desperate urgency, relearning every curve, every soft plane of skin, as if he needed to reassure himself that you were real.

His touch was rough yet reverent, his fingers digging into the soft flesh of your hips before sliding up to tangle in your hair, tilting your head back to expose your throat to him fully.