Page 11 of The Alpha Under My Bed (The Chosen #1)

Eleven

ELEANOR

I woke up slow.

Not the peaceful kind of slow where the morning stretches lazily into focus, but the heavy, suffocating kind—like dragging myself up from the bottom of a dark lake, my body too sluggish, my thoughts too thick to make sense of anything right away.

My nest was warm—too warm—the weight of my blankets pressing in on me, the scent of my own comfort thick in the air. I shifted, trying to push some of the warmth away, but the movement sent a sharp, unrelenting pulse of sensation through my core.

I inhaled sharply.

The plug.

Still there.

Still filling me.

My stomach curled in on itself, dread twisting sharp and deep in my gut. My thighs squeezed together on instinct, but the pressure did nothing to ease the reality of it—the way my body clenched around something firm, unyielding, deliberately placed.

I swallowed hard, trying to steady my breathing. I should have been used to it by now.

It had been days.

Days of waking up like this. Days of shifting under my blankets, only to be met with that same dull fullness, that same cool press of metal locked tight around my waist.

A chastity belt.

A fucking chastity belt.

A sick wave of nausea rose in my throat, but I forced it back down. I couldn’t do this again. I couldn’t spiral.

Not yet.

I needed one second—just one fucking second—to pretend like I still had control over something.

I forced myself to exhale, focusing on the rise and fall of my chest, the softness of my nest, the familiar scent of my own space. The things that should have made me feel safe but only reminded me that safety had been a lie.

Then, just as my pulse started to settle, my phone buzzed.

I flinched.

The sound was too sharp, too real, slicing through the heavy fog in my head like a blade. My stomach turned over, panic twisting tight beneath my ribs, because I already knew.

I already knew.

My fingers trembled as I reached for my phone, barely able to swipe at the screen, my vision too blurry, my thoughts too tangled.

I forced my eyes to focus.

Unknown Number: Baby, you’re doing too much.

Unknown Number: Take it easy today.

My breath caught in my throat.

Every hair on my body stood on end, my skin breaking into a cold sweat even as my nest felt too hot, too suffocating.

No.

No, no, no.

I squeezed my eyes shut, my fingers tightening around my phone like I could crush the words out of existence, like I could unsee them if I just willed it hard enough.

But the nausea didn’t pass.

Because this was real.

He was real.

And he was watching me.

I swallowed hard, trying to work moisture into my dry mouth, but everything inside me had locked up, my body in some instinctive, useless fight-or-flight response that wasn’t helping me breathe.

I had spent every waking second trying to ignore this, trying to pretend that I could just move forward, that maybe— maybe —this was just some fucked-up fever dream I would eventually wake up from.

But he wasn’t letting me forget.

The phone buzzed again.

I barely had the strength to look.

Unknown Number: Check your account.

My stomach dropped. I knew I shouldn’t. I knew whatever I was about to see would make everything worse. But my body was already moving, acting on some desperate, frenzied need to know.

My bank app took a second to load, but the moment the numbers appeared on the screen, my heart stopped.

A new deposit.

A massive deposit.

And it wasn’t in my usual account. It was in a joint account. A joint account I had never opened.

I stared, pulse hammering, my breath coming too fast, too shallow.

What the fuck?

I scrolled back, my eyes frantically scanning for the sender, for anything that could give me a clue about whose account was linked to mine—who had their hands wrapped around my fucking money—who the hell was doing this to me...

But there was nothing.

No name. No initials. No trace of an identity. Just an LLC. A faceless, nameless entity. Not a person. Not a soul. Just another shadow lurking in the dark. Another invisible chain, tightening around my throat.

My vision flickered, edges darkening, and my fingers went numb, frozen in place as I stared at the screen. My breath came shallow and distant, sounding like it belonged to someone else—someone far removed from the panic slowly choking me.

Then the phone buzzed again, the words on the screen slamming into me like a cruel, final twist of the knife.

Unknown Number: I told you, baby. You don’t have to worry about anything anymore.

Unknown Number: Let me take care of you.

I gasped, a sharp, strangled sound tearing from my throat.

The sickness rose so fast, so violently, I barely had time to scramble out of my nest before I was on my knees, dry heaving over the edge of my bed.

This wasn’t just a claim. This was control. And I didn’t know how the fuck I was supposed to escape something I couldn’t even see.

A knock at my door sent a pulse of cold through my veins.

It wasn’t loud. Too soft. Almost hesitant.

My fingers tightened around the edge of my sweater, unease curling in my stomach like a snake uncoiling from sleep.

I wasn’t expecting anyone. No one ever just showed up at my door.

Another knock.

I swallowed.

Maybe it was Jules? But she would have texted first. Maybe Claudia? But she was still at work.

The small peephole in my door mocked me, but my legs wouldn’t move. A strange, irrational fear kept me rooted to the spot, my breath caught somewhere in my throat.

Something was wrong.

It wasn’t like I expected to see some shadowy figure standing on the other side, some nightmare brought to life. But I couldn’t shake the feeling that I wasn’t supposed to open this door.

And yet?—

My fingers curled around the handle, my body moving before my brain could catch up.

The lock clicked open, the door creaking just enough to let me see?—

Nothing.

No one was there.

The hallway was empty, quiet, still.

Just a stack of boxes sitting at my feet.

I stared at them.

Neatly wrapped, tied with crisp ribbons, perfectly placed like an offering.

My stomach twisted.

I already knew who they were from.

My name—my full name—was printed in delicate, sloping cursive across the top package. The kind of handwriting that belonged in love letters, on invitations, on something intimate.

My throat went dry.

My name wasn’t common. I didn’t go by the full thing—not even on official documents unless necessary. No one called me that. No one wrote it out like this.

Except for him.

My hands trembled as I crouched down, hesitant, fingers barely grazing the smooth paper. The packages weren’t heavy, but they felt like they should be.

Like if I picked them up, they’d drag me under.

I stepped back.

The air felt thick, suffocating, like the walls had somehow inched closer without me realizing it. My heart slammed against my ribs, a sick, twisting feeling blooming in my gut.

I shouldn’t open them.

I should leave them right here, turn around, shut the door, and pretend they don’t exist.

But I couldn’t.

I picked up the first box, the ribbon slipping loose with a pull, the lid lifting effortlessly.

Inside, nestled against soft tissue paper?—

An e-reader.

Brand new.

Thin, sleek, expensive.

My hands trembled as I tapped the screen, the sudden glow making my vision blur.

And then I saw them.

Hundreds of books.

Titles I had mentioned in passing to Jules or Mal.

Series I had half-finished because I couldn’t afford the next book.

Stories I had gushed about, complained about, craved.

Every single one.

Every single fucking one.

I gasped and dropped it back into the box as if it had burned me.

He had been listening.

Watching.

And he knew me too well.

A sharp breath hitched in my throat, but I forced myself to move forward, forcing my fingers to tear open the second package even as my stomach screamed at me to stop.

Soft fabric met my touch.

Plush joggers. Oversized sweaters. Thick, cozy socks.

All my exact size.

All my style.

But better.

A higher quality than I could ever afford. Fabrics I’d only ever dreamed of touching, admired from afar, running my fingers over them in online shopping carts before abandoning them—unable to justify the price, unable to justify the indulgence.

And now they were here.

Hand-delivered to my doorstep.

An invisible collar, tightening with every second, squeezing the air from my lungs.

I shoved the box away, not caring if it tipped over.

I couldn’t look at it anymore. Couldn’t bear to see what was in the next one.

But I already knew.

The biggest box was heavier than the rest, the ribbon falling away far too easily under my trembling hands.

A blanket.

Not just any blanket.

A nesting blanket.

Weighted just right. The kind made specifically for omegas. The kind that held scent for weeks without fading. The kind that made your nest feel safe, warm, protected.

But this one?—

It was unscented.

Brand new. Clean. Unmarked.

Waiting for me to make it mine.

I gagged.

I shoved the box away, my breath coming too fast, too shallow.

This wasn’t just a gift.

This was a trap.

A leash wrapped in silk. A cage built from kindness.

My phone buzzed.

My body froze.

I already knew. I already knew.

My stomach lurched as I forced myself to look, my fingers aching with tension as I turned the screen toward me.

Unknown Number: Do you like them, baby?

The room spun.

My pulse pounded in my ears, my vision blurring as panic bloomed like a toxin in my blood.

Another buzz.

Unknown Number: I just want you to be comfortable.

I pressed a shaking hand to my mouth, silent sobs locked in my chest.

Comfortable.

Comfortable.

Like a pet in a pretty, gilded cage.

I was already locked inside.

And he was already tightening the chains.