Miller

Miller, King.

I swallowed my saliva. Even though we just met, the king is angry with me because of her. His brother probably knows about everything that happened between us because of my mate. He already despises me. He hates me for treating his sister like that.

“I am sorry, King Chester,” I say. “I should never have treated her like garbage, insulting or humiliating her. It’s all my fault. Please accept my apologies.”

The monarch becomes silent, and his threatening aura fades. He is composed.

“What exactly do you want from me now?” He inquired.

“I want my mate back,” I say.

“Your mate?” he naively inquires.

“Yes, my mate,” I say. “I want her back.”

“Who is your mate?” He inquired again, evidently trying to irritate me, but I remained calm. I could feel the tension building.

“My mate. She’s your sister, Mia,” I say quietly.

“Oh, Mia. She isn’t here,” he responds. I know he’s lying. I can smell my mate. I can feel her presence. I’m aware she’s present.

“When I walk in here, I can smel