REAGAN'S POV. Selena was taken into the ER the moment we brought her in. The doctors are attending to her while Ronald and I are waiting in a private outpatient ward. My thoughts are scattered all over like puzzle pieces emptied of their pack onto the floor. My heart is doing backflips in my chest
REAGAN'S POV. The Doctor leads the way to Selena's ward and when we arrive at the door, Ronald and Kyle take him away while I'm left to go in and deal with Selena all by myself. At the moment, I'm so confused that what I want to do is turn around and leave this hospital at once, but when I remember
REAGAN’S POV. I have a mate with whom I have a connection. Her name is Ashanti. We might not be together now, but I still have a chance with her. I'm not supposed to be here, holding another girl… Another girl who also happens to be my mate. Fuck! I clear my throat and gently pull Selena out of
ASHANTI'S POV. “Shit!” I curse under my breath when my cell phone starts ringing again. It's in the bedroom and I'm just stepping out of the shower in the bathroom. It must be one of my colleagues, calling to ask for clarification on something. I told them to relax for today so we could start our a
ASHANTI’S POV. Now I know where I've seen his face. The media. He's a very famous designer. He won the Fashion King Competition five years ago when he was only twenty years old. He's a Fashion and Design genius. “Yes, that one.” “Mr. Kirk, I'm honored to be in your presence right now.” My enth
ASHANTI’S POV “Liar!” “I'm not lying!” “Why don't you have a girlfriend? No one has caught your attention yet?” I ask, smiling, and deep within me, I'm amazed. Never did I think Ryan and I would ever get to discuss something like this. He never opens up to anyone at home. Not even our mum. He do
ASHANTI'S POV. “Alpha Reagan!” I call when my voice finally returns. He ignores me and looks at the man who's now on his feet. “Do I have to tell you what to do?” His voice is deep and gruff when he asks that question. The terrified man's forehead nearly touches the ground when he bows his head.
“Why do I feel like you've been following me?” His answer is a smile. He then takes a sip of his drink and trains his eyes on me, but still doesn't say anything. “Have you?” I try to follow up. “What does it matter?” That's his way of saying yes, he has been following me. “That's just wrong and w