All Chapters of The Fallen Angel : Cold hearted Alpha: Chapter 41 - Chapter 46

Andrea lay in bed, her mind unable to find peace. The weight of the day’s revelations bore down on her, and exhaustion eventually pulled her into a restless sleep. Her dreams carried her back to a time she had long tried to forget—a time when a woman once visited their home.---The living room of Andrea’s childhood home was filled with the warm, comforting glow of the fireplace. She was no more than seven years old, playing with her dolls on the soft carpet while the aroma of her father’s cooking wafted from the kitchen. It was a scene of domestic tranquility, yet a storm was brewing just beneath the surface.Andrea’s father, Jonathan, stood by the window, his face a mask of concern. A woman named Evelyn, entered the room, her movements tense and her expression strained. Andrea, sensing the change in the atmosphere, looked up from her playthings, her young mind alert to the undercurrents of distress in the air.The woman came to her and picked her up.“You look so much like your gran

Andrea stood in the dimly lit study of the main house, facing Logan with a mixture of confusion and frustration. The air between them crackled with tension, each moment stretching taut as she awaited his answer."Why do you hate me so much, Logan?" Andrea's voice quivered slightly, betraying the emotions swirling within her. "What did I ever do to you?"Logan remained silent for a long moment, his jaw clenched as he stared at her with intensity. The weight of her question hung heavy in the air, and Andrea could almost feel the turmoil churning beneath his stoic exterior."You don't know anything about your father, Andrea," Logan finally spoke, his voice low and tinged with bitterness. "You have no idea what he's done."Andrea's brows furrowed in confusion. "What are you talking about? My father is-was a good man. He would never hurt anyone."Logan's eyes flashed with anger, his restraint slipping slightly. "Your father is the reason I lost my parents," he gritted out, each word laced

Andrea wandered through the bustling courtyard of the pack house, her thoughts preoccupied with the revelations of the past days. The sun was setting, casting long shadows across the cobblestones and painting the sky with hues of pink and orange. She absentmindedly fingered the necklace her father had given her, the one that seemed to hold so many unanswered questions. The necklace had always provided her with a sense of comfort and security, a connection to her past. As she rounded the corner, Andrea found herself face-to-face with Sandra and her entourage. Sandra, with her perfectly coiffed hair and cold, piercing eyes, regarded Andrea with thinly veiled disdain. The atmosphere grew tense, the air crackling with an undercurrent of hostility. Andrea had known Sandra's type well—privileged, entitled, and always ready to belittle others to make themselves feel superior. "Well, well, if it isn't the Luna," Sandra sneered, her voice dripping with sarcasm. "What are you doing here al