All Chapters of What?! We're Mates?!: Chapter 51 - Chapter 60

Armed with a stack of books on hospitality, customer service, and etiquette that I bought in a book’s store, I delve into my studies with fervor. I pore over each page, absorbing the intricacies of table setting, the art of suggestive selling, and the importance of a genuine smile. But it isn't just books that fuels my education; YouTube grants me a wealth of resources at my fingertips. The video tutorials become my nighttime companions, guiding me through the finer points of wine service and the graceful ballet of tray carrying. As the days pass, I apply myself tirelessly to my newfound knowledge. I greet each customer with warmth, navigate the bustling restaurant floor with poise, and execute orders with precision. I watch as my confidence grows, mirrored in the approving nods of my coworkers and the satisfied smiles of the patrons I serve. A week has slipped by in a blur of activity when Marcus, the restaurant supervisor, summons me to his office. My heart flutters nervously as

HUGH’S POV: The vineyard lies bathed in the golden glow of the setting sun, casting long shadows across the rows of grapevines. I stand at the makeshift altar, my hands clasped tightly together, my gaze on the distant horizon, flickering sometimes at the window of the room where Anastasia and Zachary are hiding. Behind my calm composure, anticipation and dread swirling within me. Before me stretches a red-carpeted aisle, flanked by rows of chairs filled with expectant guests. Their murmurs and whispers form a distant hum in my ears, drowned out by the pounding of my heart. My gaze scans the horizon once again, searching for any sign of movement. The vineyard offers ample cover for potential assailants, its twisting rows of vines providing perfect camouflage for those who seek to disrupt the proceedings. My body twitch with the urge to transform now, but I force myself to remain still, to project an image of calm in the face of impending peril. Yvanna glides down the aisle, a visi

I slowly drift back to consciousness, my mind swimming through a haze of pain. It feels as though every inch of my body is on fire, agony that throbs in time with my heartbeat. I groan softly, trying to piece together what has happened, but the memories are distant and fragmented, like shards of glass scattered across my mind. Then, like a bolt of lightning, it hits me - Zachary is in danger! The realization jolts me awake, and I struggle to push myself up, my muscles protesting with every movement. But my determination outweighs the pain, and I grit my teeth, forcing myself to sit upright. A sharp cry escapes my lips as I collapse back, the pain too intense to bear. I squeeze my eyes shut, willing the throbbing to subside, but it persists, a relentless vibration through my body.Slowly, my surroundings come into focus. The first thing I notice is the crack on my eyeglasses, then... “Oh shi.t!” I hiss.I’m not in Bonded’s world anymore! I’m back in my own world, in my own bedroom

The streaks of sunlight cast long, menacing shadows across the worn floorboards. I huddle in the corner, my breath coming in shallow gasps as my eyes flicker with anxiety. Dwight stands tall and imposing, his steps slow and deliberate, like a predator closing in on its prey. I flinch as his hand reaches out, instinctively jerking my face away from his touch. Fear clenches my throat, rendering me speechless as he sits beside me, his gaze piercing through the dimness. "You're mad?" Dwight's voice is low, almost a whisper, but it carries a weight that makes me tremble. Yes, I’m mad, but I can't bring myself to voice it aloud, not when it won’t change the depth of his selfishness, his willingness to destroy lives for his own gain. Instead, I remain silent, my eyes fixed on Dwight's face, a mask of forced calmness that fails to hide the turmoil beneath. Dwight sighs, a sound heavy with disappointment and sadness. "I know you're disappointed that I'm fighting for you, for us, but... d

The air inside the rickety cottage is heavy with mustiness and tension as I push open the creaking door. My footsteps echo against the worn wooden floorboards, but Anastasia doesn't flinch at the sound. She sits on the makeshift bed, her gaze fixed on some distant point that only she can see, her eyes empty and lost. I’ve entered with a specific intention, but as I take in the sight of Anastasia, my desire to consummate our bond evaporates. Instead, a deep ache settles in my chest, urging me to comfort her, to try to erase or at least lessen the sadness etched on her face. I kneel down beside her, my hands reaching out to gently wipe away the tears that are streaking down her cheeks. Anastasia doesn't resist my touch, but her silence speaks volumes. She’s hurting, and my heart is breaking to see her in such pain. Yet, amidst my own pain, I can’t shake the determination that burns within me. I’m willing to do the extra mile for her to feel better except for one thing. "What can I