All Chapters of The Alpha In My Sheets: Chapter 1 - Chapter 10

Dylan I was late. Again. Mr. Wolfe had requested me to bring an urgent document.I was already hurrying when his message arrived: "Pick up condoms along the way. "Large size." I froze on the tube, staring at my phone. My face burned. Was this my life now? Running errands for Mr. Wolfe as a personal assistant/pharmacist? I sighed and swore under my breath before typing back: "What brand?" He responded promptly, like if he had been waiting. "Any. "Just hurry." When I entered the pharmacy, I kept my head down. The cashier did not even blink. She simply called me up, handed me the bag, and grinned. However, it felt as if the entire store was watching. I carried the darn suitcase like it was a bomb!I made my way to Mr. Wolfe's place. My heart pounded. Was this what I had studied for? Despite being a Harvard graduate, I am only able to deliver this. I knocked, and the door opened slightly. Nobody greeted me. I stepped inside and asked, "Boss?"His voice came from upstairs. "Come up!"

DylanThe private jet was chilly, and so was Mr. Wolfe. He was sitting across from me, absorbed in his tasks. His gaze skimmed over his tablet, keen and intent, as if I were invisible. I had anticipated quietness, but this was stifling. Mr. Wolfe’s private jet was big and beautiful, far exceeding anything I had ever envisioned being in, yet it didn’t instill any comfort in me. The gleaming wood, leather seating, and tinted glass screamed authority and riches—two aspects that Mr. Wolfe had in spades. I sank further into my seat, observing the clouds beyond. The metropolis below vanished as we ascended. I wasn’t certain why I had come. A social gathering? A hunt in the forest? It wasn’t as though I fit into his world. It was yet another trip that he had, and here I am, his capable personal assistant. When the plane touched down, a sleek black vehicle awaited us. I followed Mr. Wolfe, clutching the documents he had given me earlier. He hadn’t uttered a word to me since we boarded t

DylanThe following morning, the forest appeared vibrant. Birds chirped, the wind rustled the trees, and the ground crunched beneath our feet. It was official; we were here to hunt. Indeed. Typical rich people activities, and I was just here, isn’t being an assistant delightful? Everyone appeared enthusiastic about the hunt. They chatted while getting ready, checking equipment and adjusting saddles. I remained silent, staying close to Mr. Wolfe. “Stay with the group,” he instructed me. His tone was assertive, as usual. “Don’t stray away. ”“Yes, sir,” I responded. The hunt commenced well. The alphas took the lead, their laughter resonating through the woods. I lingered at the back, observing Mr. Wolfe closely. I had reluctantly learned their names as the hunt started. First came Asher. Tall, broad-shouldered, and sturdy like a fortress. His dark hair cascaded in chaotic waves, encasing a face adorned with sharp angles and rugged lines. His eyes were a deep emerald. Next up was

The ride was never-ending. More than minutes had passed, I think. The lantern light flickered weakly, and the cold bit at my skin. Mr. Wolfe was silent behind me, but his weight pressed into my back, grounding me. I tried to focus on guiding the horse, but exhaustion clawed at me. My arms ached from holding the reins, my legs stiff from hours of riding. Every now and then, I felt Mr. Wolfe shift slightly. His breathing was consistent yet shallow, which just showed me how much agony he was experiencing. Finally, the soft glow of lights broke through the darkness. The manor. I let out a breath I hadn't realised I was holding as a wave of relief passed over me. “We’re here,” I said, looking over my shoulder. Mr. Wolfe said nothing, but he tightened his hold on my waist. With the exception of the distant mutter of voices from the manor, the courtyard was quiet. At the entrance, Mr. Wolfe's alleged friends were relaxing with drinks in hand and their laughter resounding thro

The jet hummed softly as we flew back to the city. I sat stiffly in my seat, flipping through documents I didn’t need to read. My eyes darted to Mr. Wolfe occasionally. He was reclined in his chair, his leg propped up on a pillow, scrolling through his tablet like nothing had happened. Even when he was injured, he radiated control. It was infuriating. “Since you’re hurt, you should hire a caregiver,” I said, breaking the silence. “You can’t manage on your own like this.” He didn’t even look up. “No.” I frowned. “You need someone to help with daily things. Cooking, cleaning—basic stuff.” “I don’t want a stranger in my home,” he said simply, his tone dismissive. I sighed, trying to be reasonable. “Mr. Wolfe, it’s just temporary. You’re going to make your injury worse if you keep acting like this.” He finally looked at me, his dark eyes sharp. “Then you do it.” “What?” I blinked at him, sure I’d misheard. “Move in,” he said, as if it were the most logical thing in the w