Exposed After Six Failed Assassinations of the Alpha

When I opened my eyes again, I found myself lying in a hospital bed.

Ronan, looking a little worse for wear, was slouched by my side, his head resting on his arm.

I was just about to give him a big slap across the face when-he woke up.

His narrowed eyes immediately locked onto my raised hand.

"Ha..."

I quickly switched gears, awkwardly scratching his scalp instead.

"Uh, I... I was just... just worried your head was itchy. Ha ha ha..."

The sentence stretched for two full minutes.

I was burning with embarrassment, my face as red as a ripe tomato.

Ronan, still half-dazed, slowly reached up with one strong hand, brushing my hair back and gently cupping my face. His touch was unexpectedly tender, his fingers tracing the line of my jaw as he leaned closer. His voice, thick with sleep and something else, rumbled low, sending a shiver down my spine.

"Are you still feeling unwell?" He murmured, his gaze lingering on my flushed face. "Your cheeks are all red..."

I froze.

Is he... seducing me?

No, no. He couldn't be.

But still.

I quickly buried my face under the blankets.

"No... I'm not uncomfortable."

Ronan, clearly not convinced, lifted the blankets with his fingers and leaned down closer to me.

Our faces were so close I could count the feathers of his dark lashes.

I swallowed a nervous gulp.

Before I could keep ogling him like a schoolgirl, Ronan's hand brushed the side of my neck.

His dark eyes were like black holes, his voice cool but sharp.

"So... Stammer, why were you poisoned?"

My heart skipped a beat. Cold sweat broke out on my skin.

Shit.

As I stammered in panic, Ronan's voice cut through the tension.

" Didn't you wash the Wolfberries?"

What?

"Wolfberries?"

Wait, my poison?

While Ronan was distracted by getting me some water, I quickly grabbed my drug powder.

The expiration date on the packet was glaringly marked: May 2024.

Oops. It's expired.

I'd been discharged a whole week ago.

I felt a pang of guilt.

I was a terrible woman.

Even though Ronan had taken care of me in the most comfortable way imaginable, I still had to kill him.

It was either him... or me.

No, no-it was either he dies... or I do.

Shaking the bad thoughts out of my head, I decided to change tactics this time.

A poisoned needle.

After checking the expiry date-again-I set my plan into motion.

"Stammer, how about some red-braised pork today?"

Ronan was in the kitchen, apron tied around his waist, cooking.

Since the poisoning incident, he refused to let anyone else handle the food in the house.

Everything was under his direct control.

Watching his broad back, I wiped the sweat from my forehead.

The poisoned needle was pinched tightly between my fingers.

I had already planned the perfect moment. One swift strike, and he'd be out cold before he even felt it.

I silently approached from behind, ready to inject him with precision.

But then-

What the hell?

The needle got caught on his Hermès belt.

Why the hell does he have the hell belt?

Before I could adjust myself, Ronan took a few steps back.

Instinctively, I raised my hands to block him.

"Ha-ha..."

With the needle now in my hand, I clenched my jaw, trying to hold back my irritation.

I moved quickly, yanking at his shirt to see what the hell had just happened.

"Is something wrong, Stammer?"

Ronan's voice was soft now, as he gently tucked my sweaty hair behind my ear.

He leaned down and kissed my forehead.

And I.

I'm paralyzed.

I could barely move, let alone speak. I wanted to ask him to hand me the antidote in my pocket.

But I'd forgotten one crucial thing-when I'm nervous, I stutter.

"Ha... ha..."

Ronan blinked at me, his gaze softening as he smiled.

"Happy birthday?"

"... Thank you, Stammer. You're the only one who remembers my birthday."