A Mate To Three Alpha Heirs novel Chapter 184

{Regina}

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I didn’t tell anyone I was coming here. Not Kaelis. Not Soraya. Not even the other members, or that nosy assistant who can’t keep her mouth shut.

I shouldn’t have had to sneak around my own academy, but here I was, pressed against the cold edge of a window frame outside the training hall, watching the little omega-that-wasn’t supposed to matter.

I had heard her name called not even an hour ago, one of the twenty chosen for the next duel.

I had smiled to myself then, thinking how poetic it would be to watch her crumble this time, beaten bloody and embarrassed.

I wanted to see her reminded of what she was—beneath whatever new, fragile confidence she had wrapped around herself.

The air outside the hall was thick with the smell of dust and sweat. My reflection shimmered faintly in the glass as I leaned closer, my eyes searching the arena below.

I spotted her immediately, small, red-haired, standing across from her opponent. A boy easily thrice her size. Perfect.

I folded my arms, a slow grin curving across my lips.

“Let’s see how far that luck of yours goes this time, cousin.”

Then the whistle blew, and the fight began.

At first, everything was exactly as I hoped. The boy—Darren, I think they called him, moved like a storm, and Elira stumbled. His fists connected. She went down, more than once.

Every time she hit the mat, I could almost feel the thud deep in my chest. My grin widened. But then she got up again.

And again.

And again.

I frowned. My fingers twitched against the windowpane. She was moving differently now. Less afraid. Watching. Waiting.

Her eyes—that infuriating shade of defiance started following Darren’s movements like she had been studying him all along.

The next punch didn’t land. Neither did the next.

My grin faltered. “What… is she doing?”

And then, in one motion too fast for me to fully see, she slipped under his arm and drove her fist upward, striking his chest, then the side of his neck.

The boy froze… just froze and crumpled to the mat like a puppet with its strings cut.

My breath caught. Then I heard it—the professor’s voice ringing out:

“Winner, Elira Shaw!”

The hall erupted. Cheers, gasps, chatter. I barely heard any of it over the sound of my pulse pounding in my ears. My hands had curled into fists without my realizing.

“Impossible. She couldn’t have—”

I gritted my teeth, nails biting into my palms as Elira stood there, small and shaking, her face wet with tears, not from shame, no. From pain and victory.

That look—that raw, fragile pride made something twist hard and ugly inside me.

I had underestimated her. For too long, I had written her off as weak, pitiful, barely worth my time. But that wasn’t what I was seeing now. What I saw was a spark—a kind I thought she had never possessed.

And sparks… have a way of growing into flames if you don’t snuff them out early.

I drew back from the glass, straightening my blazer, forcing my expression back into its usual calm mask. My reflection stared back at me, composed and calculating.

Fine. Let her win. Let her stand there, bruised and broken, believing she is rising. Let the whole school whisper her name if they want to.

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