Ramona: The Alpha’s Nemesis

Ramona's pulse thundered in her ears long after Killian's words settled between them like a curse.

You'll visit hell, tonight.

Her skin crawled. Every instinct screamed at her to move, to run, but there was nowhere to go. Not when he stood so close, towering over her, his presence suffocating.

She swallowed hard, forcing herself to take in her surroundings. If she had any chance of escape, she needed to know exactly where she was.

The penthouse was… opulent. But not in a gaudy, extravagant way. No, Killian's taste was refined, meticulous. The walls were black marble veined with gold, the ceiling high enough to make the space feel endless. A massive chandelier of obsidian glass hung in the center, its dim lighting casting jagged shadows across the room.

To her right, floor-to-ceiling windows framed the city skyline, glittering lights stretching into the night. The furniture was sleek—black leather chairs, a low gold-trimmed coffee table, a fireplace carved into the marble wall, its flames flickering like ghosts.

Then there was the bed. The one she had woken up in.

A king-sized monster of black silk and gold embroidery. Heavy curtains draped from the canopy, pooling onto the thick Persian rug beneath it. The sheets, disturbingly soft against her skin, still smelled faintly of something dark and heady—leather, spice, and something uniquely him.

A predator's den.

She forced her breathing to slow, grounding herself. Think. Think.

Her evidence was gone. Her phone, her files, everything that could have taken him down—flushed away like it had never existed.

But that didn't mean the truth was erased.

Killian was powerful, dangerous, something more than human. But even monsters had weaknesses. And she would find his.

Her eyes darted back to him. He hadn't moved, watching her with the patience of a beast that knew its prey wasn't going anywhere.

"You're quiet," he mused, stepping toward the sleek bar in the corner of the room. He poured himself a drink—dark amber liquid in a crystal glass—before turning back to her. "Thinking of ways to kill me?"

Ramona glared. "No. Just ways to escape."

Killian smirked, taking a slow sip. "Good. I'd be disappointed if you weren't."

He set the glass down with a soft clink and strolled toward her, the air thickening with each step he took.

Ramona refused to retreat, but her body tensed.

"You're not leaving, Dove," he murmured, brushing a knuckle along her jaw.

She slapped his hand away, fire flaring in her chest. "Watch me."

Killian chuckled, dark and knowing.

And Ramona?

She had never hated anyone more.

But hate wasn't enough.

She needed a plan.

And she needed one fast.

Ramona's fingers twitched at her sides, itching to strike him, to carve that smirk off his face with her nails if she had to. But she wasn't stupid.

Killian wanted a reaction. He fed off it.

She took a breath, forcing her expression to smooth. "I don't care how powerful you think you are," she said evenly, "but keeping me here won't end well for you."

Killian hummed, amused, stepping even closer. He was a wall of muscle and cold danger, his scent wrapping around her like a noose.

"You think so?"

She lifted her chin. "I know so. People will look for me."

Killian tilted his head, studying her like she was an interesting puzzle. "You mean your boyfriend, Andrew?"

Her stomach clenched.

She had no idea how much he knew about her life outside of their twisted encounters. She wasn't close to many people, and she doubted anyone would notice she was missing right away. But that didn't mean she'd give him the upper hand.

"Yes," she lied smoothly. "And when I don't check in, they'll start asking questions. My best-friend, My coworkers, my contacts—"

"You mean your sources?" He smirked. "Those lovely little criminals who fed you information about me?"

Ramona's blood ran cold.

He knew.

He fucking knew.

Killian leaned in, his breath warm against her ear. "They're gone, Dove."

Her chest tightened. "You're lying."

"Am I?"

He pulled back just enough for her to see the satisfaction gleaming in his eyes.

Rage clawed at her ribs, but she swallowed it down. She couldn't afford to lose control.

"Even if that's true," she said carefully, "I still have people who will come looking for me. You can't make me disappear without consequences."

Killian exhaled a low laugh. "Oh, Ramona." He reached for his drink again, swirling the amber liquid in the glass before taking a sip. "You still think the world works by rules."

Her nails bit into her palms.

"You still think people like me fear consequences."

She wanted to argue, wanted to throw his own arrogance back in his face, but the truth was—he wasn't wrong.

Killian was a man who had moved in the shadows for years, a man who had erased problems as easily as breathing. She had spent the past year collecting evidence on him, trying to expose him. And now, all of that was gone.

Her only weapon—destroyed.

But not forgotten.

Her mind raced, digging through every interview, every whisper of corruption she had chased down.

She might not have her files anymore, but she remembered things.

And memory was just as dangerous.

Killian finished his drink and set the glass aside, his gaze heavy on her. "You should sleep," he said, voice deceptively smooth. "Tomorrow will be… exhausting."

She stiffened. "What the hell does that mean?"

But he only smirked and turned away, heading for the door.

The moment it clicked shut behind him, Ramona sprang into motion.

Her heart was pounding, her skin crawling with the knowledge that she was alone. That he was letting her think she had peace when in reality, she was still caged, still at his mercy.

But she wouldn't be.

Not for long.

She rushed to the door, testing the handle—locked. Of course it was.

Her eyes scanned the room again, taking in every detail, every potential weapon.

The bar. Glass bottles. Could be useful.

The fireplace. Could she start a fire? A distraction?

The windows—

She hurried over to them, pressing her fingers against the cool glass. They weren't just reinforced; they were practically bulletproof.

But then—

Her gaze flicked downward.

Just below the windowsill, tucked discreetly into the paneling—

A keypad.

Her pulse spiked.

A security system.

She didn't have time to overthink it. Dropping to her knees, she ran her fingers along the panel, looking for any sort of clue, any sign of how it worked.

It wasn't just a lock—it controlled something. A failsafe, maybe? A hidden exit?

Her breath came fast, sharp with adrenaline.

This was it.

Her way out.

She just needed to figure out how to use it.

And she needed to do it before Killian decided to drag her into whatever hell he had planned.

Because one thing was certain—

She wasn't waiting around to find out.