Sold to Bastard Alpha after My Divorce!-Chapter 147

Kael’s POV

The little girl stood there. Plastic hammer raised like a weapon. Eyes blazing with determination.

The words hung in the air between us.

For a moment, I just stared at her.

"Okay," I said quietly. "You can watch."

She blinked. Like she’d expected an argument.

I approached the bed. Lina positioned herself at the foot. Hammer raised. Eyes locked on my every movement.

Great. An audience.

I reached for Aria’s shoulders. Tried to sit her up.

She was dead weight. Completely limp. Her head lolled backward.

I caught it. Supported her neck with one hand.

"Okay," I muttered. "This is fine. Totally normal."

"You’re talking to yourself," Lina observed.

"I’m aware."

I managed to prop Aria against my shoulder. Her head resting in the crook of my neck. Her breath warm and alcohol-heavy against my skin.

My hands found the zipper at the back of her dress.

Paused.

"I’m just removing the dress," I said. For Lina’s benefit. And maybe mine. "That’s all."

"Uh-huh." She didn’t sound convinced.

I pulled the zipper down. Slowly. Carefully.

The dress loosened. Slipped off Aria’s shoulders.

I kept my eyes fixed on the wall behind the bed. Focused on anything except the skin being revealed inch by inch.

Professional. I was being professional.

This was just... helping an employee. Nothing more.

The dress pooled around Aria’s waist. I grabbed the pajama top. Started wrestling her arms into the sleeves.

Left arm. Right arm. Head through the collar.

She made a sound. A soft groan. Her face scrunched up.

I froze.

"Mommy?" Lina’s voice went high with worry. "Is she waking up?"

"I don’t think so. She’s just—"

Aria’s eyes fluttered open. Unfocused. Glazed.

Then her face went pale.

Very pale.

"Oh no." I recognized that expression. "No, no, no—"

She lurched forward. Gagging.

I moved on instinct. Grabbed the trash can from beside the nightstand. Shoved it under her face just as she started heaving.

The sound was awful. Wet. Violent. Her whole body convulsing with each wretch.

I held the trash can steady with one hand. Used the other to support her back. To keep her from falling forward into her own vomit.

"It’s okay," I heard myself say. "You’re okay. Just get it out."

She retched again. And again. And again.

Behind us, Lina made a sympathetic sound.

"Poor Mommy," she whispered.

Finally—FINALLY—Aria stopped. Her breathing ragged. Her body trembling.

I set the trash can aside. Grabbed the damp towel Lina had used earlier.

"Here." I wiped Aria’s mouth gently. "Better?"

She didn’t answer. Just slumped back against me. Eyes closing again.

Out cold.

I looked at the trash can. At the mess inside.

Then at Lina.

"Do you have any garbage bags?"

She nodded. Ran off. Came back with an entire roll.

I lined the trash can with a fresh bag. Tied up the old one. Set it by the door to deal with later.

Then I turned back to Aria.

Right. Still needed to finish changing her.

I pulled the pajama top down properly. Smoothed out the wrinkles. Then reached for the dress still bunched around her waist.

I tried not to think about it. Tried not to notice the softness of her skin. The way her body felt against mine. The familiar scent underneath the alcohol.

The dress finally came free. I grabbed the pajama pants. Started working them up her legs.

Left leg. Right leg. Pull up to her waist.

Done.

I laid her back down on the bed. Adjusted the pillows under her head. Pulled the blanket up to her chin.

She looked peaceful now. The color returning to her face. Her breathing steady and slow.

I grabbed the wet towel again. Started wiping her face more thoroughly this time.

Removing the smudged makeup. The dried sweat. The traces of vomit.

My movements were clumsy. Unpracticed. I’d never done this before. Never taken care of someone like this.

Because even like this—drunk and sick and completely vulnerable—she deserved care. Deserved gentleness.

Deserved better than what I’d given her three years ago.

I finished cleaning her face. Set the towel aside.

Looked down at her one more time.

So beautiful. Even now.

Always.

"Is Mommy okay now?" Lina’s voice was small. Worried.

I turned. She was still standing at the foot of the bed. Hammer lowered now. Her face scrunched with concern.

"She’s fine," I said. "She just needs to sleep."

"Will she be sick again?"

"Maybe. Probably." I glanced at the trash can. "That’s why I left this here. Just in case."

Lina nodded seriously. Processing this information.

Then she yawned. Big and wide. Her whole face disappearing into it.

"You should sleep too," I said. "It’s late."

"But what about Mommy?"

"I’ll stay. Make sure she’s okay. In the living room. I won’t leave until morning."

Lina studied my face. Like she was trying to see into my soul.

"Okay," she said finally. "You can stay. But I’M sleeping here." She pointed at the bed. At a spot next to Aria. "So I can watch Mommy too."

"Deal."

I stood. Headed for the door.

"Wait!"

I stopped. Turned.

Lina was clutching her unicorn stuffed animal. Looking uncertain.

"What if... what if Mommy gets sick again and I’m sleeping?"

"Then I’ll take care of it," I said. "That’s why I’m staying."

She nodded. Satisfied.

I left the bedroom. Pulled the door mostly closed. Left it open just a crack. Enough to hear if anything happened.

The living room was small. Cozy. Nothing like my penthouse or the Alpha mansion.

But it was... nice.

A worn couch. A coffee table covered in Lina’s drawings. A bookshelf with children’s books and a few adult novels. Photos on the walls—Aria smiling, Lina laughing, both of them together.

No photos of a man.

No sign that anyone else lived here.

Just the two of them.

Mother and daughter.

My chest tightened.

I walked to the kitchen. Flipped on the light.

And froze.

The kitchen was tiny. Barely bigger than a closet. A small stove. A mini fridge. Exactly two feet of counter space.

How did anyone cook in here?

I looked around. Trying to figure out what Aria even had available.

The cabinets were sparse. Rice. Pasta. Some canned soup. Basic staples but nothing fresh.

I thought back to the ceremony. To watching her at the bar. To the way she’d drunk glass after glass on an empty stomach.

She probably hadn’t eaten dinner. Maybe hadn’t eaten all day.

No wonder she’d gotten so drunk so fast.

I pulled out my phone. Started searching.

"How to make soup."

The results flooded in. Hundreds of recipes. Thousands of videos. All explaining the supposedly "simple" process of making edible food.

I clicked on the first one. A cheerful woman appeared on screen.

"Hi everyone! Today we’re making a simple chicken soup that even beginners can master!"

I glanced at the ingredients list.

Chicken. Carrots. Celery. Onion. Garlic. Chicken broth. Various seasonings.

Then I looked at Aria’s kitchen.

She had... rice. And eggs. And some questionable vegetables.

Great.

I went back to searching. "Simple soup with basic ingredients."

More results. More cheerful people explaining how "easy" it was to make food.

I settled on egg drop soup. That seemed manageable. Eggs. Water. Some salt. How hard could it be?

I rolled up my sleeves. Grabbed a pot from under the sink.

It was small. Dented. The non-stick coating was peeling off in places.

But it would work.

I filled it with water. Set it on the stove. Turned the heat to high.

Then I cracked an egg into a bowl.

The shell shattered. Pieces fell into the egg.

I fished out the shell pieces. Cracked another egg. More carefully this time.

Better.

The water started boiling. I added salt. Then slowly poured the egg in while stirring.

It immediately turned into... something.

Not the beautiful ribbons of egg I’d seen in the video. More like... cloudy egg chunks.

Small footsteps behind me.

I turned.

Lina stood in the doorway. Rubbing her eyes. Her unicorn clutched under one arm.

"What are you doing?" Her voice was sleepy. Confused.

"Making soup. For your mother. In case she wakes up hungry."

She blinked. Looked at the mess on the stove. At the bowl on the counter. At my egg-splattered shirt.

She walked closer. Peered into the bowl.

"It looks weird." She giggled. A sound like bells. "It was funny."

Then she looked at me. Her head tilted to one side.

Her expression softened. Just a little.

"Okay," she said finally. Her voice quiet but firm. "Now you don’t look like a bad person."