Alpha's Regret After the Divorce by Christina novel Chapter 133

Kira’s POV

The vast night sky stretched endlessly above us, a sprawling canvas dotted with countless stars that shimmered like scattered silver dust against the deep black. Andy and I stood side by side on the rooftop of our base, the cool mountain breeze brushing gently against our skin—a soothing contrast to the relentless intensity of the past twenty-four hours. My body still throbbed from the effects of the experimental compound, the pain lingering but now softened to a dull ache that I could tolerate. I inhaled deeply, savoring the crisp, clean air that filled my lungs and momentarily cleared my mind.

“You know,” Andy’s voice broke the silence, soft and calm, “after missions like this, the team usually takes a moment to celebrate.”

I turned to face him, caught off guard by the suggestion. “Really? I thought everyone would be buried in analyzing intel or strategizing our next move.”

A gentle smile curved his lips, the moonlight illuminating his features with a quiet glow. “We’re professionals, yes, but we’re also human. Taking time to recognize our victories—even small ones—helps us push through the tougher days.”

The idea of celebration felt almost alien after three relentless years of training, planning, and chasing revenge. I’d been so consumed by the need for answers and justice that I’d forgotten what it was like to simply breathe and enjoy a moment of peace.

“So, what do you think?” Andy nudged my shoulder lightly, a playful glint in his eyes. “The night’s still young, and tomorrow we can worry about saving the world.”

I found myself nodding almost instinctively. “Lead the way.”

We made our way to the hidden lounge on the third floor of our compound, a space transformed from its usual sterile briefing room into a cozy retreat. Soft, warm lighting cast a comforting glow across the room, and the seats were arranged in a relaxed circle rather than the usual rigid rows. Mason stood behind a makeshift bar, proudly showcasing bottles of what he called his “special reserve.”

“There she is!” Rebecca’s voice rang out cheerfully as we entered, raising her glass in my direction. “To our undercover expert who pulled off the impossible.”

Mason handed me a tumbler filled with amber liquid. “Eighteen-year-old whiskey. Been saving it for a moment just like this.”

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