The alpha who chose me

Aya

Do you even realize how pathetic you look, clinging to Cliffe like this?” Evelyn’s voice suddenly sliced through the air, sharp and venomous. “What do you even offer him? Me? I have the backing of one of the most powerful alpha packs in the industry. Cliffe gets access to endless resources and treaty’s because of me. And you? What do you have? An orphanage?”

The laugh that followed wasn’t sweet or amused, it was cruel, deliberate.

I froze, my chest tightening as her words burrowed into me. This wasn’t the polished, angelic Beta Evelyn Morten the whole pack adored. No, this was someone ruthless, calculated, and entirely devoid of compassion.

“I…I didn’t mean…” I tried to find my voice, but she cut me off with a dismissive wave.

“Save it,” she snapped, her patience clearly worn thin. “Here’s the reality… Cliffe is mine now. Pack your things and leave before I lose my temper. Otherwise…” She let the threat hang in the air, her eyes narrowing.

I swallowed hard, my throat dry. She didn’t wait for a response, strutting out of my room and into the bathroom like she owned it, leaving me standing there, shaking, humiliated, furious.

I told myself it didn’t matter. I was leaving soon anyway. But no matter how hard I tried to convince myself, her words echoed in my head like a curse.

That night, I sat on the edge of my bed, staring into the abyss of memories I wasn’t ready to revisit.

High school. Cliffe’s support had been my lifeline then. He was still a little wolf back in those days, under the alpha training and taking whatever little missions he could to scrape by. Money was tight, but somehow, he always made sure I had enough and came through.

When I started college, I couldn’t bear being a burden anymore. I began writing, and though my early earnings were small, they grew. From a few hundred dollars to thousands, I became independent. Yet Cliffe still sent me money every month, insisting it was “his duty.” I saved it all, every cent. Someday, I thought, I’d give it back.

When I graduated, I wanted to work, to stand on my own. But Cliffe… he’d asked me to stay.

“I’ve never had a real family,” he had said, his voice raw, his vulnerability exposed. “Now that I finally have one, I don’t want to lose it.”

I’d stayed. For him. For us.

Now, Evelyn’s words had shattered that illusion. How had I been so blind?

The next morning, I overslept, something I never did. Panic set in as I rushed to the kitchen to prepare breakfast for Cliffe. I made his favorite light vegetarian dishes. He had a sensitive stomach and I’d learned to cook around it.

I was just setting the table when Evelyn waltzed in wearing one of Cliffe’s oversized shirts, her bare legs on full display.

“Good morning!” she chirped, her voice syrupy and bright different from her bitch tone earlier on.

I swallowed the bitterness rising in my throat. “Morning,” I replied, forcing a polite smile.

She glanced at the table, her lips curving into a mock pout. “Oh no, did someone forget about me? No breakfast for the guest?”

My pulse quickened, shame heating my face. Without a word, I turned to get another bowl.

But as I carried it to the table, she stepped into my path.

“Ah!” she shrieked dramatically.

The bowl slipped from my hands, shattering on the floor. Scalding porridge splattered over my feet, and a sharp, searing pain followed as a shard of porcelain sliced into my heel.

I gasped, stumbling back, the sudden pain almost making me black out. Blood pooled beneath me, hot and sticky.

Her scream brought Cliffe rushing into the room.

“What happened?” His voice was sharp, his eyes scanning the scene.

“I just wanted to help,” Evelyn whimpered, lifting a foot to show a single grain of rice stuck to her skin. “But she bumped into me, and the bowl fell. It’s fine, though. I’m not hurt.”

Cliffe’s gaze snapped to me, crouched on the floor, clutching my bleeding foot.

“Aya, what the hell? Can’t you be more careful?”

My breath hitched. I stared at him, the pain in my chest eclipsing the sting in my foot.

“Cliffe, I…”

“Apologize,” he demanded, his tone cold.

Evelyn rested a hand on his arm, her voice dripping with faux sweetness. “Cliffe, don’t be mad. It’s not a big deal. Just… clean this up, Aya . Someone could get hurt.”

She led him out of the room, casting me a victorious smirk over her shoulder.

As their voices faded, so did my composure. Tears spilled over, hot and uncontrollable.

It wasn’t the burn on my skin or the cut on my heel that hurt the most. It was the betrayal, the realization that the boy who had once fought for me, protected me, was gone.

I bit my lip, tasting blood.

This wasn’t my home anymore.