The alpha who chose me

Aya

The turmoil in my life began long before Cliffe came into it. As a child, betrayal and blood shattered my world. My uncle, consumed by greed and desperation, kidnapped me in the dead of night. His scheme crumbled as quickly as it began, he drank himself to death in a sleazy bar, leaving me abandoned in a dingy motel, terrified and alone.

For days, I wandered the streets, cold and starving, until a couple found me. They called me Rachel and took me in as their own. But luck turned its back on me again when my foster mother finally bore a child of her own.

One crisp autumn morning, my foster father packed my belongings into a small bag and led me to the train station. We rode in silence for hours until we arrived in the city. He left me in front of a decrepit building, my world tilting on its axis.

“This will be your home now,” he said with finality. No goodbye. No second glance. Just the sound of his retreating footsteps.

I stood frozen, clutching the bag of everything I owned, tears burning my cheeks. Then, through the iron fence, a boy’s voice broke the silence.

“Hey! What’s your name? Did your pack abandon you too?”

He was all wiry limbs and messy hair, his grin wide and mischievous. I hesitated, searching for something real in the chaos.

“I’m Aya,” I whispered. The name tasted foreign, but familiar enough.

“Cliffe,” he said with a lopsided grin. “Don’t worry. The pack didn’t want me either. But I’ll take care of you.”

And he did.

I was confused at what he meant by pack and later came to find out he was a werewolf, most of our siblings at the orphanages were wolves.

Life in the orphanage was brutal. The scent of unwashed bodies and despair clung to the air. Fights broke out over scraps of food, dominance battles where strength ruled. But Cliffe was my shield, always stepping in before anyone dared lay a hand on me.

We became inseparable, a young wolf and a weak human girl against the world. He taught me to fight, to survive. The bond we shared was fierce, unbreakable… or so I thought.

Over time, Cliffe changed. He grew distant, his fierce protectiveness replaced by something colder, guarded. I had confessed my feelings for him one day out of the blue and he shut it down with I would grow out of it… but I knew I wouldn't.

Then she arrived, Evelyn Morten. Her presence was electric, commanding, the kind that turned heads and silenced rooms.

I watched helplessly as Cliffe gravitated toward her, caught in her orbit. I should’ve hated her, but how could I? She was everything I wasn’t… strong, confident, magnetic and a Beta wolf. I was just the girl left behind.

The night everything fell apart, the air smelled of rain and regret. I sat in the shadows of my room staring blankly at my plants on the windowsill.

They were my sanctuary, my pride. Soon, they’d belong to someone else. Maybe they always had.

I had gone to clean up my leg at the hospital and they gave me some drugs to ease the pain with a neat dressing, the glaring white bandage stared back at me with pity.

My phone buzzed, dragging me back to reality. A message from my editor glared on the screen:

[Aya, where’s your update? Readers are waiting. You’re late again.]

I swallowed the lump in my throat and typed a curt reply. [It’ll be up tonight.]

Back in my apartment, the memories clawed at me as I opened my laptop. My novel… my novel, a story of two wolves who found solace in each other… It was a lie. My characters had a love I’d never know.

The comments beneath my latest chapter blurred together.

“When will they realize they’re mates?”

“Don’t let them drift apart! They deserve happiness!”

“Please, no sad endings. My heart can’t take it!”

They didn’t know the truth, sometimes, love wasn’t enough.

I typed furiously, my fingers trembling as the words poured out.

“Chapter Title: The Final Goodbye.”

It was late when I finished. Exhaustion weighed heavily on me, but I couldn’t sleep. Instead, I pulled out the old photo album hidden in my drawer.

Each snapshot was a dagger to my heart, Cliffe in the kitchen, his hair damp from the rain. Cliffe laughing, his head thrown back, his eyes full of life. Cliffe asleep on the couch, the moonlight framing his face.

I gripped the scissors tightly, the urge to cut him out of my life overwhelming. But the buzzing of my phone stopped me.

It was my friend Caroline.

“Aya, have you seen the news?” Caroline’s voice was frantic, her words tumbling out.

“What news?”

“You’re trending,” she said, her tone heavy. “Someone filmed you outside Cliffe’s engagement announcement last night. Evelyn’s fans are all over it.”

My stomach twisted as I opened the app. The top tag was a knife through my chest: #CliffeAndEvelynForever.

But it was the second hashtag that destroyed me: #Cliffe’sPatheticStray.

Photos of me crying outside the building, clutching the gift I got for him, filled the screen. The comments were a feeding frenzy:

“Cliffe’s pity project is still clinging to him? How pathetic.”

“She’s so desperate. Evelyn is his mate; she needs to back off.”

“Some strays just don’t know when to leave.”

My vision blurred. My hands shook.

I stared at my reflection in the window, a hollow shell of the girl I used to be. Cliffe had been my everything. Now, I was nothing.

The night air was sharp as I stepped onto the balcony, the city lights stretching endlessly before me. For years, I’d clung to the hope that he’d look back, that I’d still matter.

But hope was a cruel lie.

The wind carried a whisper, a reminder of the person I’d lost and the one I’d never truly had.

After I had finished settling everything, I'll leave.

And I wouldn’t look back.