The Alpha Who Lost His Fated One

The spotlight crashed down.

I didn't think. I threw myself over the props, and the metal frame split my head open. Blood flooded my vision instantly, hot and blinding.

Behind the curtain, Julian Henson was dabbing sweat from Madison Barnes's forehead and holding a water bottle to the junior dancer's lips.

My skull throbbed, each pulse sending fresh agony radiating down my spine. Cold sweat drenched my back. The world tilted, blurred at the edges.

The man I loved didn't spare me a single glance.

He was too busy kneeling beside Madison, gently kneading her ankle.

Later, perched on the back of his Flying Pigeon bicycle as he pedaled toward the hospital, I slipped my fingers into his overcoat pocket. They brushed against a small tin—Friendship-brand snow cream.

Before I could speak, his hand shot back, clamping down hard.

"Don't touch that." His voice was sharp. Impatient. "It's for Madison. She needs to protect her hands."

Silence stretched between us.

I nodded once. Then I pointed toward the regiment commander's office looming ahead.

"Pull over. I'm getting off."

The marriage application. The paperwork I had been so eager to submit.

It was time to withdraw it.

——

Julian didn't stop. If anything, he pedaled harder, his voice dripping with that familiar, lecturing superiority.

"Penelope, can't you be sensible for once? Are you seriously throwing a tantrum right now? Madison twisted her ankle dedicating herself to the art. That is far more serious than a little scrape on your head."

Warm blood trickled from my temple, smearing across my left eye. It stung like hell.

I didn't argue.

When he slowed for the intersection, I didn't wait for a complete stop.

I jumped.

My landing was clumsy—two staggering steps before a wave of nausea slammed into me. The world spun.

Julian barely glanced back. A scoff. A command thrown over his shoulder.

"Don't think playing the victim will work on me. Since you're capable of jumping off bikes, you can walk to the clinic yourself. I have to get Madison to the hospital for an X-ray."

A powerful kick of his long legs, and he sped away. Gone.

I stumbled down the road until Tessa Nichols from the song-and-dance troupe appeared. Her hands flew to her mouth.

"Good heavens! Penelope, your face is covered in blood! Where is Julian?"

I forced the corners of my mouth up. The metallic taste of blood coated my tongue.

"Accident during rehearsal," I rasped. "Julian is busy. I can manage."

Tessa looked heartbroken, moving to support me, but I waved her off.

I had something to do.

The Director was sipping tea when I walked into the leadership office. On his desk lay a single sheet of paper stamped with a bright red seal.

His teacup clattered onto its saucer.

"Penelope! What happened? Medic! Someone get a medic!"

I shook my head. Blood droplets flung onto the floor. My trembling finger pointed at the paper.

"Director, did the approval come through?"

Misunderstanding my urgency, he laughed, relief washing over his face.

"Specially approved! Usually takes another two days, but I know you two are a perfect match, so I expedited it. You can pick up the certificate tomorrow."

"Thank you, Director."

I stepped forward and picked up the thin sheet.

There they were—my name, Penelope Norris, and his name, Julian Henson—bound together by that bright red "Approved" stamp.

"What's the matter? So happy you're stunned?" the Director teased.

Right in front of him, I gripped the edge of the paper.

And ripped it down the middle.

The tear echoed through the quiet office. The Director's smile froze. He shot to his feet.

"Penelope Norris! What are you doing? That is an official document—have you lost your mind?"

"I'm not crazy, Director."

I pointed to my bleeding head.

"I just refuse to marry a man who, while my life hangs by a thread, is busy coaxing another woman to smile."

Back at the troupe, I pushed open the heavy doors of the rehearsal hall.

Madison Barnes was perched on a prop box, cradling my army-green enamel mug. She took small, delicate sips of the brown sugar water inside, her face a mask of contented sweetness.

That mug was a trophy Harrison Delgado had brought back from the battlefield three years ago. He had given it to me as a memento.

It was precious to me.

Julian stood beside her, peeling a White Rabbit creamy candy.

A treat I kept in my drawer. Saved for a special occasion. I could never bring myself to eat it.

Now, he peeled away the rice paper wrapper and gently held it to Madison's lips.