Alpha’s Little Plaything

Loriah’s POV

The shift had started like any other. I tied my apron, brushed back the stray wisps of hair that had fallen loose, and smiled as I stepped onto the restaurant floor. It was so elegant—gleaming chandeliers, glassware that sparkled like stars, polished silver everywhere. Everything here was money, dripping and loud, even when it whispered.

I didn’t belong in that kind of world. I was trying to survive in it. The tips were decent, enough to pay rent and strings on my guitar. That was all I needed.

At least, that’s what I told myself.

The night had been steady, laughter and clinking glasses filling the air, when I heard it—his voice.

Draco.

My heart stopped. For a second, I thought I had imagined it. But no. I knew his tone, the smooth confidence beneath every word. I turned, slowly, my tray trembling in my hands.

There he was.

Draco sat at the head of a long, candlelit table, dressed in a sharp suit. He looked untouchable and magnetic, which is exactly how I remembered him—Except he now appeared more polished, more commanding, and more at home in this world than my own.

But my eyes didn’t stay on him.

They landed on her.

The woman at his side was a vision, the kind of beauty you couldn’t compete with because it wasn’t just skin deep—bloodline, breeding, an entire life of being sculpted to perfection. She touched his arm lightly, laughing at something he said, and my chest burned.

That smile. The one I thought was mine.

My breath caught. Who is she?

I ducked away, into the safety of the kitchen, my chest tight, my hands cold. One of the older servers—Elena—caught sight of my face.

“Hey,” she said, concern soft in her voice, “you okay?”

I forced air into my lungs. “The man at table twelve. At the head. Who’s the woman with him?”

Elena looked at me like she couldn’t believe I didn’t already know. “That’s Marla Allard. His fiancée.”

Her words hit like a knife.

“Fiancée?” The word cracked in my throat.

“Of course.” Elena shrugged, distracted as she reached for a tray. “That’s Draco Thorne. You’ve heard of him. Heir to Thorne Enterprises. His family runs half the city. They even own that record company—the one that signs people worldwide. And Marla… she’s money too. Old money, they’re a perfect match.” Thorne. Draco Thorne, not Thomas.

My world tilted. The ground beneath me, the air in my lungs, everything spun.

Heir. Empire. Fiancée.

No. That wasn’t the Draco I knew. My Draco was a man who kissed me breathless in the middle of the night. Who whispered sweet nothings against my skin. Who held me like I was the only thing he couldn’t let go of.

I forced myself through the rest of the shift, mechanical, silent. I didn’t go near their table. I couldn’t. By the time I clocked out, I was holding myself together with threads so thin I thought I’d break in front of everyone.

I stumbled home, my chest aching with every step.

The door to my apartment clicked shut, and I collapsed onto the bathroom floor. The cold tiles pressed against my skin, but nothing could soothe the fire ripping through me. My sobs came hard and raw, tearing at my throat.

“Why, Draco?” I whispered, clawing at the air. “Why? I was never good enough, was I? You were only playing with me.”

My tears blurred everything. I dragged my phone into my hands, shaking my fingers as I typed his name.

And there he was.

Page after page. Headlines, glossy magazine spreads, photographs at galas and board meetings. Draco had a confident smile and a commanding presence. Draco with Marla—always Marla. Arm in arm. Her elegant hand rested against his chest. Her lips rested on his cheek while cameras flashed.

Every image cut me open.

He was never mine. I was nothing more than a shadow he kept hidden, a secret thrill until the lights came on and he stepped back into his real life.

A bitter laugh broke through my tears. The irony was so cruel I could choke on it. I—a broke, struggling musician in a crumbling apartment—had been fool enough to fall for the heir of a record empire. The very empire I dreamed would one day notice me.

I remembered his hands on me, his breath against my skin, and his roughened voice when he said my name like it was his only prayer. The first time he made love to me, it had been my first time. I was a virgin, I remembered believing—believing I was his, believing he loved me.

But tonight he had smiled at her. Kissed her. Chosen her.

My sobs quieted into something softer, weaker, but no less devastating. I pressed my forehead to the cold floor, feeling like I was being hollowed out piece by piece.

Draco hadn’t just lied. He had killed something inside me.

And yet… beneath all that pain, something flickered. Small, fragile, but alive.

I wasn’t gone. Not yet.

He may have broken me, but I would not stay broken.

Somehow, some way, I would rise from this. And when I did, Draco Thorne would know he hadn’t defeated me.