Not a Pup, But Your Alpha

Bella’s POV

"Red! Don't run, Red!" I shouted into the mist.

A dirty little puppy with beautiful red eyes burst out of the bushes. It barked happily, its tail wagging like a metronome set to a high speed. It bounded toward me with pure joy.

I laughed and opened my arms. I crouched down, ready to catch him and feel that familiar, fluffy warmth.

But the moment he leaped onto me, the weight changed. It was heavy. Crushing.

I gasped, my eyes widening in shock.

The creature pinning me to the grass wasn't my little dog. It was a man.

He was huge. I could feel the heat radiating from his broad chest, the hardness of his muscles pressing against me.

I couldn't see his face clearly in the mist. All I could see were those eyes—red, burning with an intensity that made my breath hitch.

He lowered his head. His nose brushed against the sensitive skin of my neck. His breath was scorching hot. It felt like he was going to kiss me, or maybe bite me.

"Ah!"

I shot up in bed, gasping for air.

My chest heaved. My face felt like it was on fire. I pressed my hands to my burning cheeks, trying to steady my erratic heart rate.

"Bella, are you crazy?" I whispered into my palms.

The shame washed over me. How could I have a dream like that? It was ridiculous. Perverted, even.

But as my heartbeat slowed, the shame was replaced by a familiar, aching hollowness.

I turned to my nightstand. A small Polaroid photo leaned against the lamp. In the picture, a skinny, scruffy puppy looked at the camera with guarded eyes.

"Red..." I picked up the photo, tracing the edges with my thumb. "Where did you go?"

It was a year ago, on a rainy night just like this one. I found him in a gutter, dying. He was covered in blood, likely mauled by other stray dogs.

I didn't have much money, but I spent every spare cent on medicine and food for him. For a month, he was my only friend. He was the only living thing that didn't look at me with disgust.

And then, just like that, he vanished.

I searched every alley and shelter in the city. Nothing. It was like he never existed.

Ring! Ring!

I flinched. The screen lit up with a name that made my stomach drop: Aunt Genevieve.

I took a deep breath and answered.

"The money hasn't arrived yet," Genevieve's voice was like ice shards. "Bella, do you think moving out means you can skip your payments?"

"I'm not skipping anything, Aunt Genevieve," I said, gripping the phone tight. "The bar was busy last night. I just got off the night shift. I'm going to the bank as soon as it opens. I even took two extra shifts at the diner this week..."

"Shut up," she snapped. "I don't want to hear your pathetic sob stories."

I fell silent.

"Do you know how much it cost us to raise you? A red-haired freak?"

I bit my lip. It was always like this. My red hair—inherited from the father I never knew—was a curse in her eyes.

So I had to dye my hair black regularly—because if she saw my red roots, I would get a terrible beating.

"Don't play mute with me. I have business to discuss," Genevieve said, her tone shifting from angry to something darker. Sinister. "Adam Blackwood used some dirty commercial tricks to hostilely take over our company," she hissed. "And now, to humiliate us further, he's demanding a marriage alliance. He wants a daughter from our family."

I frowned. "Okay... so Jessica is getting married?"

"My Jessica?" Genevieve screeched. "Absolutely not. Jessica is destined for Hollywood. She is a star. You will take Jessica's place and marry Adam Blackwood."

"What?" My voice cracked. "That's impossible. He'll know..."

"He won't know anything. He's never met Jessica," Genevieve said quickly. "You just keep your mouth shut. That is your mission."

"I can't—"

"You can, and you will," she cut in. "Unless you don't want that rusty iron box anymore."

I stood up so fast my chair tipped over. "That box is the only thing my parents left me! You promised you'd give it back when I paid off the debt!"

"The rules have changed," she said coldly. "You marry Adam Blackwood. You use that position to get close to him. You find a way to help us steal back control of the company. When the company is ours again, the box is yours. Refuse, and I'll throw it into the fireplace tonight."

"You can't do that!" I cried, tears stinging my eyes.

"Try me. One hour. Blackwood Tower, top floor. Go see him. Don't disappoint me, Bella."

The line went dead.

I stared at the mirror. A pale, tired girl stared back. My hair was dyed a dull, flat black, hiding the vibrant flames underneath. Just like my life.

I had no choice. For the only piece of my parents I had left, I had to go.

One hour later. Blackwood Tower. The Executive Floor.

I walked toward the CEO office at the end of the hall. I took a deep breath, trying to steady my shaking hands.

Just as I reached for the handle, a woman stepped in my path.

She was immaculate. Expensive suit, perfect makeup, sky-high heels. She looked at my worn-out sneakers and cheap jacket with open disdain.

"Stop," she commanded. "The cleaning staff uses the freight elevator around the back. This is the executive entrance."

I straightened my spine. I had to be brave. For the box.

"I am not a cleaner," I said firmly. "I'm here to see Mr. Blackwood. I am his fiancée."

"Fiancée? Did you hit your head?" Her voice dripped with mockery. "Mr. Blackwood is an Alpha... I mean, a man of his status? Look at you. Any female employee on this floor is ten times more valuable than you. Get out. Now. Before I call security to throw you out."

"I have an appointment," I insisted, trying to step around her.

She shoved me. Her strength was astonishing.

I stumbled back, my back hitting the wall with a dull thud.

"I said get out!" she yelled. "Don't make me get physical. I see trash like you every day, trying to climb the social ladder. You smell like cheap laundry detergent. It’s disgusting."

Ding.

The elevator behind us opened.

A terrifying, heavy pressure filled the air. It made it hard to breathe.

I looked up.

A man stepped out.

He was taller than anyone I had ever seen, easily over six foot three. His shoulders were broad, tapering down to a narrow waist encased in a perfectly tailored black suit.

His face looked like it was carved from marble—cold, hard, and devastatingly handsome. But it was his eyes that froze me in place.

They were red. Deep, dark red. I didn't know why, but they felt familiar to me.

The secretary’s face transformed instantly. She rushed toward him with a sickeningly sweet smile.

"Mr. Blackwood! I am so sorry you had to see this," she said. "Some crazy woman broke in. I'll get her out of here right now!"

Adam didn't even look at her.

He stopped walking. His gaze swept over her and landed squarely on me.

I shrank back against the wall, trembling.

He spoke. His voice was low, magnetic, and vibrated in my chest.

"Who are you?"

"I... I was sent by the Genevieve family..." I whispered, staring at my shoes. I couldn't look him in the eye.

Adam let out a cold scoff. It was a sound of pure arrogance.

He turned his head slowly to the secretary. The indifference in his eyes shifted to something much more terrifying.

"Who gave you the right," he asked coldly, "to decide who stays and who leaves?"