Taming the Dangerous Alpha

Honestly, I’m not the kind of girl who bows her head easily or plays the helpless damsel. That’s never been my style. But standing here, in the middle of an entirely deserted cafeteria that still reeked faintly of overcooked fries and that acidic tang of spilled orange juice, I had to admit defeat—for the moment, at least. Lunch period had ended a good ten minutes ago. The stampede of feet, the endless chatter, the scraping of plastic chairs—they were all gone now, replaced by an eerie silence that seemed to press against my skin like a cold hand.And me? I was the last one standing.Going to Principal Fitzgerald to tattle like some kindergarten kid, crying about unfairness? Please. That would do exactly nothing except earn me a perfunctory, “Next time, try to be more careful.” If I was lucky, maybe a stiff smile thrown in for free.I exhaled, long and low, and rubbed my temples, as if that could massage away the pounding pulse of irritation behind my eyes. Evelyn and Melissa—my so-ca

I folded my arms and stared at him, letting the words drip from my lips like poison."Alright. First off, that is the worst pickup line I’ve ever heard. Second, I’m not interested. And third—get lost."For a split second, I watched his perfectly sculpted face twitch—just enough for me to catch it. The cool, untouchable, I-own-this-school expression cracked like a thin layer of ice over a deep, ugly pond.Oh, wow. Did I just bruise the golden boy’s ego?What’s wrong, pretty boy? First time being turned down?And no, I’m not sorry. Not even a little. He deserved it. Every. Damn. Bit.A smirk tugged at my lips as I caught Fitch’s mouth open slightly, ready to spit out some snide comment. Considering the only things that usually came out of that mouth were sleazy promises and cheap compliments, I wasn’t holding my breath for anything remotely intelligent.But before he could come up with a comeback, the bell rang. Sweet, merciful freedom.I shoved my books into my bag, snapped it shut, an

The skin on the back of my head was burning again.That familiar sensation—the unnerving, prickling awareness of being pinned down by someone’s gaze—hadn’t left me since the very beginning of first period. It clung to me like something tangible, like an invisible thread pulled taut against my scalp. It felt as though a needle without form was tapping at one precise spot over and over, constantly reminding me of its presence. I could practically trace the path of that stare: starting from the loose ends of my hair, drifting slowly to the tips of my ears that were growing embarrassingly warm, then finally settling somewhere along my neck, staying frozen in place as if glued there.“He’s staring at you again,” came a hushed voice from my left. Even though she tried to whisper, there was a bright undertone of excitement she couldn’t hide.I cursed inwardly. If she hadn’t said anything, I could’ve at least pretended I didn’t notice, sheltered inside the flimsy comfort of ignorance. But no

I was completely stunned, my whole brain crashing like a frozen computer—nothing but a blank screen.On my way home, the heat of that kiss was still burning on my lips. The force with which he pinned me against the wall, the shiver his fingertips traced down my back, that long kiss that made my knees go weak—every detail kept replaying in my mind again and again.I drifted into the house like a robot, ignoring my parents’ and brother’s greetings entirely. It wasn’t until I collapsed onto my mattress that reality slammed into me:Fitch Jones had kissed me. And I had kissed him back. I actually… liked it.More than once, even.After half an hour of panicking, I decided I needed backup. So I called my two best friends.When I finished telling them what happened, silence filled both ends of the line. And then—“Aaaaah!!!”The shrill scream nearly burst my eardrums. I swear the paint on the walls started peeling. They were so excited they could barely breathe, already fighting over who wou

I sat on the edge of my bed and accepted the steaming cup of hot chocolate. Dad always knew how to make the most perfect hot chocolate in the world—rich but not overwhelming, with a thin layer of delicate foam on top. Whenever someone in the family had a rough day or felt down, he would quietly walk into the kitchen and brew this warm drink, building a bridge of communication without a single word. That was just the kind of thoughtful man he was.Mom, on the other hand, had her own way of healing. She was good at embracing every emotion, listening patiently to every word, and then taking us out for our favorite desserts—letting sweetness melt away all the gloom.My family always protected each other in their own unique ways.I took the mug from Dad’s hands and eagerly took a sip. He chuckled at the sight of me. “Feeling better, Sarah?”I couldn’t help wondering how they had decided who should come in and talk to me. Last time, they had settled it with a round of rock-paper-scissors. T