The Alpha's Obsession

I had seen this before.

I looked down at my small hands and then up at the glittering chandelier of the ballroom. In this dream I was always smaller than the adults around me.

Probably around six or something, clinging to my mother’s hand as she guided me through a sea of strangers. My dress—a pale blue thing with lace that scratched at my neck—swished around my legs as I struggled to keep up.

“Stay close, Nyxia,” my mother murmured, her voice soft but firm. Her eyes scanned the room, searching for someone, her lips pressed into a tight smile that didn’t reach her eyes.

My mother pulled me toward the crowd near the dais where an Alpha stood, his imposing figure, commanding the room.

But before we reached them, my attention drifted. A flash of movement caught my eye—a boy disappearing through a side door, his posture stiff, his hand clutching his side as though it pained him.

As always, I slipped away, unnoticed in the chaos of swirling gowns and murmuring voices. The hallway was dim, the sounds of the ball muffled as I crept after him. I didn’t know why I followed him—maybe it was the way his shoulders hunched, or the way he moved like he didn’t want to be seen.

He entered a room in the corner and I stood outside listening and watching with trembling fingers as a man, older than dad, slapped him hard across the face. His screaming words were muffled and I felt tears prickle my eyes as I watched the little thirteen year old boy get beaten. Soon the man left and the little boy slipped away too.

I looked for him everywhere and then found him behind a small bush, his face hidden in the crook of his arm. His dark hair was slightly disheveled, and his suit hung a little too loosely on his frame, as though it belonged to someone else. He didn’t look at me when I stepped closer, but I could see the faint redness on his cheek, the shape of a handprint barely visible in the dim light.

He wasn’t crying. His expression was blank, his eyes staring at the ground like he was somewhere far away.

But I cried.

The tears came without warning, hot and unrelenting, spilling down my cheeks as I stared at him. I didn’t understand why—maybe it was the way he looked so small despite being so much taller than me, or the way he didn’t seem to care about the mark on his face.

“Why are you crying?” he asked, his voice low and rough, tinged with confusion.

“Because… because you’re not!” I hiccupped, stepping closer until I was standing right in front of him. Without thinking, I wrapped my arms around him, my face pressed against his chest. “It’s your birthday. You’re supposed to be happy.”

He froze, his body stiff like he didn’t know what to do. For a long moment, he didn’t move, and I thought maybe I’d done something wrong. But then, slowly, hesitantly, his arms came up, hovering awkwardly around me.

“You’re strange,” he said, but there was no malice in his tone. Just curiosity, and maybe a hint of something softer.

I pulled back slightly, my face still wet with tears. “You shouldn’t let him hurt you, why don’t you tell your daddy?” I whispered, my voice trembling.

A ghost of a smile crossed his lips, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “So you saw….He is my father,” he said.

I shook my head fiercely. “Father’s aren’t supposed to hit you. They love you.”

For the first time, he looked at me—really looked at me. His dark eyes were piercing, holding a depth that I couldn’t understand then but would haunt me later.

“Why are you doing this?” he asked, his voice quiet.

“Because… u look sad,” I said simply.

Something flickered in his expression, a crack in the cold mask he wore. And then, to my surprise, he bent down slightly, his face level with mine. “You’re really strange,” he repeated, but this time there was a faint warmth in his voice.

I leaned forward and kissed his cheek, a childish gesture meant to comfort. His breath hitched, his eyes widening slightly, and for a moment, I thought he might push me away.

But instead, he smiled. A small, fleeting thing, but it was real.

“Thank you,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper. “You shouldn’t trust people so easily though….”

The scene shifted violently. Heat scorched my skin, the air thick with acrid smoke. The boy was gone, replaced by chaos.

Fire clawed at the walls, devouring them with a hunger that was almost alive. The glass ceiling groaned under the strain of the inferno, and I could hear the building crying out as it succumbed to the flames.

And then came the screams.

My mother’s voice pierced through the roaring fire, desperate and panicked. “Nyxia!”

I tried to run to her, but my feet wouldn’t move. The floor beneath me burned, searing through my shoes, but I couldn’t look away. Shadows danced in the firelight, twisting into monstrous shapes that seemed to mock my helplessness.

You failed them.

The whisper echoed around me, low and venomous. My mother’s cries grew louder, and I screamed her name, but the smoke choked the words out of me.

You killed them.

“No!” I cried, the sound barely escaping my throat.

The fire surged closer, engulfing everything I loved. I could see them—my parents—reaching out to me, their faces contorted with fear and pain.

And then, they were gone.

I was falling. Falling into the abyss, into the endless dark.

I jolted awake, gasping for air, my heart pounding like it was trying to break free from my chest. Sweat soaked my sheets, my hair clinging to my forehead, and my hands shook as I fisted them in the fabric, grounding myself in the present.

It was the same dream once again forgotten.

And the same nightmare, the one that haunted me for years, a brutal reminder of everything I’d lost. But it had been months since it last plagued me.

I thought I was finally getting better, my life was finally improving. Then why? All of a sudden?

I forced myself to breathe, deep and slow, but it did little to calm the storm raging inside me. The clock on my nightstand read 4:17 AM, its red glow casting an eerie light in the small, suffocating room.

By the time I made it to the bathroom, the first rays of dawn were beginning to filter through the small, grimy window. I stared at my reflection in the cracked mirror, taking in the dark circles under my eyes, the hollow look on my face.

My hair, a chaotic mix of black and white strands, hung past my shoulders in a tangled mess.

Six more days.

That’s all I had to endure. Six days until I turned nineteen, and I could finally leave this place—the Hunter household, the pack, the ghosts of my past.

I forced myself to breathe deeply, washing my face with cold water to shake off the lingering remnants of the nightmare. My hands trembled as I reached for my hairbrush, tugging it through the stubborn knots.

The scent of coffee and fried eggs wafted through the air as I descended the stairs. I moved carefully, my footsteps light, trying to avoid drawing attention to myself.

I could hear aunt Seraphina’s sharp tone barking orders at the maids, followed by my uncle Desmond’s booming laughter—a sound that always made my skin crawl.

I’d planned to slip out unnoticed, to get through the day without crossing paths with anyone, but the moment I reached the bottom step, something caught my attention.

Curious, I inched closer to the doorway of the dining room, careful to stay out of sight. I could hear my uncle’s voice, low and sinister, speaking in a tone I had heard many times before.

“...We’ll need to finalize the arrangements tonight. I want her gone by the end of the week. No mistakes.”

My blood ran cold. I pressed myself against the wall, my heart thudding in my chest.

“We’ve kept this quiet long enough,” he continued, his voice dripping with malice. “If she finds out the truth now, it’ll ruin everything.”

The truth? What truth? Were they talking about me?

“Does she suspect?” Seraphina asked, her voice unnervingly calm.

“No,” Desmond replied. “She’s too focused on leaving. She doesn’t know she’s walking straight into the trap we set. By the time she realizes, it’ll be too late.”

A trap? My stomach twisted violently, a rush of panic surging through me. What were they talking about?

Just as I turned to run back upstairs, a hand grabbed my shoulder, shoving me back against the wall.

“Going somewhere, Nyxia?” My cousin’s voice slithered into my ear, his breath hot on my skin.

My heart went into overdrive as bile rose in my throat.

“Ezra…” I whispered, my voice pleading, but before I could say another word, his hand shot out, shoving me so hard that I stumbled backward.

Pain shot up my wrist as I hit the floor, the impact jarring and unexpected.

Ezra’s grin grew darker as he leaned in closer, his eyes glinting with malicious delight. “When will you learn your place Nyxia?”

I tried to push myself up, but his foot pressed down on my injured wrist, pinning me to the ground. Another sharp, searing pain shot through me, and I gasped, my heart hammering in my chest.

Dread filled my veins as I looked up.

This is not going to end well.