The Begging Alpha

The Star

(Freya)

The walk back to the studio was… awkward. Freya kept her hands shoved deep in her coat pockets, her gaze fixed on the pavement as if the cracks in the concrete held some kind of answer. They had been around the corner when the venue doors opened, a stream of people spilling out into the cool air. She had seen him for a fraction of a second—Dylan, his posture alert, his head turning as he scanned the street. He never saw her. She had pulled back instinctively, her heart hammering against her ribs, a sharp, unwelcome pang of hurt lancing through her. Thankful, she told herself. Thankful he didn't see her, but the lie tasted like ash in her mouth. It hurt to know he was there, a part of Bradley's world, while she was deliberately choosing to step outside of it.

Jasmine walked beside her, a silent, brooding presence. Freya could feel the unspoken questions, the disapproval rolling off her in waves. It was easier to focus on the rhythmic click of Jasmine's heels than the chaos in her own head.

The silence stretched, thin and brittle, until Jasmine finally broke it. "When does the Severance go through again?"

Freya didn't look at her. She pulled out her phone, the screen's glow illuminating her face in the dim streetlight. "This Friday."

"Good."

The single word was final. A period at the end of a sentence Freya wasn't sure she was ready to write. She rolled her eyes, a small, private gesture of defiance, and pushed open the door to her studio. The familiar scent of silk, charcoal, and coffee washed over her, a small anchor in the storm. She set her bag down, shrugged off her coat, and tied her hair back in a messy knot, the familiar motions a comforting ritual. She went straight to the dress, her fingers finding their place on the delicate lace bodice as if they had never left.

The silk was cool beneath her touch, the black stones sharp and precise. This was her world. One she controlled. One she understood.

Jasmine laid a hand on her shoulder.

Freya went still, every muscle tensing.

"The party will be Saturday," Jasmine said, her voice softer than it had been all night. "Invitations were sent out as soon as I got approval earlier today."

Freya nodded, not trusting her voice. She resumed her work, her needle moving with practiced precision, but the rhythm was off. The focus was gone. She could feel it—that something wasn't right. A low hum of discord beneath the surface of her skin. Was it because she was still choosing to walk away from Bradley? Because she had sent that email, drawn that line in the sand, and now she had to live with the consequences? Or was it just new? This feeling of being untethered, of making choices for herself without factoring in a mate who hadn't bothered to factor her in for years. She had never done this before. She didn't know if she was doing it right.

She was glad she had Jasmine with her, though. Even if she was being overprotective, even if her "good" felt like a knife twisting in Freya's gut. But that was one of the best things about Jasmine: She was fire to Freya's ice. Where Freya would freeze, retreat, and build walls of silent endurance, Jasmine would burn through obstacles with a fierce, unwavering loyalty. Jasmine would fight the battles Freya was too tired to fight for herself.

And right now, with her wolf whining in her chest and her heart aching with a confusing mix of relief and loss, Freya needed that fire more than she cared to admit. She took a deep breath and looked at her friend. "I'll be wearing this dress for the party. It'll be my return piece." She flashed Jasmine a grin and Jasmine softened at it.

"No one will be catching more eyes than you will...and freshly unmated? You'll be perfect for Prince Karl!"

Freya rolled her eyes again and resumed her work, stitching in more stones in the fabric because it wasn't enough. She wanted this dress to sparkle on her as she moved. If it was a party for her...than she should be the shining star at the center of it and was going to be with this dress...a brand new public - Freya Silk dress...letting the entire fashion world know - she is back.

Each stone was a declaration. Every stitch a defiance. The black silk was her canvas, the night sky she would command. The lace was the intricate web of her past, but the stones—they were her future. Sharp. Brilliant. Unapologetically visible. She worked with a feverish intensity, her fingers flying, the needle a familiar extension of her will. The dress was more than fabric and thread; it was armor. It was a statement. It was the part of her that had never been broken, the part that Bradley had never been able to touch, now being sharpened and displayed for all to see.

This wasn't just a party. It was a coronation of sorts. Her own. Freya Silk, designer. Freya Silk, survivor. Freya Silk, standing on her own two feet, no longer the shadow at an Alpha's side. She could already hear the whispers, see the flashes of cameras. Let them look. Let them talk. She would give them something to talk about.

The thought of Prince Karl was a distant, secondary hum. A strategic move, a chess piece on Jasmine's board. He was a means to an end, a symbol of the world that was now open to her. A world without the weight of a mate's indifference. A world where she could be desired for herself, not tolerated for her title. It was a pleasant thought, but it wasn't the fire fueling her work. The fire was the memory of Bradley's face when she told him the Severance was not being stopped. The fire was the ache in her chest that was slowly, surely, being forged into something harder than diamond.

This dress was for her. And for everyone who ever thought she was anything less than magnificent. She would wear it, and she would shine, and the world would have no choice but to look away from Bradley Red Eye and look at her. However, even as she worked...the feeling of Bradley's lips upon hers that night after dinner still had her lips tingling.