The Begging Alpha

You Felt It

(Freya)

The black dress was taking shape beneath her hands.

Freya worked in silence, charcoal long since abandoned for fabric and needle. The lace bodice had come together faster than expected—the pattern intricate but deliberate, floral motifs curling across the sheer material like vines reaching for light. She had interwoven tiny black stones into the silk, catching the light in ways that made the fabric seem to breathe. It was beautiful. It was also the only thing keeping her from falling apart.

Her mind kept drifting—no matter how hard she pulled it back. To the dinner. To the way Bradley had stood in the doorway, wearing the suit she had made him, her ring visible against his chest like a confession. To the food he had learned to cook, for her. The radishes had been crisp. The beef tender. The fried rice had needed more salt, but she hadn't told him that. She shook her head sharply, forcing the needle through fabric with more force than necessary.

Her wolf stirred again, restless and warm beneath her skin. He tried, it whispered. For us.

It doesn't matter.

It does. You felt it. You kissed him.

I know what I felt. Freya's jaw tightened. That's the problem.

The kiss had been a mistake not because it was wrong, but because it had been too right. For one suspended moment, everything had aligned—her heart, her wolf, the part of her that had spent years starving for even a fraction of the attention he had finally given her. She had leaned in without thinking, without deciding, because her body remembered what her mind kept trying to forget. That she loved him. That she had always loved him. That walking away was the hardest thing she had ever done, and one night of tenderness didn't erase years of invisibility.

Her wolf whined low in her chest. He cooked for us. He wore the ring. He said sorry.

Words, Freya shot back. One night of words.

He learned. He tried.

He had years.

And you have now. He's changing. You felt it.

Freya's hands trembled. She set the needle down. Changing doesn't undo the damage, she thought. It doesn't give me back the years I spent wondering what was wrong with me. It doesn't erase the nights I cried myself to sleep because he couldn't even look at me.

But—

I have to leave, she told her wolf firmly. I have to. If I stay, I'll disappear again. I'll let him take and take because he finally learned how to give, and I'll convince myself that's enough.

Her wolf went quiet, but she could feel it—the protest, the pull, the desperate want to turn around and go back to the estate and let him try again. That was exactly why she couldn't.

The sound of heels on polished floor pulled her from her thoughts. Jasmine. The gait was unmistakable—quick, purposeful, the rhythm of someone who had already made a decision and wasn't interested in discussion.

Freya didn't look up.

Jasmine entered the office, crossed to the desk, and set Freya's phone down with a quiet click.

"I blocked his number," she said.

Freya's hands stilled. She turned slowly, she fixed Jasmine with a glare that could have cut glass.

"You had no right."

"I had every right," Jasmine replied, unbothered. "You were going to respond. You were going to let him pull you back in with sad eyes and home-cooked food."

"You don't know that."

"I know you," Jasmine said flatly. "And I know him. He's not going to stop. So I made it harder."

Freya's jaw tightened. "You know he's just going to come here."

Jasmine shrugged, leaning against the doorframe. "Let him. He won't get in."

"He's an Alpha."

"This is my shop. My territory. My rules." Her eyes hardened. "He steps one foot inside without an invitation, and security removes him. I don't care who he is."

Freya wanted to argue, but the fight drained out of her before it could form. Part of her—a part she would never admit to out loud—was grateful. Because if he came here, if he stood in front of her with those broken eyes and said her name the way he had at dinner, she didn't know if she could hold the line. And that terrified her more than anything. She turned back to her work instead.

"Fine," she said quietly.

Jasmine studied her for a long moment, then sighed. "I'm doing this because I care about you."

"I know."

The words came out softer than Freya intended. She didn't look up again. She heard Jasmine hesitate, then turn and walk away, heels fading down the corridor. The silence returned. Freya set down her needle.

She pulled her tablet from her bag, fingers moving before she could talk herself out of it. An email was safer. Impersonal. It couldn't be blocked as easily, and it gave her the control of saying what she needed without the danger of hearing his voice.

Because if she heard his voice, she might break.

She typed quickly, each word deliberate.

Bradley.

Jasmine blocked your number. It wasn't my decision, but I'm not fighting her on it.

The kiss was a mistake because it confused something I'm trying to clarify. I'm not running. I'm not hiding. But I need space to understand what I want without you pulling at me every time I turn around.

You asked why.

Because I spent years not being enough for you. Now I need to find myself again, without you.

The Severance is not being stopped.

— Freya

She read it twice. Her fingers hovered over the screen. The truth was messier than she could put into words. The truth was that one night had cracked something open inside her—a small, dangerous hope that maybe he could change. That maybe they could be what she had always wanted them to be. But hope was what had kept her trapped for years.

Hope that today would be the day he noticed her. Hope that this week would be the week he touched her without obligation. Hope that this month would be the month he said the words she was dying to hear.

Hope was the trap.

And she refused to fall into it again. She hit send before she could change her mind. The confirmation appeared on screen. Sent. Freya set the tablet aside and stared at the black dress. The stones caught the light, shimmering like scattered stars against dark silk.

Beautiful. Intentional. Strong.

She picked up her needle again. Work was safer than wondering. And the Severance was still going through—because she needed it to, no matter how much her heart and her wolf protested otherwise.

(Elsewhere)

The official notice arrived at Red Eye Gaming headquarters mid-morning. It was brief. Formal. Written on cream-colored stationery with the royal seal pressed into wax at the bottom.

Her Majesty Queen Aileen will attend the next scheduled Playing With Pups event with Her Highness Princess Rayla.

The Queen expresses her interest in observing the program and facilitating her daughter's participation.

Security protocols and scheduling adjustments will follow.

Dylan read it once. Then twice. He handed it to Bradley without a word. Bradley stared at the paper, jaw tightening. The royal seal seemed to mock him—a reminder that no matter how much control he built, there were always forces larger than him.

"The Queen," he said flatly.

"With her daughter," Dylan added. "The Princess."

Bradley set the notice down on his desk. "Why?"

"According to this? She wants to observe."

"That's not an answer."

"No," Dylan agreed. "It's not."

Brittany appeared in the doorway, coffee in hand, and took one look at Bradley's expression before stepping inside. "What happened?"

"Royalty," Bradley said. "Attending the next event."

Brittany raised an eyebrow. "Is that a problem?"

"It's a complication." Bradley leaned back in his chair, fingers drumming once against the armrest. "The Queen doesn't attend community PR events unless there's a reason. She doesn't bring her daughter unless that reason is significant."

"Maybe she just wants her pup to play with other pups," Brittany offered.

Bradley didn't smile. "Maybe."

Dylan shifted. "There's also the matter of the Queen's connection to Freya. She picked a dress from Freya a day or so ago...they acted like old friends."

Brittany's eyes narrowed. "You think the Queen knows about the severance?"

"I think the Queen knows everything," Bradley said quietly.

He reached for his tablet and unlocked it, pulling up his inbox. One new message. From Freya. His chest constricted. He opened it. Read it. Read it again. Brittany moved closer, reading over his shoulder. Her expression shifted—first surprise, then something softer, then carefully neutral.

"She's not cutting off contact entirely," Brittany said slowly. "She's asking for space."

"She's telling me the Severance is going through," Bradley corrected. "That's different."

"Is it?"

Bradley's hand tightened around the tablet. "She says she spent years not being enough. That was never—" He stopped. "I made her feel that way."

Brittany studied him. "And now she needs to find herself without you. That's not rejection. That's survival."

Bradley didn't respond.

"She's with Jasmine," he said after a moment. "Being influenced. Being told what to think."

"Or," Brittany said carefully, "she's making her own decisions, and you don't like that they don't involve you." The words landed hard.

Brittany exhaled and leaned against the edge of his desk. "You want advice?"

"I'm not sure I have a choice."

"You don't." She crossed her arms. "Here it is: stop chasing."

Bradley's head snapped up. "That's your advice?"

"You've spent years not showing up for her," Brittany said, voice steady. "Now she's asking for space. If you ignore that—if you push, if you show up where you're not wanted—you prove her right."

"I'm not—"

"You're doing it right now," she cut in. "You're reading her email like it's a puzzle to solve. Like there's a code that will tell you how to fix this without actually giving her what she asked for."

Bradley's jaw tightened. "Freya told you the truth," Brittany continued. "She's not running. She's not hiding. She's trying to figure out who she is without you defining it. The best thing you can do—the only thing you can do—is respect that."

Bradley looked down at the tablet again. The words stared back at him.

Because I spent years not being enough for you. Now I need to find myself again, without you.

The Severance is not being stopped.

"She blocked me," he said quietly.

"Jasmine blocked you," Brittany corrected. "And Freya told you why. That's not the same as silence. That's honesty."

Bradley closed his eyes briefly.

"And the Queen?" he asked.

Brittany shrugged. "Handle the event. Do your job. Show Princess Rayla a good time—play tag, draw pictures, whatever you do with pups. Don't make it about you."

"And if the Queen asks about Freya?"

"Then you tell her the truth." Brittany's gaze didn't waver. "That you messed up. That you're trying to be better. That you're giving her the space she asked for."

Bradley exhaled slowly. His body was still tense. His wolf still restless beneath the surface, pacing, wanting to go to her. But the email sat in front of him—clear, direct, honest.

The Severance is not being stopped.

She wasn't changing her mind. But she also hadn't walked away without explanation. That had to mean something. He set the tablet down. "Okay," he said finally.

Brittany studied him. "Okay?"

"I'll wait."

She nodded slowly. "That's a start."

Bradley turned toward the window, staring out at the city skyline. Waiting had never been his strength. But for Freya—after everything he had taken from her—waiting was the least he could give.