My Alpha, My Heart

Chapter 1: A Night to Remember Anne’s POV The night was cold and heavy, the kind that made the whole world feel quieter than usual. Thick clouds covered the sky, swallowing the moon until only a faint glow remained. The wind moved through the trees in slow whispers, carrying the scent of rain that had not yet fallen. Nights like this always made me want to finish work early and curl up in bed. Rain felt like a blanket over the earth, comforting and safe. I was wiping the last table in the maid quarters when a familiar voice sliced through the silence. “Anne!” Charles. My heart stopped for a second. He never came to the maid wing at this hour. Something had to be wrong. I rushed to the door and pulled it open. Before I could even speak, he stumbled inside and nearly fell onto me. His clothes were wrinkled, his hair tangled, and the smell of alcohol hit me so strongly I almost coughed. “Charles,” I whispered sharply. “People are asleep. I… I was about to go to bed.” He didn’t say anything. His unfocused eyes only softened as he lifted a hand and let his fingers brush lazily through my hair. The touch startled me. Then he dropped to the floor with a quiet thud and began snoring. I stared down at him, part confused, part exhausted, and part helplessly fond. It was impossible to stay angry at him. Even drunk, he looked like the same boy who used to chase me around the training yard with a wooden sword, laughing loudly. I crouched beside him and lifted his arm over my shoulders. “Come on, Charles. Up you go.” He was heavy, his weight shifting unpredictably as I guided him through the hallway. I don’t know how many times I had carried him like this since childhood. Being his maid was my duty. Being his friend was my choice. Loving him… that was something I never admitted out loud. We reached his room, dimly lit by the moonlight that managed to slip through the curtains. I sat him on a chair and knelt to remove his socks and shoes. He mumbled something incoherent, then suddenly said my name. “Anne.” “Yes?” “I am finally going to be Alpha.” His eyes, blurry as they were, glowed with pride. My chest tightened. I wanted to share his joy. I truly did. But it hurt too, because the higher he went, the further he drifted from me. “Yes, congratulations,” I whispered gently. “Just do not forget your best friend when you become the most powerful man in the pack.” He nodded eagerly. That silly nod made me laugh softly. He could be childish and innocent and kind in ways that made it impossible not to adore him. “Come on, let me get you to bed.” “A few people already gave me gifts,” he murmured suddenly. “You should give me one too.” “Gift you?” I blinked at him. He stood on his own, surprisingly steady for someone who could barely keep his eyes open. He stared at me in a way he never had before, with a slow intensity that made my breath catch. “Charles,” I whispered. He lifted his hand and pressed a gentle fingertip to my lips. The warmth of his skin silenced me instantly. My heart thudded painfully in my chest. He stepped closer until my back met the edge of his table. His scent mixed with alcohol and something familiar—something that always made me feel safe. “It is normal for you to give me something,” he whispered, voice deep and quiet. “Do you not think so?” I shook my head, but it was the smallest, weakest shake. He was too close. Too warm. Too sincere in a drunken, confused way that made everything inside me tremble. He leaned forward, and our lips brushed in a soft, uncertain touch. Brief. Barely a kiss. Yet it sent a sharp jolt through my entire body. I should have stepped away. I should have stopped him. I should have protected both of us from this moment. But I froze. His hands slid to my waist, pulling me closer with such gentleness, such care, that it felt like a dream I wasn’t meant to have. “Charles,” I breathed, voice breaking. “We should not do this.” “And why not?” His forehead rested on mine. Our breaths mingled. “Because you are drunk,” I whispered. “You will regret this tomorrow. And I cannot handle being a mistake to you.” He closed his eyes. The hurt in his expression was so raw it stole my breath. “Then let me regret it tomorrow,” he whispered. “Just… stay tonight.” My whole body went weak. I had imagined moments like this for years, foolishly believing that someday he might see me the way I saw him. But not like this. Not when he wouldn’t even remember. Slowly, with every piece of strength I had left, I placed my palms on his chest and pushed gently. “No,” I whispered. “Not like this. I deserve more than a drunken memory you forget by morning.” For a moment, he just stared. Confused. Vulnerable. Almost broken. Then he stepped back, and the space between us felt unbearably cold. I helped him to the bed, guided him under the blanket, and tucked him in. His breathing became steady as his eyelids grew heavy. Just as I turned to leave, his hand caught mine weakly. “Anne.” “Yes?” His eyes opened halfway, clearer than before. “Do not leave me.” My heart cracked silently. “I am not leaving,” I whispered. He closed his eyes with a soft sigh, still holding my hand until sleep finally claimed him. Only then did I slip out of the room. The hallway felt colder. Quieter. Heavy with the weight of everything unsaid. When morning came, I returned to his room with water. I expected him to still be asleep. Instead, the moment I stepped inside, his eyes snapped open. He sat up abruptly, staring at me like he was trying to piece together a puzzle. Then he muttered one word. “Shit.” And just like that, I knew the night we almost crossed a line would change everything.