Becoming the Alpha’s Possession

Chapter 2: A Woman Without a Pack

Rosalyn’s POV

I had escaped one cage…only to step into the shadow of another.I had no idea what that shadow was to be at that time. I knew that I was alive, and that was all I had needed to keep me moving. Years followed up very step by step. I knew how to be lost in people, how to speak less, watch more. I came to know how to live without being a part of any one.

The world saw me now instead. The runway lights were scalding my skin and when I moved forward, the dress material seemed to stick to my body as though it were designed specifically for me. The hall was filled with music, heavy, monotonous, the beat going through the floor and into my bones.

The flash of cameras was continuous, piercing and blinding, but it did not startle me. I walked with one foot in front of the other with a slow precision and my head was in the air and my back was straight.

Hold it, Rosalyn, some one called. I stopped at the other end of the runway and turned slowly allowing the cameras to capture my face. Cheers were quick and polite, and the favorable reception was calculated and regulated. I did not even smile at them, but returned. Confidence was expected. Emotion was not.

At the back stage, all the noise came at once. Stylists kept scampering all around me, fingers keeping the material in place, a loose strand of hair. Practical helpers shouted orders in the room, and designers were murmuring about time and location.

Passing by, one designer told me that I was perfect.

Thanks, I said without halting.

Mira came beside me, with her clipboard under her arm, and her piercing eyes already sweeping over my face. “That was perfect,” she said. “Exactly what they wanted.”

I sold them what they were paying to get, I replied.

She studied me for a moment. “You sound distant.”

“I am focused.”

She gave a sort of sigh, but made no protest. “Press in ten minutes. Keep it short. Avoid personal questions.”

“I always do.”

As we proceeded towards the interview section, she spoke in a low voice. Keep in mind that in case they raise your background…“I redirect it,” I said.

“And if they push…”

“I end the interview.”

She nodded. “Good.”

Questions were then rapid when the cameras were rolling. What is it like to have your face on the show?

“It’s an honor.”

What gives you confidence at the runway?

“Discipline.” I said.

Do you have any other plans besides modeling?

I seize every opportunity that appears.

One reporter leaned forward. Word goes, you are a secretive person. Is there a reason for that?”

I met her gaze calmly. “Privacy is a choice.” The interview was conducted without any incident and I took one slow breath when the last camera was closed. The sound stopped and my body slightly relaxed. As Mira talked to someone I picked up my phone. The screen lit up with one message. Then another. Then five more.

My fingers stilled.

“What is it?” Because of my expression Mira asked.

“I’m not sure,” I said, scrolling.

An announcement was made to a news article. My image was looking back at me on the screen with a headline that made my stomach turn. I opened another connection, then another. It is the same tale everywhere and only a reformed version written with an adequate degree of originality.

“This isn’t true,” I said.

Mira went up to me and read over my shoulder. Her mouth tightened. “No, it isn’t.”

My phone vibrated again.

Emails appeared one after another.

We are suspending your contract pending investigation.

We regret to inform you that we are withdrawing our offer.

My throat went dry. “This is moving too fast.”

Mira was already typing. “Someone planned this. They released everything at once.”

The agency group chat remained silent. No reassurance. No instructions.

“Why isn’t anyone responding?” I asked.

Mira hesitated. “They’re waiting to see which way this goes.”

I stared at the screen. “They’re abandoning me.”

“They’re protecting themselves,” she corrected quietly.

The ride home passed in silence. By the time I stepped into my apartment, my name was trending. I dropped my bag on the table and sat down, staring at the wall while Mira paced.

“We can fight this,” she said firmly. “I’ll call legal action. We’ll request takedowns.”

“I’ve seen this before,” I said.

She stopped. “Seen what?” She asked.

“A setup.”

My phone rang again with an unknown number. Then I answered. “Rosalyn Clark,” a man said calmly.

“Yes.”

“This is Hunt International Models. You are requested to attend a meeting tomorrow morning.”

My hand tightened around the phone. “Requested by whom?”

“The CEO.”

A familiar chill slid down my spine. “Which CEO?”

There was a pause before he answered.

“Nicolas Hunt.”

The call ended. I lowered the phone slowly as Mira stared at me. “Who was that?” she asked.

I looked at the blank screen. The name echoed in my head like a warning. “Nicolas Hunt.”

The name stayed on the screen long after the call ended, even though the phone had gone dark. I sat there, without moving, as if any movement might make the truth solid. Mira was still standing in front of me, waiting, watching my face carefully.

“Nicolas Hunt,” she repeated slowly. “The Nicolas Hunt?”

I nodded once.

Her expression shifted from confusion to alarm. “That’s not just your agency’s CEO. That’s… power.”

“I know,” I said quietly.

She pulled out a chair and sat across from me. “Why would he want to see you personally?”

I did not answer, because the answer was already forming in my chest, heavy and unwelcome. Men like Nicolas Hunt did not summon people without reason. They did not step into messes unless they had created them or planned to own the outcome.

“This scandal,” Mira said slowly, “it benefits someone.”

“Yes.”

“And he’s the only one who can either bury it or use it.”

“Yes.”

She leaned forward. “Rosalyn, listen to me. You do not owe them anything. If this meeting feels wrong—”

“It is wrong,” I interrupted.

She stopped speaking.

“I didn’t build this life to be handed back a leash,” I said. “I didn’t crawl out of one pack just to kneel to another.”

Mira swallowed. “Then why go?”

Because running had never saved me for long.

“Because refusing is still an answer,” I said. “And men like him don’t forget answers they don’t like.”

Silence stretched between us.

She finally nodded. “I’ll come with you.”

“No,” I said gently. “This one is mine.”

That night, I did not sleep. I stood by the window and watched the city lights below, each one a life that did not know my name, did not care where I came from or what I had lost. That anonymity had once been my shield. Now it was slipping.

By morning, the headlines had grown sharper. The language is harsher. My phone buzzed with messages from people who had never spoken to me before, suddenly eager to comment on my character.

I dressed carefully. Simple. Clean. Controlled. As I stepped out of my apartment, I caught my reflection in the mirror. I looked composed. Untouched. No one could see the old scars under the surface.

But I felt it then, deep and certain. I had escaped one cage…only to step into the shadow of another. And this one already knew my name.