THE HEIR OF THE SUPREME ALPHA: FATED TO HIM

CHAPTER 2

MADISON CARTER

"Let's go.", he says, grabbing my arm and helping me up.

His touch is firm but gentle, and I feel a mix of relief and confusion.

"Thank you...", I murmur, still in shock.

"Are you crazy? Is this how you put your life in danger?", he says with an irritation that surprises me.

"What? He attacked me first!", I protest, indignation growing within me.

"Oh, yes! I saw that, but why the hell would you be walking near a place full of criminals in the middle of the night?"

His voice is a mix of concern and frustration, and it irritates me.

"This is my job! People like me aren’t rich like you!", I respond, trying not to let my anger show.

"I'm not judging anyone's work! But a smart person would avoid this kind of dark, dangerous place.", he says, and my expression turns into an ironic smile.

"Oh, thank you for the advice, Mr. Protector. If you hate my attitude so much, why did you help me?", I ask with a touch of acidity.

"Would you have preferred I left you in the hands of that jerk, who could have done anything to you?"

He asks sarcastically, and, on impulse, I raise my hand to hit him, but he holds me, pushing me against the wall.

"You should've acted like that near him. A little wild cat.", he says, his eyes shining again, and it makes me tremble—but not with fear.

I push him away angrily, my accumulated frustration exploding.

"Thanks for the help, maybe there are more women for you to save, Superman!", I shout, pulling away from him as a wave of anger overwhelms me.

"You're stubborn!", he steps forward, but I refuse to be intimidated.

"And you're unbearable!", I reply, walking away.

"You're going alone? That bastard could come back at any moment!", he yells, but I don’t look back.

I've never needed a man to protect me before.

"Just as you said, I'm stubborn!"

"Get in the car and let me take you somewhere safe!"

I smile, turning around and seeing him standing there, waiting for my response, but the truth is, he irritates me.

"Getting into a stranger's car in the middle of the night isn’t safe either, Superman!"

"Don’t call me that stupid nickname!"

I laugh, seeing his eyes glint in the dark.

"Goodbye, Superman."

When I reach my small home, I open the door and sigh, thinking about what happened.

I need to find a way to make more money before I end up paying with my life.

The next morning, I prepare for my gynecologist appointment with a mix of relief and nervousness.

It’s the first time I’ve managed to get an appointment at a high-end clinic, and for free, thanks to a low-income assistance program.

I’ve never been to a gynecologist, and the purpose of the appointment is to get an IUD.

After many nights of thinking about my unstable situation, I decided it was time to take care of myself in a way that didn’t require constant control.

The clinic is modern, all glass and shining steel, with an air of sophistication that seems more fitting for celebrities and people of status.

I feel out of place as soon as I enter and see the other women waiting—all well-dressed, carrying designer bags, and wearing accessories that seem to cost more than everything I earned last week.

I take a deep breath and walk to the reception, where the attendant greets me, but her eyes quickly scan my appearance. I’m wearing a simple dress that clearly stands out in this environment.

She confirms my appointment time and asks me to wait. I sit down, trying to ignore the curious glances from the other patients.

Time passes slowly.

I feel uncomfortable, but I try to disguise it, focusing on remembering that I’m doing this for a reason: stability.

The need not to rely on constant control methods, especially considering the type of work I do, brings me some comfort.

I take a deep breath, preparing myself for what's to come.

Finally, my name is called by a blonde doctor, who looks somewhat worn out.

Her eyes are slightly red, as if she had been crying before calling me.

I try not to make assumptions; after all, everyone has tough days. She greets me with a smile and leads me to the room.

"Madison, is that correct?", she asks as she takes her seat behind the desk and arranges some papers.

"Yes, that’s me.", I reply, trying to appear calm, though my heart is racing.

"Is this your first time seeing a gynecologist?"

"Yes.", I confirm, a bit embarrassed.

She smiles, typing something into the computer.

"Alright, let's start with some routine questions, okay?"

I nod, trying not to seem too nervous.

She begins by asking about my general health, my diet, and whether I exercise regularly.

And, of course, the questions about my s****l life.

I feel uncomfortable, but I try to answer honestly, explaining that my period is often late and that my cycle is usually irregular.

She makes a few quick notes, clicking and typing as she watches me closely.

"Do you have any pre-existing conditions or anything I should know before we proceed?", she asks.

"No.", I reply, and she takes more notes.

There’s a moment of silence, and I notice she seems confused for a second, as if searching for a specific piece of information.

"Oh, yes, of course. The procedure...", she says, confirming something on the computer.

Then, she asks me to stand up and lie on the examination table.

I adjust myself, trying to relax, but the cold room makes me tense.

I prepare myself, placing my legs as directed, and she helps me get comfortable.

"It'll be quick, Madison. Try to relax.", she says in a reassuring tone.

I take a deep breath, trying to push the discomfort aside.

I stare at the ceiling as the doctor performs the procedure, which is indeed quick.

I feel something light and strange, but it’s not painful. In a matter of minutes, she finishes and helps me up.

The procedure is quick.

"I think everything went well.", she says with a smile, jotting something down on the computer.

She seems a bit more relaxed now, but there's still something off in her expression.

"I’ll schedule a follow-up in a few weeks, just to ensure everything is functioning properly. Until then, avoid any strenuous activity.", she says, smiling.

"Strenuous?", I ask, confused.

I didn’t think an IUD placement would require any special rest.

She looks at me with an overly excited expression, as if she doesn’t understand the question.

"Oh, yes, any intense physical activity. After a delicate procedure like this, it's best to rest a lot and take the recommended medications."

I frown, and a feeling of doubt hits me.

"Sorry, just to clarify, why exactly so much caution? I thought it was something simple..."

She laughs softly, as if I’d made a joke.

"Oh, of course, it’s just general care. This is a more invasive procedure, but it’s common, nothing to worry about. I’ll prescribe some medications to help."

She starts writing the prescription, but something bothers me.

When she finishes and turns to me with a radiant smile, she says:

"Miss Sinclair, I wish you a smooth recovery and hope the procedure was a success."

Confusion hits me like a shock.

"My name isn’t..."

But before I can finish, a medical assistant knocks on the door and enters.

"Dr. Meredith, the patient scheduled for the 8:00 procedure, just arrived. She was delayed, but she’s ready now."

The doctor widens her eyes, clearly surprised.

"But… I was just with that patient.", she says, looking between me and the assistant.

"Oh, no. You’re with the 8:30 patient.", the assistant replies, and the doctor seems even more nervous.

I try to understand what’s happening, and the discomfort increases.

"Is everything alright?", I ask, not wanting to sound intrusive, but the confusion is already palpable.

"Yes, everything is fine.", she replies, though her face shows the opposite.

She’s clearly processing something, but restrains herself.

I blink, noticing the doctor's wide-eyed expression. She looks very frightened.

"Alright, are we done here?", I say, getting up, and she bites her lip, nodding.

She follows me to the door and seems to want to tell me something very important, but something holds her back.

As I leave the room, I hear her low voice.

"I'm sorry...", she whispers, and I frown. Before I can ask, I look ahead and see the new patient—a beautiful, elegant woman—entering Dr. Meredith's office.

But something about her catches my attention.

Golden eyes.

A FEW WEEKS LATER

Since the night of the attack, I have made an effort to return to my routine.

I go back to the club every night to dance and make as much money as possible.

The mysterious man who helped me that night hasn’t shown up again, and his absence leaves me with a strange feeling of emptiness, but also relief.

I don’t know what to think about him, but I’m grateful for having been saved that time, even though the memory still haunts me.

Determined to pay off my father’s debt as fast as I can, I save every penny, cutting down on everything I can, even food.

I can’t let my guard down. Even when exhausted, I keep giving my best during performances without asking for help or stopping to recover.

But the days are getting harder.

I notice that something is wrong with my body, but I try to ignore it.

Tonight, the stage feels even more intimidating, and I force a smile as the music plays.

The warm, intense lighting turns towards me, and I start sweating more than usual.

I dance, each movement calculated and sensual, but I feel a slight imbalance when I spin toward the audience.

I blink a few times, trying to clear my vision, but the dizziness increases.

I pause, sigh, and try to continue, thinking it’s just fatigue.

Suddenly, the dizziness intensifies.

Everything around me begins to blur, and before I can react, the world around me completely disappears, and everything goes dark.

The muffled sound of screams is the last thing I hear before I lose consciousness and fall on the stage.

I wake up with a painful feeling and a burning sensation on my forehead.

The first thing I notice is someone lightly slapping my face.

I slowly open my eyes, blinking against the light, until the blurry figure in front of me takes shape—it’s the club owner, and he doesn’t look pleased at all.

“What the hell is going on with you, Madison? You already refuse to sleep with the richest clients, and now you almost die on my stage!”, he yells, his voice full of irritation.

Confused and still dazed, I try to understand what happened, but my head throbs, and everything seems to spin.

I look around, and I see some other strippers watching me with concerned expressions.

“What happened?”, I ask, but my voice is weak.

“You fainted and hit your head while you were dancing.”, answers one of the older girls, holding a damp cloth on my forehead.

I groan, feeling even more nauseous and weak.

“I… I don’t know what happened.”

“She doesn’t look well.”, my colleague insists, while the club owner shakes his head, impatient.

“Great! Another setback caused by one of my best strippers!”

He rolls his eyes and lets out a frustrated sigh.

I try to stand up, but my arms barely have the strength to support me.

“I’m fine.", I murmur.

He looks at me with disdain.

“You’re not going to dance like this. I’ll put another girl in your place tonight. Go home now, but know that I’ll deduct this from your pay!”

I feel a tightness in my chest, but I know there’s no choice.

With the help of the other girls, I get up and leave the club.

Every step is a challenge, and the cold night makes me tremble with weakness.

I head home slowly, trying to understand what might be causing this exhaustion and dizziness.

Could it be the lack of food? After all, saving money has left me eating only the bare minimum to survive.

When I get home, I open the cabinet, my eyes scanning the few food options.

I decide to prepare something simple, which is all I can manage with the little I have.

The aroma of food is comforting, and I hope a meal will help improve my condition.

When I sit down to eat, however, my stomach churns.

A bitter taste rises in my mouth, and before I can stop it, nausea overwhelms me completely.

I quickly get up and run to the bathroom, covering my mouth, and I barely make it to the toilet before I vomit everything I ate.

The feeling of sickness is intense, and I sit on the bathroom floor, leaning against the wall, as I try to calm myself.

Tears fill my eyes, and I take a deep breath, trying to understand what is happening to my body.

“Why is this happening?”, I murmur to myself, hugging my body for comfort.

I’ve never felt so weak.

All the attempts to work and save money seem to be draining my health, but stopping work is not an option.

I know I need the money now more than ever. The debt, the household bills, the memories of the attack — all of it weighs on me, and now it seems like my own body is turning against me.