Chapter Three : Eyes of the Alpha
1186 Words
Fernanda sat at her kitchen table the next morning, her coffee going cold as she stared at the crumpled strip of photo booth pictures on the counter.
She’d almost convinced herself last night had been a stress-fueled hallucination. Almost.
But now, in the pale light of morning, that smirk on his face felt more dangerous than anything she’d captured through her lens.
She rubbed her temples. She needed to forget him, to shove his memory back into whatever corner of her brain handled bad decisions.
She had work—real work—with real clients who didn’t stalk her into the night.
But then she remembered the moment during the shoot.
It had been quick—half a heartbeat—but she could have sworn Ace’s eyes had shifted. Not the hazel she’d noticed when he walked in, but molten gold. The unmistakable mark of a true Alpha.
And that wasn’t possible. Not for her. Not here. Omegas like her didn’t get close to true Alphas, much less photograph them.
She’d brushed it off, telling herself the lights were playing tricks, that the tension in the room had made her see things that weren’t there.
But deep down, her instincts whispered otherwise.
She’d never been in the presence of a pureblood Alpha before, but she’d heard the stories—the way the air changes, the way every nerve in your body hums like it’s waiting for command. The way your own scent sharpens, giving you away.
And last night, under that single overhead light in her studio, she’d felt all of it.
Her phone buzzed, yanking her from the thought.
A text.
Unknown number: Still thinking about me?
Her stomach dipped. Delete it, she told herself. Ignore him.
But her fingers betrayed her.
Who are you, really?
There was a pause. Then—
Unknown number: You already know.
Her breath caught.
And then came another message, a single photo.
It was him, bare-chested, shot from an angle that showed the ink curling over his shoulder and down his arm. But it wasn’t his body that made her grip the phone tighter—it was his eyes.
Molten gold. Pure Alpha.
Her pulse spiked. She wasn’t seeing things.
Before she could reply, another message arrived.
Unknown number: I don’t share what’s mine.
Her mouth went dry. What’s yours? she typed.
She waited.
When his reply came, her heart skipped—and then started racing.
Unknown number: You, Fernanda.
She stared at the screen, her breathing shallow.
It wasn’t supposed to happen like this—meeting a mate was rare enough, but a pureblood Alpha claiming an Omega without consent? That was dangerous. That was… impossible.
Except she could feel it now—the bond—like a faint heat curling low in her stomach, pulsing with every beat of her heart.
Her phone buzzed again.
Unknown number: I can smell you from here.
She shoved the phone away, but the truth was worse—because she could smell him, too.
And every cell in her body was begging for more.
Her phone sat on the counter, screen dark, but she swore the weight of his last message lingered in the air like static.
She wasn’t naive—she knew what an Alpha’s claim could mean. Protection. Possession. Control.
And pureblood Alphas? They didn’t ask.
Fernanda pushed away from the table, pacing the length of her tiny kitchen.
This was madness. She didn’t know him. She didn’t want to know him.
Except… her body disagreed. Every instinct she’d buried since she was old enough to understand her designation was screaming that he was close.
Too close.
Three slow knocks rattled the door.
She froze.
The air shifted—warm, thick, laced with a scent she’d been trying to forget since yesterday. Rich. Male. Dangerous.
Her pulse thudded painfully in her ears. “Who is it?” she called, though she already knew.
A beat of silence. Then—
“Ace.”
Her hand tightened on the edge of the counter. “You can’t just—”
“I told you,” his voice came low, muffled through the door but still threaded with command. “I don’t stop once I start.”
She backed away, every nerve on edge.
“You should leave.”
“Open the door, Fernanda.” The way he said her name made her shiver. “Unless you want me to break it.”
Her heart raced. “You’re insane.”
“No,” he said, and she could hear the grin in his voice. “I’m your Alpha.”
Her breath caught, sharp and shallow.
Then came the sound—metal shifting in the lock.
He was letting himself in.
The lock gave a sharp click.
Fernanda’s breath came faster, panic and something darker twisting together in her chest. She should run. She should grab her phone and call someone—anyone—but her feet wouldn’t move.
The door opened.
Ace stepped inside like he owned the space, his height blocking the hallway light, his presence swallowing the air.
Up close, the scent was overwhelming—warm spice, clean skin, and something primal that curled low in her belly.
He shut the door behind him without looking away from her. “You didn’t answer my text.”
“You can’t just break into my apartment,” she said, her voice sharper than she felt.
“I didn’t break in,” he replied, taking a slow step toward her. “You left the lock easy.”
“That’s—” She cut herself off, shaking her head. “You need to leave.”
He smiled then, slow and deliberate, like a predator indulging a cornered prey. “Do you really want me to?”
Her chest rose and fell faster. “Yes.”
“Lie,” he murmured.
She swallowed hard. “I’m not—”
“Yes, you are.” Another step. His gaze dropped briefly to her lips, then returned to her eyes. “I can smell the truth on you.”
Her knees felt unsteady. “You don’t know me.”
“I know enough,” he said, stopping just within arm’s reach. “You’re mine.”
Her pulse hammered in her ears. “You don’t get to decide that.”
“Tell your instincts that,” he whispered.
The space between them crackled, her Omega instincts warring with the rational part of her brain.
And then, with no warning, he reached up—not to grab her, but to press his palm flat against the wall beside her head, leaning just close enough for his breath to graze her cheek.
“Run if you want,” he said, voice low, dangerous. “It’ll make it more fun when I catch you.”
Her breath caught.
Before she could reply, he stepped back, eyes glinting gold for just a second.
“I’ll see you soon, little Omega.”
And just like that, he turned and walked out—leaving her pressed against the wall, shaking, her heart thundering like she’d survived a storm she wasn’t sure she wanted to escape.
- Writer
