The Ugly Alpha Wants Me

Chapter 5 - Dinner in Silence

The sun was setting, and Ayla's anxiety was through the roof. Ever since Beta Kane left her room yesterday, she hadn't been able to sleep a wink. Her mind kept racing, wondering what tonight's formal dinner would be like. Every time she looked toward the eastern tower, her chest got tight with nerves and... something else. Something she wasn't ready to admit to herself yet.

A soft knock interrupted her spiraling thoughts. Three Omega servants walked in carrying gorgeous gowns, shoes, and jewelry that sparkled like captured starlight. Lyra followed behind them, trying to smile reassuringly, but Ayla could see the worry in her eyes.

"Time to get ready, Miss Ayla," Lyra said gently. "The Alpha expects you in the main dining hall in two hours."

Two hours. Ayla's throat went dry.

What happened next felt like some kind of royal makeover. The servants drew her a bath that smelled like heaven with lavender and rose oils, then carefully dried her hair. Ayla had never experienced anything like this - back at her uncle's house, she'd always had to take care of everything herself with whatever she could find.

"Which gown catches your eye, Miss?" one servant asked, showing her three options.

The first one was blood-red and way too revealing - definitely not her style. The second was gold with so many jewels it looked like a disco ball - way too flashy for someone like her. But the third one... it was midnight blue with long sleeves and elegant lines that weren't trying too hard.

"The blue one," Ayla said without hesitation.

Lyra's face lit up. "Perfect choice. That color is going to make your eyes absolutely stunning."

When they helped her into the dress, Ayla barely recognized herself in the mirror. The midnight silk flowed over her like liquid starlight, with silver embroidery that caught the lamplight beautifully. They'd styled her blonde hair in a simple but elegant updo with a few strands framing her face.

"You look absolutely gorgeous, Miss," one of the servants whispered, her eyes shining with admiration.

But gorgeous was the last thing Ayla felt. She felt like a fraud, like she was playing dress-up in someone else's life. This expensive gown, the jewelry glittering at her throat - none of it felt like her.

"Miss," Lyra said carefully, "I need to tell you about some... rules when you're with the Alpha."

Ayla nodded, trying to focus despite her racing heart.

"Don't stare at him too long, especially his face. He doesn't like being watched," Lyra said quietly. "Never ask about the mask or his scars. And most importantly, don't show fear or pity. The Alpha can sense both, and he hates it."

"Then how am I supposed to act?"

"Just be yourself, but stay respectful." Lyra's eyes filled with something that looked like hope. "The Alpha is a good man underneath all that pain. He's just... forgotten how to be one."

When dinner time came, Beta Kane arrived to escort her. He was dressed in formal black and looked more serious than usual.

"You look beautiful, Miss Ayla," he said with a tight smile. "The Alpha will definitely be... impressed."

They walked through the castle's fancy corridors, past old portraits and crystal vases that sparkled in the candlelight. Ayla tried to calm her breathing, but with each step toward the dining hall, her heart pounded harder.

"Beta Kane," Ayla said suddenly, "is the Alpha... has he been waiting for me?"

"Yes. He's been in the dining hall for ten minutes already." Kane glanced at her. "He hates being late, but he also hates waiting. The fact that he got there early is... a good sign."

They stopped in front of massive wooden doors carved with intricate designs. Two intimidating guards stood on either side, nodding respectfully when they saw Beta Kane.

"I'll walk you in, then leave you two alone," Kane said quietly. "After that, it's all up to you and him."

The doors opened slowly, revealing an incredible dining hall with a long black marble table. Tall candles filled the room with golden light that made shadows dance on the walls. And at the far end of the table...

Ayla's breath caught.

Alpha Zephan sat perfectly straight, keeping his distance, dressed in a black robe with silver embroidery that looked like armor. The iron mask covering half his face looked even scarier in the candlelight - like something from a nightmare.

His uncovered red eye locked onto Ayla with an intensity that made her feel completely exposed. She couldn't read any emotion in that stare - no anger, no pleasure, nothing. Just cold, empty darkness.

"Alpha," Kane said respectfully, "I present Miss Ayla."

Zephan didn't say anything, just gave a single, mechanical nod.

Kane bowed and left them alone in suffocating silence.

Ayla stood frozen in the doorway, not knowing what to do. Her beautiful blue dress suddenly felt like a costume for the wrong play.

"Sit," Zephan finally commanded, his voice deep and ice-cold. There was no warmth in it - nothing like their encounter in the tower.

Ayla slowly walked to the chair across from him - far enough to give him space, close enough that they could talk without shouting. Each footstep echoed on the marble like a countdown.

When she sat down, servants started bringing out the food. Cream soup that smelled like rosemary, roasted meat in wine sauce, fresh vegetables, and warm bread that looked amazing. Everything looked delicious, but Ayla had completely lost her appetite.

They ate in crushing silence. Zephan ate mechanically, never lifting his face to look at her. Sometimes he raised his wine glass to his lips - the only part of his face not hidden by the mask - and Ayla caught glimpses of his hard jawline.

Ayla tried to eat, but every bite tasted like cardboard. She kept glancing at Zephan, hoping to see something - anything - that might tell her if this was the same man who had cried in the tower's darkness.

"Where are you from?" Zephan asked suddenly, his voice cutting through the silence like a knife.

Ayla jumped, almost dropping her spoon. "From... a small town down south. Millbrook."

"Family?"

"I'm an orphan. Lived with my uncle."

Zephan nodded once, then went back to his food. No follow-up questions, no sympathy, nothing.

Ayla tried to make conversation. "The castle is beautiful. Has it been in your family-"

"Yes."

A flat answer that shut down any chance of real conversation.

She tried again. "Lyra mentioned there's a library. Maybe I could-"

"If you want."

Another cold response that killed any possibility of actual discussion.

Silence took over again, broken only by the clink of silverware and the occasional sound of glass hitting marble.

Frustration started building in Ayla's chest. The man sitting across from her was nothing like the Zephan she'd met in the tower - that vulnerable man who had cried, who had said it had been so long since anyone cared. This felt like talking to a statue made of ice.

"Have I done something wrong?" Ayla finally asked, unable to hold back anymore.

Zephan looked up for the first time, his red eye studying her with an unreadable expression. "What do you mean?"

"You're acting like I don't exist. Like this is some terrible chore you need to get through as fast as possible."

"Isn't it?" Zephan replied with flat indifference. "You were brought here for a reason. This isn't some romantic dinner."

The words hit Ayla like a slap. Heat flooded her cheeks - shame, disappointment, and anger all fighting for control.

"I know this isn't romantic," Ayla said, fighting to keep her voice steady. "But we could at least try to get to know each other, right? Instead of sitting here like two strangers who were forced to-"

"We are two strangers who were forced," Zephan cut her off, his voice getting louder. "Don't try to make this into something it's not."

Ayla went quiet, her chest tight with hurt. She stared at her plate, trying not to cry.

But then her anger flared up. She wasn't going to let Zephan treat her like this - like some unwanted thing.

"You know what?" Ayla said, lifting her head to look him straight in the eye. "I didn't ask to be brought here. I don't know anything about curses or prophecies or whatever this is about. But I'm here now, and I'm trying my best."

Zephan watched her with narrowed eyes but didn't interrupt.

"I'm trying to understand this situation, trying to figure out who you really are, trying to be... whatever you need me to be. But you've built these walls around yourself like you're made of steel."

"It's better for you that way," Zephan said, his voice shaking slightly.

"That's not your choice to make!" Ayla's voice echoed through the huge dining hall. "I can decide what's best for me!"

Zephan went silent, his red eye boring into her with an intensity that made her feel like she was on fire.

In the sudden quiet, Ayla realized her hands were shaking. She reached for her water glass but knocked over her fork instead, which clattered to the floor.

"Sorry," Ayla whispered, quickly bending down to get it.

And that's when she saw it.

Zephan's hand gripping his knife - the hand not covered by gloves - was covered in horrible burn scars. His skin looked like melted wax, all mottled pink, white, and dark. The scarring went from his wrist and disappeared under his robe's sleeve.

Ayla froze with the fork in her hand, unable to look away from something so terrible and heartbreaking.

"Don't look at me like that," Zephan whispered, his voice sharp with pain.

Ayla looked up to find his red eye fixed on her with a mix of anger and... shame? Desperation?

"Like what?" she asked softly.

"Like I'm something to be pitied."

Ayla's chest tightened. She wasn't looking at him with pity - she was looking at him with heartbreak, seeing someone who had suffered more than she could imagine.

"I'm not pitying you," Ayla said quietly, putting the fork on the table without breaking eye contact.

"Then what?"

Ayla paused, searching for the right words. How could she explain that she didn't see a monster when she looked at him? That she saw someone hurt who was fighting not to show it?

"I see someone strong," Ayla said finally. "Someone who went through hell but is still standing."

Zephan stared at her, his red eye widening slightly.

"I see someone who hides his pain so others won't get hurt too," Ayla continued, her voice getting stronger. "Someone who's more scared of hurting others than getting hurt himself."

"You don't know anything about me," Zephan said, though his voice had lost its harsh edge.

"Maybe not. But I want to."

Silence settled between them again, but this time it was different. Not the cold, suffocating quiet from before, but a silence full of possibilities.

Zephan slowly pulled his scarred hand back, hiding it under the table. The movement was subtle, but Ayla caught it.

"You don't have to hide your hand," Ayla said gently.

"Yes, I do," Zephan replied, his voice rough. "Something like this doesn't belong in front of eyes that... that can still see beauty."

Tears gathered in Ayla's eyes - not because of how he looked, but because of how he talked about himself, like he was something dirty that should be hidden away.

"Zephan," Ayla said, and for the first time that evening, she used his name.

He looked up, surprised to hear his name spoken so tenderly.

"Can I ask you something?"

He nodded slowly.

"Last night, in the tower... you said it had been so long since anyone cared. Do you... do you still feel that way?"

Zephan was quiet for a long moment, his red eye studying her so intensely she felt like he was reading her soul.

"Why do you ask?" he said finally.

"Because I care," Ayla answered without hesitation. "And I want you to know that."

Something shifted in his eye - like a tiny c***k appearing in ice that had been frozen for years. For a second, Ayla saw a flicker of something warm, something alive.

But then Zephan looked away, the cold wall sliding back over his face.

"You shouldn't care," he said, his voice trembling slightly. "It'll only hurt you in the end."

"That's not your choice to make," Ayla repeated what she'd said before.

He looked at her again, this time with a mix of frustration and something else - something that looked like hope that was afraid to show itself.

They sat in silence again, but the whole atmosphere had changed. Something had shifted between them, something small but important.

Ayla didn't try to start another conversation. She just sat there, occasionally taking small bites of food, but mostly watching Zephan in a way that wasn't pushy.

And slowly, she started noticing little things. How he occasionally glanced at her when he thought she wasn't looking. How his uninjured hand played with his wine glass - a nervous gesture. How his breathing was uneven, like he was fighting with something inside himself.

As dinner was ending, Zephan spoke again.

"Don't try to love me," he whispered finally, his voice so quiet she almost missed it. "It won't end well for either of us."

The words hit Ayla like a punch to the gut. Not because she was already in love - not yet - but because of how he said it. Like he'd already given up before even trying.

"What if I already care too much?" Ayla asked boldly.

Zephan looked at her with eyes full of pain he couldn't express.

"Then you'll get hurt," he answered. "And I don't want to be the reason tears fall from eyes too beautiful for crying."