THE ALPHA’S UNWANTED PLUS-SIZE MATE

Chapter 10

Clara’s pov

The letter was waiting under the napkin holder again when I came down for the morning shift.

Marnie didn’t even slide it across this time. She just pointed at it with the spatula. “Third one. Or second. I’ve lost count. You’re popular with whoever keeps writing these.”

I stared at the envelope. Same handwriting. Same lack of return address.

The heat in my chest already present from another night of the silver-thread dream flared once in recognition.

“I’m not reading it,” I said.

Marnie raised an eyebrow. “You sure? Last one you at least opened.”

“I’m sure.” I picked it up, felt the weight of the paper, and shoved it straight into the pocket of my apron without breaking the seal. “He’s said enough.”

“If you say so.” She turned back to the grill, but her voice stayed pointed. “That look on your face says otherwise. You’re already carrying whatever’s in there and you haven’t even opened it.”

“I don’t care what’s in it.”

“Liar. But it’s your call.” She flipped a row of bacon. “Just don’t let it make you drop plates. I need you to be functional today.”

I started the coffee and tried to ignore the square of paper against my hip. It sat there through the first orders, a thin weight that somehow felt heavier than the previous ones combined.

My wolf stirred every time I moved, restless in a way that had nothing to do with the strangers from the mill road and everything to do with the man who kept finding ways to reach me.

Frank came in at his usual time. He took one look at my face and frowned. “Morning. You look like you slept about three hours and spent the rest of the night arguing with someone.”

“Close enough.”

He accepted the coffee I already had ready. “Anything new on those strangers from the mill road?”

“Not that I’ve heard.”

“Good. Still lock your doors though. And maybe stop glaring at the napkin holder like it insulted you.”

I realized I’d been staring at the empty spot where the letter had been. “I’m fine, Frank.”

“You keep saying that. One of these days I’m going to believe you.” He opened his paper but kept glancing at me over the top of it. “Whoever’s writing those letters, they’re getting under your skin. You want to talk about it?”

“No.”

“All right. Offer stands.”

I moved to the next table before he could keep going. The letter burned against my side. Stronger tone.

I could almost feel it through the paper.

Whatever Kael had written this time, it wasn’t going to be careful or distant. And I wasn’t in the mood to let him take up any more space in my head.

Denise noticed the second she sat down for her oatmeal. “You’re pale again. And you’re gripping that order pad like it owes you money.”

I set the pad down. “Long morning.”

“Uh-huh. You get another letter?”

I didn’t answer. She sighed, stirred her oatmeal, and said quietly, “You don’t have to tell me what’s in them. But you look like you’re fighting a war in your own head. That’s not sustainable.”

“I’m handling it.”

“Are you?” She left her usual extra dollar when she paid and didn’t push further, but the concern in her eyes stayed with me.

By the mid-morning lull I couldn’t stand it. I went out back, sat on the concrete step, and pulled the envelope from my pocket.

The seal was still intact. I turned it over once, twice, feeling the heat in my chest pulse in time with my heartbeat.

Marnie stepped out with a glass of water and set it beside me without comment. “You’re going to open it.”

“No. I’m not.”

“Then why are you holding it like that?”

“Because I’m deciding whether to burn it or throw it in the dumpster unopened.”

She leaned against the wall and crossed her arms. “What’s different about this one? You opened the last one.”

“The last one already said enough. Politics. Regret. The bond is not fading. I don’t need the stronger version.

I don’t need him explaining himself again when the first rejection was public and clear.”

“So don’t read it. But don’t let it sit in your pocket all day either. That kind of thing eats at you whether you open it or not.”

I stared at the handwriting of my name. Part of me wanted to know what a stronger tone looked like from the man who’d rejected me in front of an entire pack.

The larger part refused to give him the satisfaction of even one more minute of my attention.

I stood, walked to the burn barrel, and dropped the unopened envelope in.

Then I struck a match and watched the paper catch. The edges curled black. The ink disappeared. I stayed until there was nothing left but ash.

When I turned around Marnie was still there. “Feel better?”

“No.”

“Didn’t think so. Come back in when you’re ready. Coffee’s not going to make itself, and the lunch crowd’s going to be here whether you’re finished being angry or not.”

I went back to work. The rest of the shift passed in a blur of orders and forced conversation. Every time the bell rang my shoulders tightened.

Every time someone mentioned the strangers from the mill road the heat in my chest answered. But the letter was gone. Unread. Ignored. That had to count for something.

Theo noticed the second I walked into the coffee shop on my afternoon break.

“You look like you fought a battle and lost,” he said, already making the usual without asking.

“I burned a letter without opening it.”

He set the cup down and leaned on the counter. “The same person as before?”

“Yeah.”

“And you’re sure that’s what you wanted?”

“I’m sure I didn’t want to read whatever stronger version he decided to send.” I wrapped my hands around the cup. “He’s not entitled to my attention just because he regrets how he handled things.

He made his choice in front of everyone. He doesn’t get to keep rewriting it in private.”

Theo nodded slowly. “Fair. Still looked like it cost you something.”

“It did. Doesn’t mean I was wrong.”

“I didn’t say you were.” He wiped the counter, quiet for a moment. “You still have my number?”

“Yes.”

“Good. Use it if the nights get louder. Or if another letter shows up and you need someone to sit with while you decide whether to burn it.”

I stayed longer than usual, letting the ordinary noise of the machines push against the leftover tension.

The heat in my chest had settled into a low, stubborn burn.

My wolf was quieter now that the letter was ash, but she wasn’t calm. She never was anymore.

That night I locked the door, checked the windows, and sat on the edge of the bed staring at the empty space in the dresser drawer where the previous letter still lived.

I’d ignored this one. Burned it without giving him a single word back. It should have felt like control.

Instead it felt like the bond itself was still waiting, patient and unfinished, and no amount of ash was going to make it disappear.

I lay down, one hand resting over the warmth in my chest, and waited for the dream I already knew was coming.