THE ALPHA’S FORBIDDEN MATE

Chapter 5: THE FREELANCER

I had *five cents*.

And pride that was already broken.

The hotel wouldn’t take me back. Drake kept texting. Lila probably had my photo on some pack wall labeled _problem_.

So I did the only thing left.

I went home to the hut with the broken door and I googled.

"How to make money with no money."

The Wi-Fi at the bus station was free for 15 minutes.

That’s all I needed.

*Freelancing.*

Writing. Designing. Editing. Selling wigs.

People online didn’t care that I was fired. They didn’t care that I was human. Or broke.

I used my old cracked phone.

Made an account: *RavenWrites*.

Profile pic: just a black silhouette.

Bio: `I will write you anything. 500 words for $5. 24hr delivery.`

First 3 days: nothing.

I ate plain bread. I drank water.

My stomach growled louder than the rain on the broken door.

Day 4, a message:

`Can you write a product description? $10. Need it tonight.`

My hands shook typing the reply. `Yes.`

I wrote it on my phone. At 2am. By candlelight because the power was out.

Sent it from the bus station the next morning.

$10 hit my account.

$10.

That was food.

I cried. Not because I was sad. Because no one had paid me for _my_ words before.

The next week was chaos.

Wake up 5am. Go to the bus station. Use the 15min free Wi-Fi. Check for jobs.

Work whatever gig I could find. Write product descriptions for $5. Edit CVs for $10.

Sell the *Dilwaren Gold* wig I’d been hiding in my bag.

Posted it online: `Human hair wig. 26 inches. $60. Slightly used.`

A woman in another city bought it in 2 hours. Sent me $60.

I bought food. I bought a lock for the door. I bought data.

Drake kept coming.

Not to the door. He was smarter now.

Groceries left on the step. Rice. Ramen. Eggs.

Notes tucked under them:

`Eat something -D`

`You’re working too hard -D`

`I’m sorry -D`

I threw the first 3 bags away.

The 4th one I kept. I was too hungry to be proud anymore.

Lila texted too. From unknown numbers.

`He doesn’t want you. He’s going to mate me next full moon.`

`Stay away from the North Pack.`

I blocked her.

Week 3 of freelancing and I hit $300.

$300.

More than 6 months of tips.

I rented a small room. Not a hut. A room. With a door that locked.

With light. With a fan. With Wi-Fi I could pay for.

First night there, I sat on the floor and laughed.

No rats. No leaks. Just me and my laptop.

My phone buzzed.

Unknown number.

`I saw you at the market. You looked strong.`

`I’m proud of you. -D`

I didn’t reply.

But I didn’t delete it either.

Because for the first time in my life...

I wasn’t waiting.

I wasn’t begging.

I wasn’t anyone’s mate.

I was Ravendon.

The Freelancer.

And I was building something that was mine.