THE ALPHA’S FORBIDDEN MATE

can't afford to keep taking care of you. We're barely eating." My aunt’s voice was sharp, tired, and final. I knew she couldn’t stand me. Ever since my parents left, I’ve been the extra mouth in a house that already had too many. The designer bags, the new shoes, the way she smiled when her husband came home — it all told me she was doing fine. She just didn’t want me in it. "It's not my fault your parents left you," she said, crossing her arms. "And I can't keep taking care of my children and you too. It's stressful." I looked at the floor and said one word: "Okay." I wasn’t going to beg. Not again. I saw it in her eyes — the surprise that I didn’t cry, didn’t plead. She was used to me breaking. I turned to the store room where I stayed and grabbed my small backpack. I’d packed it weeks ago, just in case. The door closed behind me and that was it. No money. No address. Just me and the night. I found an abandoned building two streets down. Broken windows, dust, and rats. But it had a roof. For now, that was home. Sitting on a cardboard box, I made a plan. Step 1: Job. Step 2: Room. Step 3: A life that’s mine. The next morning I walked until my feet hurt, reading every "Staff Wanted" sign. Most places didn’t even look at me. Then I saw it — a gold sign outside a hotel: *WAITRESS NEEDED*. The hotel was too clean, too bright. The receptionist barely lifted her head. "I came for the waitress job," I said. "Stand aside," she replied. "I’m busy." An hour passed. Then another man came in, frustrated. "Bar is short-staffed tonight." "I can help," I cut in quickly. "I’m here for the job." He finally looked at me. "Follow me." The uniform smelled like bleach. "Wear this. Bar. Now," he said. A senior waitress leaned in: "We don’t tolerate insolent behavior here." "Got it," I said. He was already gone. I got lost for 5 minutes in the hallway before I found the bar. Crystal glasses, low music, men in suits. I got to work. By 10pm I was back in the abandoned building, counting tips in my hand. My stomach was empty but my pocket wasn’t. Not bad. That became my life. Wake up. Work. Tips. Sleep. Repeat. The bar had every kind of person. The polite ones. The rude ones. And the "dogs" — mostly married men who thought money bought them anything. I watched the other waitresses dodge hands and comments. I learned fast.