One Night with my ruthless Alpha CEO

"I really should have just gotten that abortion." My mother’s voice was terrifyingly thin, like a wire being pulled tight. She didn’t look up from her plate, her knife scraping against the fine china with a screech that made my teeth ache. "Now you’ve turned my own family against me," she added, finally lifting her gaze. Her eyes weren't filled with anger. They were filled with disgust and that was far worse. The dining room went silent. The only sound was the rhythmic ticking of the grandfather clock in the hall and the heavy, ragged pulse thumping in my ears. I reached for a piece of chicken, my hand trembling just enough to make the serving tongs clatter. "No, dear. Perhaps a salad," she said, her hand darting out like a viper to block my reach. She cut into her own meal violently. "You’re already too big, Reina. We don’t want you getting any bigger. Think of the seams on that dress. Or do you intend to burst out of it in front of all the guests?" A chair screeched. An upsetting sound that cut through her insults. Jimmy was on his feet, his knuckles white where he gripped the edge of the table. "Mama, that’s enough!" His voice cracked, the sound of a boy trying to be a man in a house run by a monster. "You talk to her like she’s a stray dog. Do you even hear yourself?" "Sit down, Jimmy," my mother replied, her calm never wavering. She took a slow, deliberate sip of her wine, her eyes never leaving mine. "I am simply being a mother. Someone has to tell her the truth before the world does." "No." Jimmy slammed his palm onto the table, making the crystal glassware dance and chime. "You might as well just kill her at this point. I’m tired of listening to this every single day. Is this how you love your child?" My chest felt like an invisible vice was crushing it. "Jimmy, please..." "I’ve lost my appetite," he spat, shoving his plate away so hard it rattled against my father’s glass. He turned on his heel and stormed out, his heavy footsteps echoing up the stairs. My father let out a long, exhausted exhale. He looked at his plate, then at the empty doorway, then finally at the woman he had married. He didn't defend me. He never did. He just stood up, his joints popping in the silence. "I’ve lost mine as well," he muttered, following Jimmy out without a backward glance. The silence that followed was a physical weight. It was just the two of us—the Queen and her mistake. My mother leaned back, her blouse shimmering under the chandelier. She looked at me as if I were a stain on her expensive rug. "I should have listened to my instincts twenty years ago," she whispered, her voice dropping to a hiss. "You are the biggest regret of my life, Reina. Now, clean up this mess. My kitchen better be spotless before the car arrives." She stood, smoothed her skirt, and glided out. I sat there, staring at the congealing fat on my plate. The word regret felt like a brand on my forehead. I stood up, my legs feeling like jelly, and began to clear the table. My fingers brushed a broken shard of Jimmy's plate, the sharp edge drawing a bead of red. I didn't even flinch. Physical pain was a distraction I always welcomed. I hurried upstairs an hour later, my breath hitching as I wrestled with the champagne colored gown. It was the only thing I owned that made me feel like I wasn't invisible. The fabric was tight. Too tight, pressing against my ribs, molding to the curves my mother spent every waking hour mocking. I stared at myself in the full-length mirror. My breasts spilled over the neckline, and the silk clung to my hips perfectly. "Reina! The car is here!" Jimmy’s shout came from below. I took one last look. I didn't see a proper figure. I saw a woman who was drowning. I grabbed a shawl, wrapped it tight around my shoulders to hide the skin I’d been taught to hate, and ran down the stairs. The moment we stepped into the ballroom, my mother transformed. She draped her arm over my father’s, a dazzling, fake smile plastered onto her face. She greeted the hosts with a laugh that sounded like music, while her hand tightened on my arm, her nails digging into my skin. "Stay behind me," she hissed under her breath as we moved toward the main table. "And for God’s sake, don't eat anything." I walked with my head down, focusing on the floor, on the rhythm of my own feet. Don't trip. Don't speak. Don't exist. The ballroom was crowded and I felt the sweat start to prickle at my hairline. I tried to navigate around a waiter carrying a tray of flutes, but my heel caught on the heavy hem of my gown. Time slowed down. I felt my balance shift, the world tilting dangerously. I reached out, my fingers grasping for the edge of the long buffet table to steady myself, but my hand hit a heavy floral centerpiece instead. The crash was deafening. I went down hard, my knees hitting the floor with a loud thud. Behind me, the table groaned. A towering pyramid of champagne glasses shivered, then collapsed, a cascade of crystal and gold liquid raining down on me. The music didn't stop, but the laughter did. A heavy, suffocating silence swept through the room as a hundred pairs of eyes locked onto me. I sat there in a puddle of expensive wine, my dress soaked and clinging to me like a second skin, showing every curve, every roll, every bit of the regret my mother had described. "I told you she would disgrace this family." My mother’s voice didn't shake. She stood over me, looking down with a face filled with such pure, unadulterated disgust that it felt like she’d slapped me in front of the entire city. She turned to my father, who was staring at the floor in shame. "But you never listen, Harold. Look at her. A pathetic, clumsy embarrassment." Something inside me broke. I didn't wait for anyone to help me up. I pushed myself off the floor, the wet silk of my dress heavy and cold against my skin. I didn't look at my mother. I didn't look at the whispering socialites. I turned and ran for the exit, my bare feet slapping against the floor, the sound of my mother’s mocking laughter following me into the night. I didn't stop until I reached the neon lights of a bar three blocks away—The Obsidian. It was a place for predators and the broken, a dark hole where names didn't matter. I walked inside, dripping wet and smelling of champagne, and headed straight for the bar. "Double bourbon," I rasped, my voice sounding like it had been dragged over gravel. "Make it two." The voice was a low growl right behind my ear. I froze. A scent hit me, something primal, like cedar wood. I turned my head, and my breath hitched. He was sitting there, cloaked in shadows, his eyes burning with an intensity that made the air in my lungs vanish. He wasn't looking at my ruined dress or my tear-stained face. He was looking at me like I was the only thing in the room that mattered. "You look like you're ready to burn the world down," he said, his hand moving to the bar, his fingers inches from mine. "Want some matches?"