The Unstable Alpha, I‘m His Only Salvation

Uninvited Company

Gwyneth was nearly desperate.

　　Samuel’s words haunted her all through Sunday like a nightmare.

　　Even into Monday.

　　By the time she snapped back to attention, the other students had already gotten off the bus in twos and threes. A dark‑haired girl toward the back reminded her.

　　“Gwyneth, time to get off,”the girl called.

　　Gwyneth mumbled a reply. She waited until everyone else had filed out, then stood and limped off the bus.

　　The hallway around the lockers was already crowded.

　　Only five minutes remained until class started. Gwyneth didn’t dare linger. She grabbed her textbook and hurried upstairs to the second‑floor English classroom. By the time she reached Room 214, the bell had already rung.

　　Gwyneth sighed. She resigned herself and pushed the door open. The second she stepped inside, a dozen pairs of eyes turned toward her.

　　Gwyneth dropped her head instinctively. Even so, her gaze drifted toward one person—Samuel Voss.

　　Compared to their tense roadside standoff, he looked completely at ease. He rested his chin in one hand. A cheerleader sat beside him, leaning over to speak in a low voice.

　　“You ditched us on Saturday.”

　　The girl feigned annoyance.“Lacey asked, like, three times whether you were coming. You owe us.”

　　Samuel just smirked.“At least I brought home a regional title.”

　　The girl laughed.“Come on. The game is the game, friends are friends. You missed so much fun that night!”

　　Samuel raised an eyebrow. His eyes locked with Gwyneth’s, where she still stood in the doorway. The cheerleader followed his gaze and glanced over as well.

　　Heat flooded Gwyneth’s face. She could imagine how she looked:late, limping, openly stared‑down by Samuel.

　　She hugged her backpack tight to her chest, kept her head lowered, and hurried past the teacher’s desk. She slipped into a seat in the back row and pretended to flip through her textbook.

　　“Do you know her?”the cheerleader asked Samuel from beside him.

　　Samuel shook his head, yet the gesture felt deliberate.

　　The girl glanced back at Gwyneth.“She didn’t show up that night either.”

　　“Not surprising,”Samuel said flatly.

　　The girl shrugged.“True. She barely talks, anyway. She’s always with Elias—you know, the guy who was out sick all last week? They’re always holed up in some corner of the library. No one really knows what they talk about.”

　　Just then, Mr. Townsend, who taught American Literature, pushed open the door. Behind him came a thin boy in a gray hoodie.

　　“Sorry, everyone. Traffic on 101 was a mess this morning—”

　　He wore a rumpled button‑down shirt, arms loaded with handouts and literature readers, thoroughly out of breath. He looked as though he had rushed non‑stop all morning, a sharp contrast to the slow‑moving boy trailing behind him.

　　“Hey, Elias, find yourself a seat!”Mr. Townsend dumped the stack of books onto his desk and turned with a smile.“Seriously, you’ve missed my class for an entire week.”

　　The boy, Elias, had heavy‑lidded eyes. He barely reacted to Mr. Townsend’s light teasing, merely nodding before sliding into the empty seat next to Gwyneth in the back row.

　　When Gwyneth spotted him, her face lit up.“Elias, you’re finally back!”

　　Her voice came out much louder than intended. Elias set down his backpack and shot her a quick glance.“…Keep it down.”

　　Gwyneth realized her exclamation had drawn notice; two students in front twisted around to look. She ducked her head and lowered her voice.“Okay, fine. Changing the subject. I sent you like a million texts. Why did you only reply once?”

　　Over the past week, she had sent six messages.

　　Three read,“Are you okay?”Two asked,“Should I bring you notes?”The last one—sent after the accident, after Samuel had dropped her off while she curled up in bed—pleaded,“Please text me back. I’m really worried.”

　　Elias had always been frail, pale as paper, as though he rarely saw sunlight. Whenever the seasons shifted, he was always the first to fall ill. During PE, he sat on the sidelines. His name appeared in the school nurse’s log more than anyone else’s.

　　Naturally that worried her. Especially after such an extended sick leave; her mind kept jumping to worst‑case scenarios.

　　And Elias happened to be exactly the kind of person who frustrated her most.

　　“I had a fever,”he said coolly.

　　“But—”

　　Gwyneth had a whole list of questions ready, yet before she could press him, Mr. Townsend began his lecture. She had to open her textbook.

　　She got no further chance until the lecture paused and Mr. Townsend split the class into small‑group discussions. She turned to Elias at once.

　　“You could’ve at least sent a quick text. I worried myself sick all week!”she whispered, staring straight at his face.

　　He lacked Samuel’s bold, striking good‑looks, yet he possessed a pale, almost fragile kind of beauty.

　　Most notably those gray‑glass eyes.

　　Right now, those same haunted eyes met hers.“Your leg is hurt. You didn’t tell me about that either.”

　　Gwyneth fell silent.

　　How could she possibly explain to Elias?

　　Tell him she had gotten mixed up in trouble, and that the source of it all was Samuel?

　　Admit she now had to go to his house every day after school to work as a cleaner?

　　She stole a glance toward the front of the room at Samuel’s back. He laughed alongside the cheerleader, never glancing backward, as though that whole night had never happened.

　　“It’s just…I rear‑ended the car in front of me,”Gwyneth mumbled, dropping her gaze and drawing her right leg inward.

　　“Rear‑ended.”

　　Elias rolled the word over, as if weighing its meaning on his tongue.

　　Gwyneth shifted uncomfortably.“It’s fine. I paid some compensation, and we, um, settled everything privately.”

　　“I see.”Elias nodded thoughtfully.“What about the person you hit? How is he?”

　　Gwyneth looked away, pretending to study her book.“He left.”

　　“Left?”Elias repeated slowly, unhurried.

　　“Yeah. He left, and then I…I went home alone,”Gwyneth said.

　　Elias did not push for more. He withdrew his gaze, looked down, and turned a page in his notebook. Quietly he said,“Text me the next time you go out at night.”

　　Gwyneth froze.“But you hate the cold—”

　　“It’s still safer than you being out by yourself.”

　　Elias spoke lightly, without lifting his eyes.

　　Gwyneth’s throat tightened. She said nothing more, only gave a small, muffled“Mm”and stared down at her lap.

　　……

　　Second period:American History. Dry and tedious.

　　Elias sat diagonally behind her. Several times Gwyneth glanced back; he was always hunched over, writing.

　　Ms. Croft’s lecture on Federalist No. 10 droned on in her ears, yet she could not focus at all.

　　It felt as though Elias had changed, and yet hadn’t.

　　The same eyes, the same quiet tone, the same fragile health, the same aversion to cold, wind and sunlight.

　　Only now, it seemed, he no longer needed her looking after him.

　　Gwyneth’s heart felt heavy and confused.

　　She stole one more glance at him, then tore a small corner from her notebook page and scribbled quickly:

　　“Lunch, cafeteria, our usual spot.—G”

　　She folded the scrap into a tiny square and clutched it tight in her palm. When Ms. Croft turned toward the chalkboard to write, Gwyneth faked a stretch and flicked the note backward toward Elias.

　　But a draft blowing from the side vent caught the light paper. It drifted off course, spun through the air, and landed crookedly in another set of hands.

　　That student was twirling a black pen, which flipped nimbly between his fingers. The note landed squarely in his grasp.

　　Gwyneth’s mind went completely blank.

　　Samuel Voss.

　　What was he doing here? He was supposed to be in AP U.S. History, in a different classroom with Lacey and the rest of their group.

　　Of course. Exactly what she had feared.

　　Samuel stared down at the note resting in his palm.

　　He did not unfold it right away. He paused, then slowly opened it.

　　His eyes scanned the short message. His eyebrow lifted. Deep green eyes rose and locked onto Gwyneth’s panicked stare.

　　That look held mockery, and knowing. It spoke clearly without words:You’re asking him to lunch?

　　Heat surged up her neck. Her whole body stiffened. She nearly shot out of her seat.“Samuel Voss, give it back!”

　　She gritted her teeth and reached backward, desperate to snatch it away.

　　But Samuel showed no intention of returning the note.

　　He refolded the crumpled scrap right before her eyes, slipped it between the pages of his textbook, then leaned back in his chair. A cold little smile tugged at his lips. His voice dropped low, just loud enough for her alone to hear:

　　“Lunch. I’ll go with you.”

　　Gwyneth froze. Her hand flew to the necklace around her throat—the very one he had yanked before.

　　It burned against her skin.

　　A small, involuntary cry escaped her.“Ah—”

　　The sound cut through the quiet classroom.

　　Ms. Croft’s attention snapped to her from the front of the room.“Gwyneth, is there a problem?”

　　Every pair of wandering eyes in the room landed on her.

　　Her face paled. She could not form a single word.

　　This was the first time a teacher had called on her since transferring to the school. Normally, whenever Elias was home sick, she sat unnoticed in the back corner. No one paid her any mind.

　　Panic, embarrassment, shame crashed over her all at once.

　　Just as she floundered, on the verge of public humiliation, a calm, cool voice rang out from the seat diagonally behind her.

　　Samuel’s expression, which had been ready to relish her discomfort, shifted in an instant.