The Bully Alpha’s Redemption

Intern or Maid?

Scarlet



Yeah! I might have been a bit c*cky with Damien and his challenge. He has taken the mission to make my life a living hell a step further.

My day went the same way it had for the past three weeks—filled with dread. After school, from the moment I stepped into the oversized, glass-walled building where Damien now held interim authority, a pit settled in my stomach and remained there like a dark shadow.

Damien has been staying behind every day to make sure that enjoys my misery. The workload had multiplied overnight. Tasks I wasn’t even trained for, menial chores far beneath my job description, and countless trivial errands—all dumped onto my desk.

My internship had transformed into personal servitude. Damien was relentless, his smug smirk present whenever he assigned another impossible deadline or called me into his office for tasks meant to break me.

The internship was supposed to be a stepping stone into the corporate world, a learning experience. But Damien had twisted it into something else entirely.

Meetings were held without me, reports I’d worked tirelessly on were dismissed without feedback, and any chance of growth evaporated as I was reduced to a glorified assistant.

No—worse. I wasn’t gaining experience; I was being humiliated.

I could feel the stares from colleagues as I carried stacks of files through the corridor, whispering behind my back. Some pitied me, others sneered. Damien made sure everyone knew my place; nothing but an omega.

Today was no different.

"Scarlet, coffee. Black. Now," Damien ordered without even glancing up from his desk.

I bit the inside of my cheek to hold back the retort bubbling inside me. I had spent all night preparing a detailed summary for the proposal he had demanded—only for him to brush it aside this morning with a cold, "Unnecessary and stupid."

What the hell is that lingo?

My hands trembled as I handed over the coffee minutes later.

"Too hot," he said, lips curling in mock displeasure. "Try again. And don't forget the meeting minutes for tomorrow. I expect them perfectly formatted."

I nodded, heat rising to my cheeks as I turned away. I wasn’t weak. I wouldn’t let him break me. I had worked too hard, and sacrificed too much, for a petty power play to be the end of my ambitions. My family depended on me.

Still, every day, the temptation to walk away grew stronger.

That evening, the final blow came. Damien had texted me an address after work hours with a curt message: Be here at 8. Don’t be late.

I arrived at the exclusive rooftop lounge, clutching the hem of my skirt. The dress code was far from professional—more like catering staff, a humiliating downgrade. My eyes widened as I spotted Damien, lounging with a group of equally arrogant friends, all from the same school we went to.

The only reason I am able to attend such school with them is because of pack scholarships which Damien and his mates never forget to remind me but affording anything like other students’ lifestyle is impossible for me but this is just…

His friends noticed me first.

"Oh, Damien, you hired help for the evening? Classy," one drawled, lifting his glass in a mock salute.

My hands curled into fists at my sides, but I forced myself to stay calm. Professional. I needed to be professional.

Damien finally acknowledged me with a smug glance. "Serve the drinks, Scarlet. We’re celebrating. Try not to spill anything this time."

The humiliation burned hot and fierce, but I forced a brittle smile, moving toward the bar to retrieve the tray of drinks. I felt their eyes on me as I returned, their whispers loud enough for me to catch fragments.

"Wasn't she supposed to be some genius intern?"

"Looks more like a maid to me."

I set the tray down carefully, refusing to meet their eyes as I passed around the glasses. Damien’s gaze lingered on me, satisfied. He wanted me to break. Wanted me to snap so he could claim I wasn’t cut out for the corporate world or his challenge.

But I wouldn’t.

The night dragged on. Laughter echoed, sharp and cruel, as I moved between the tables with the tray of drinks balanced carefully in my hands. My feet ached, but I held my head high, refusing to let them see how their whispers chipped away at my dignity.

"Damien, she's such a natural. You sure you didn’t pull her straight from some low-budget diner?" One of his friends, Liam, a tall boy with perfectly styled hair and a permanent sneer, waved his glass in the air like he was summoning me.

I forced a breath through my nose and approached, setting the drink in front of him without making eye contact.

"Oops," he muttered with mock surprise, tilting his glass slightly so a few drops spilled over the rim and onto the expensive tablecloth. "Clumsy me. Guess someone should clean that up. Right, Scarlet?"

I gritted my teeth as soft chuckles rippled through the group. Damien watched me, leaning back in his seat, his expression unreadable except for the slightest curl of amusement at the corner of his mouth.

This was what he wanted. To see me squirm. To see how far he could push me before I finally snapped.

"Clean it up, Scarlet," Damien said, his voice a low command, far too satisfied.

“Damien…” Declan, Damien’s future beta, finally spoke, he looked at me with soft eyes, and that almost made me lose control of my tears. Declan and I didn’t talk like we did before but he never tortured me like Damien.

“Shut up, Declan!” Damien hissed close enough for only Declan and me to hear it. Declan jerked up and left the lounge without another word. He might not be part of this but he doesn’t stand up for me either. I looked at Damien and rage filled his eyes with Declan's departure.

Damien, Declan, and I used to be friends, when and why did things get so bad?

“Red, are you deaf? Get on with it?” Damien seethed taking his anger out on me.

I hesitated for a heartbeat, pulse thundering in my ears. The temptation to throw the cloth in his face flashed in my mind—so vivid, so powerful—but I swallowed it down. Not here. Not yet.

Silently, I knelt beside the table, scrubbing at the deep red stain seeping into the pristine white fabric. The scent of wine clung to my senses, thick and sour, as my hands moved methodically.

The lounge was quiet now, the music fading into the background while all attention remained on me—on the spectacle I’d become.

Biting the inside of my cheek, I kept cleaning. I could feel my pulse pounding in my ears, my face burning, but I wouldn’t give them the satisfaction of seeing me break.

Another glass clinked. More liquid splattered onto the table.

"Scarlet, you missed a spot," someone added, almost singing the words.

A fresh wave of snickers followed.

I glanced up, just for a moment, and met Damien's eyes. He didn't laugh. He didn't mock. He just watched me, the corner of his mouth twitching as if he found this all so… amusing.

Why?

Why did he hate me so much?

I had tried to understand, tried to figure out what I had done to deserve this cruelty. But there was never a reason. Only the relentless way he tore me down piece by piece.

The stain finally faded, but the ache in my chest only deepened as I rose, my hands trembling slightly as I collected the empty glasses.

"Finished?" Damien asked, raising an eyebrow.

I nodded, keeping my expression neutral.

"Good. Then get us another round. Chop chop."

I turned toward the bar, my breath uneven.

I hated this.

I hated the way they looked at me as if I was less. Like I didn’t belong.

And most of all, I hated the part of me that felt like giving up.

But I wouldn’t.

I’d come too far and worked too hard to let someone like Damien Vanderwood ruin me.

As I placed the empty glasses on the bar and waited for the bartender to refill the order, the murmurs continued behind me, low and venomous.

"Think she actually thought this internship was going to be serious? Poor thing. Damien is making sure she knows her place."

"She's probably staying just to be close to Damien. Girls like that always do."

My fingers curled tightly around the edge of the bar. The bartender gave me a sympathetic glance as he handed over the fresh drinks, but I ignored it, schooling my face into calm indifference as I returned to the table.

The voices quieted as I set the new drinks down.

But Damien wasn’t finished.

"Scarlet," he said softly, just loud enough for everyone to hear. "You forgot to smile. Service with a smile, remember?"

A bitter knot twisted in my stomach.

I glared at him. He had lost his mind if he thought I would follow it.

I turned away, but before I could take a step, Damien added, "Oh, and Scarlet? You missed a glass. Clean it properly this time."

A glass I hadn’t seen—half-filled with golden liquid—sat at the very edge of the table. One of his friends pushed it closer, the condensation dripping down onto the marble.

"Be careful," he whispered, grinning as he did.

I reached for it, careful, so careful—

But the moment my fingers closed around the base, his hand bumped into mine, knocking it out of my grasp.

The glass tumbled, shattering against the floor with a loud c***k.

Silence.

Then came the laughter.

Damien shook his head in mock disappointment. "Scarlet, Scarlet… You're really not cut out for this, are you?"

The shame was unbearable. My face felt like it was on fire, the humiliation sharp enough to make my chest ache.

But I wouldn’t cry. Not here. Not for them.

I bent down, jaw clenched so tightly it hurt, and began picking up the shards with trembling fingers.

A sharp sting bloomed as a sliver of glass nicked my palm. Blood welled instantly, bright red against the pale tile.

"Oops," the same voice from before said. "Maybe someone should clean her up next."

A tear threatened, hot behind my eyes. I blinked it back.

Damien’s voice cut through the laughter.

"Enough," he said.

It wasn’t kindness. Just control. The fun was over, and he’d made his point.

I stood, pressing a napkin to my bleeding hand, my head held as high as I could manage despite the sting of humiliation tightening my throat.

Damien met my gaze, cold and unrelenting. "You can leave now, Scarlet. Lesson learned, I assume?"

I stayed quiet and still. He might have power over me with this job but he is not getting any satisfaction out of it from seeing me break.

But as I stepped into the cool night air, the blood still seeping against my palm, the first tear of the night spilled down…