The Bully Alpha’s Redemption

Something is coming...

Scarlet

I barely stifled a yawn as I stabbed at my untouched salad, the crisp lettuce wilting under the weight of my disinterest. I hate this school’s lunch options. My eyelids felt heavier than bricks, and even the hum of the bustling school cafeteria seemed to blur into dull background noise.

"Okay, what gives?" Maya's voice cut through the haze, her sharp gaze narrowing as she watched me from across the table. She set down her bottle of sparkling water with a definitive thunk, arms crossed.

I blinked, trying to sit up straighter, but the exhaustion anchored me down. "Huh? What do you mean?"

Maya raised a perfectly arched brow, not buying my weak attempt at deflection for a second. "You just yawned three times in the last two minutes. And don't think I didn't notice you trying to turn it into a cough. Spill."

I sighed, shoulders slumping. She knew me too well. "It's... work stuff," I muttered, poking at a cucumber slice like it was personally responsible for my misery.

"Work stuff?" She leaned in closer, her dark curls bouncing as she tilted her head. "Scarlet, it's a high school internship, not a full-time job in corporate hell. What's going on?"

I hesitated, gnawing on my bottom lip. But it wasn't like I could keep this bottled up any longer. And Maya, out of everyone, deserved the truth.

"It's Damien," The devil spawn!

I finally admitted, and her face twisted with a mix of recognition and immediate distaste.

"Ugh, of course it is," she muttered. "What did that devil do this time?"

"He's... pushing me harder than ever," I said carefully, trying to piece together the mess of the last few days without sounding completely defeated. "Ever since I refused to break, it's like he's made it his personal mission to make me snap."

Maya blinked. "Wait, refused to break? Girl, you've always refused to break. That's your thing."

"Yeah, well, it's different now." My voice was quieter, laced with a vulnerability I hated showing. "He's got me planning his eighteenth birthday party—and his demands are impossible. It's in two days, Maya. Two! And every time I finish something, he adds more. Custom-engraved glasses, imported flowers, a private firework display—"

"Fireworks?" Maya echoed, jaw-dropping.

I nodded grimly. "And I haven't even started coordinating the live band he suddenly decided he wants last minute. Or the black-and-gold theme he conveniently mentioned this morning."

She whistled lowly. "Damn. Is he trying to break you or host a royal wedding? Such a diva!" She scoffed.

"Feels like both." I rubbed my temples, the pounding ache persistent from too many late nights spent buried in event logistics. "He's relentless. And it's not just the work, Maya. It's the way he looks at me. Like he’s daring me to give up."

Maya scowled. "Because he’s a control freak with a superiority complex. But you? You’re Scarlet. You're stronger than him. You've already proven that."

"Have I, though?" My voice dipped lower. "Because it sure feels like he's winning. I'm exhausted. And every time I meet one of his ridiculous demands, he doubles it. I can't keep this up forever."

Maya reached across the table, gripping my hand firmly. "You're not doing this alone. Let me help. We can divide and conquer this insane party. He will rue the day, he decided to handover his party to you. Screw Damien’s power trip."

I shook my head. "I appreciate it, but I need to handle this. It's... personal now."

Her eyes softened. "Why though, Scarlet? He isn’t the same and he never will be."

I flinched slightly, a sharp pang echoing in my chest. Maya knew about our history. She’d been there when Damien was still my friend—before he became this cold, untouchable Alpha-to-be.

Maya tilted her head, studying me with an unreadable expression. Then, with a determined nod, she said, "He's pushing you because you're a threat."

I blinked. "What?"

"Think about it," she continued her voice firm. "You're standing your ground, Scarlet. You're not breaking, and it's driving him crazy. Maybe he's trying to prove something, not just to you—but to himself. Like he has to remind everyone how untouchable he is. And you're the one challenging that idea."

Her words settled deep, making too much sense. Was that it? Had I become a test for Damien's ego, a way for him to prove his dominance to himself?

Or... was it something more?

Suddenly, a cold shiver danced along my spine, that feeling of impending tension tightening my chest. Like something bigger than just this party was looming on the horizon, and I wasn’t prepared for it.

But before I could voice that thought, a shadow loomed at the edge of our table.

Speak of the devil.

Damien himself stood there, arms crossed, his stormy blue eyes locking onto mine with an intensity that made my breath catch. His presence was magnetic in the worst possible way—commanding, sharp, and utterly infuriating.

"Scarlet," he said coolly, ignoring Maya's narrowed glare. "Did you finish the updated guest list?"

I gritted my teeth. "I was going to finalize it after lunch."

"Not good enough." His gaze didn’t waver, the challenge evident. "I expect it on my desk by the end of the hour. No excuses."

Heat burned under my skin. He was pushing again. Testing me.

"Vanderwood Corp. doesn’t pay me for overtime," I snapped, voice tight. "You’ll have it when the work hours begin. Anything else?" I did a little happy dance, for winning a small battle.

His lips curled into the faintest smirk like he was already planning something sinister. "Fair enough but…” he leaned into me. “Don't disappoint me, Scarlet."

And just like that, he turned and walked away, the tension lingering in his wake like static electricity.

Maya stared after him, then muttered, "That boy needs therapy. And a serious reality check."

I exhaled slowly, clutching my fork tighter.

Two days. I could survive two more days of this. I had to.

But that shiver of unease whispered louder now. My wolf was restless. Since the day I started at this new job, I haven’t had time to even go for a run and let her loose; and god knows I need it more than ever.

I don’t know why I felt like something was coming…

The next few days were a blur of endless tasks, last-minute demands, and an ever-growing to-do list that seemed to multiply overnight. The moment school ended, I found myself rushing to Vanderwood Corp., barely catching my breath before diving headfirst into event coordination.

Damien's eighteenth birthday party was turning into the social event of the year—lavish, extravagant, and completely over the top. I didn't expect anything else for the Alpha-to-be's 18th birthday party.

And Damien? He was the mastermind behind my personal descent into exhaustion.

Every time I crossed a task off the list, three more appeared in its place. Imported orchids from Japan? Where the hell does he even get these ridiculous ideas?

Anyway, it's done.

Then he wanted an entire floral wall built in the grand hall. Custom-engraved glasses? Delivered.

But suddenly, he needed personalized nameplates for every guest. It was as if he was testing my patience, seeing how far he could push before I snapped. And I was dangerously close to the edge.

At least he was paying for the overtime. That was my one small consolation. I needed all the help I could get for my college funds. But money didn’t erase the sheer frustration that boiled in my veins every time he smirked at me, knowing he was making my life hell.

The worst part? He was doing all of this because I had dared to talk back to him in the cafeteria. He was making me pay for it, bit by bit, stretching my limits like a cat toying with its prey.

By the fourth day, I barely recognized myself in the mirror. My dark circles had dark circles, my once-neat planner had turned into a battlefield of scribbled deadlines and frantic notes, and my wolf—who had been restless since the moment I took this job—was practically clawing at my insides for a break.

“Scarlet, we need to go over the final schedule,” one of the event planners, Claire, called out as I leaned over the massive table covered in blueprints and seating charts.

I took a deep breath, forcing myself to focus. “Right. We have the setup for the grand entrance starting at four, catering arrival at five, and the fireworks display at eleven.”

Claire nodded, flipping through her tablet. “And the VIP list? Damien mentioned you were handling that personally.”

I groaned internally. Of course, he did.

I pulled out the finalized guest list, my eyes skimming over the neatly printed names. The elite of the elite, carefully selected to reflect Vanderwood’s powerful standing. Pack elders, high-ranking families, and business tycoons. But as I reached the bottom, my stomach twisted.

Now, I understand why he kept his task at last for me.

My parents’ names weren’t there.

Neither were the names of the other omega families.

I exhaled sharply, scanning the list again as if I had missed something. But no, there was no mistake. The divide was clear. The elite were invited. The omegas—people like me, like my family—were not. We were only good enough to pick up before and after them but not to be included with them.

I should have expected it. It wasn’t a new revelation that the gap between ranks was deep, a silent but ever-present reminder of who held power and who was meant to serve.

But after everything, after how hard I had worked to prove myself, after the hours I had poured into making this event perfect—it still stung.

My hands curled into fists, nails biting into my palms.

Nothing changes. No matter how much effort I put in, no matter how much I tried to push past the labels they had forced upon me since birth, the town, the pack, and its rigid rules remained the same.

And Damien?

He was at the center of it all.

A scoff left my lips before I could stop it.

Of course. Of course, this was how things worked.

The elite kept their circle tight, their walls high, ensuring that people like me would always remain on the outside looking in even when we built those walls for them.

I took a steadying breath, shoving the guest list back into the folder.

I was tired. Tired of fighting a battle I could never win, tired of pretending that hard work could bridge the unbridgeable gap between us. But most of all, I was tired of caring.

This town would never change.

And maybe I was a fool for ever thinking that there was a chance...