Married to the Ruthless Alpha

Chapter Two

Amelia

I was in a forest. Darkness surrounded me, thick and suffocating, as if I had stepped into an abyss. The air was heavy, damp with the scent of wet earth and moss, and the silence felt unnatural. My skin prickled, each step sinking into the cold ground as I searched for a way out.

Suddenly, a figure appeared. Dressed in white, its face hidden beneath a black veil, it hovered just beyond my reach. My heart lurched, torn between fear and curiosity, as I took a cautious step forward.

"You are the Chosen One. You are the Trybrid, Amelia Sheffield."

The voice was soft yet chilling, echoing unnaturally in the still air. My breath caught.

"Who are you?" I asked, my voice trembling, though I tried to keep steady. The figure, silent and distant, began to retreat into the shadows, moving farther and farther away.

"You will bring balance to the Otherworld," it continued, fading into the darkness. "There is a war brewing. You are—"

A scream, sharp and unnatural, tore through the night, splitting the air like a blade. It wasn't human. My head exploded with pain—a searing, blinding headache that made my vision blur. The scream—too loud, too piercing—echoed in my skull, as if it was tearing me apart from the inside.

I fell to my knees, clutching my head. My fingers dug into my scalp as the sound continued to reverberate, driving me closer to madness.

Then, everything went black.

I jolted upright, gasping for breath, my heart hammering in my chest as if it wanted to break free. Sweat clung to my skin, my hair damp against my forehead.

I looked around, disoriented, my breathing shallow and ragged as I tried to ground myself in reality. The familiar surroundings of my room began to come into focus, the dream slowly loosening its grip on me.

But the figure's words—"You are the Chosen One"—lingered, hanging in the air like a warning.

The door slammed open, and the face of Lucy came into my view. Her eyes were bloodshot and her face sunken. She looked so sick, like life was gradually draining from her. There's pure disgust and fear on her face as she looks at me, which made it all the more scary.

She walked in further, and I pushed back as much as I could on my bed.

"You slut," she spat, her voice hoarse and croaky, like she had been crying all night. "I didn't believe Ashley when she said you were back, but here you are. You think just because you finally got laid, you can walk back in here and everything will be fine?"

My heart thudded painfully against my chest. Lucy looked vastly different from when I had last seen her. The transformation was alarming—something about her demeanor felt dangerously off.

I slapped myself hard across the face, wincing as the sting set in. "I hit myself for my bad actions. I'm sorry," I whispered, my voice trembling. Lucy's eyes widened in shock for a moment before she smirked, her gaze dripping with malice.

"Crazy b***h," she muttered, her voice laced with venom before she cackled and stormed out of the room. Only then did I release a breath I hadn't realized I was holding.

I leaped up, locking the door with trembling hands. I moved quickly to the mirror, inspecting my reflection. My right cheek was pink with a faint imprint of my fingers—evidence of my self-inflicted punishment. I was relieved that my desperate measure had kept Lucy at bay. Given her current state, I had a feeling that if I had let her hit me, it would not be the usual beatings I got from her—something far more dangerous.

I got out of my nighties, hitting my leg on my desk in the process. I hopped on one foot, hissing as the pain exploded through me, also realization settling in about my surroundings.

I was back at home. He had granted my wish. Woodson had granted my wish. I was back to my reality. My harsh, wicked reality.

There would no more be talks about wolves and packs. Or being married at the age of eighteen.

I could do what I wanted now. I would soon leave this hellhole and go to college and work and live the boring life I had planned for myself. I was excited to live that life. I would choose it a thousand times over the crazy world I had supposedly been in.

My chest constricted, a sharp, dulling pain hitting me on the left side of my chest—my heart. It was a dulling sensation—not too painful but still uncomfortable—that it seemed I needed medical attention.

Except I couldn't get that and needed to get to school.

I took a quick shower and dressed up, trying my best to seem okay as I went down the stairs. The hallway stunk with alcohol and some weird smell I couldn't recognize. It was nauseating. To my fortunate surprise, Lucy was on the couch, solely focused on a TV show. She was as still as a rock, her back against the couch.

I knew that Ashley's car had been ruined, but I still felt the need to check for the car. Eerily, it was there, still in its disgusting pink color—I never knew a shade of pink could be so ugly.

She should've also been downstairs by now, and joined her mother to insult me and call me names, and if they were feeling extra feisty, give me about three hard slaps across the face.

But there was nothing—except for this morning's weird encounter with Lucy.

No name-calling, insults, or slaps.

Ashley was too quiet. They were too quiet.

But I was going to use this weird change for as long as I could, which is why I didn't inform Lucy I had left for school and picked up my pace, in case she noticed.

I was able to reach school in fifteen minutes, cutting down my usual time. My breaths were ragged and short as I panted softly on my way inside the hallway.

"Watch it, loser," Anna—once my best friend, now Ashley's minion—bumped into me, causing me to stumble to the floor. Her sub-minions snickered, their laughter echoing cruelly as they walked away.

My calculus teacher still made fun of me, even though I was ten minutes early to class. The whole school treated me like I was insignificant, a waste of space and energy.

Worthless.

At least there was some sense of normalcy in school. And this normalcy would end in a month. A month until senior year was over, a month until graduation. A month until I could escape to a new, dull life.

The day dragged on, but nothing out of the ordinary happened. The final bell rang, signaling the end of the school day. I should have been relieved, but the thought of going home filled me with dread.

Ashley hadn't shown up at school. Her absence was unsettling. She thrived on making my life miserable both at school and at home.

Her absence felt like a prelude to something worse.

As the hallways cleared, I hesitated before making my decision. The emptiness of the afternoon gnawed at me, and the urge to visit my father's grave became overwhelming. It had been months since I had been there. I walked out of the school, my footsteps heavy and deliberate.

I approached the cemetery with a mix of trepidation and resolve. The sky was overcast, casting a gloomy shadow over the tombstones. My heart pounded as I made my way through the wrought-iron gates, the chill of the air biting at my skin.

When I reached his grave, I knelt beside the cold, stone slab. The bouquet of wildflowers I had picked along the way seemed insignificant against the starkness of the marble. I placed them gently on the grave, my fingers trembling.

"Hi, Dad," I whispered, my voice barely above a murmur. The surrounding silence was almost oppressive. "I'm so sorry. I've been so wrapped up in everything else that I've neglected you."

My voice cracked, and the dam broke. I let out a sob, the sound raw and anguished. "It's not fair! You left me all alone. I needed you."

Tears streamed down my face, and I buried my head in my hands, my shoulders shaking with the force of my grief. "I'm angry at you, Dad. I'm angry at you for leaving me. I needed you to protect me from all this... this cruelty."

"Everyone makes fun of me. About how I was so worthless that my mother left me after she gave birth to me, and how you were so tired of me, you saw death as an easier path to take than being alive and seeing me. " My voice broke. There was a quietness; just the sound of my sobs was a contrast to the peace.

"I'm beginning to believe them. That anyone close to me will get tired of me and eventually leave. Why is the world so cruel to me?!"

The weight of my emotions was suffocating. I cried until my throat was raw, my tears mingling with the dirt on the grave. I could feel the cold of the stone beneath me, a stark contrast to the warmth of the tears I shed.

As exhaustion took hold, I lay down beside the grave, my head resting on the cold marble. The darkness of the evening enveloped me, and I drifted into a fitful sleep, too drained to care about the passing time.

But that was short-lived as I heard a stranger's voice from a distance.

"Are you okay, child?" I heard the person ask. I turned to look at the owner of voice. It was an old man, holding a torchlight that was pointed at me.

"Are you okay?" He repeated, his face etched with concern and worry about a worthless stranger like me.

The sky was now a deep, starless black. My phone screen glowed with the time—7:30 PM. Panic gripped me. I had to get home quickly.

I scrambled to my feet, my movements frantic. "I'm sorry, Dad. I need to go." I put a hand over his grave once more.

"I'm fine, sir" I said to the man, not sparing him a glance as I walked quickly.

The cemetery seemed to stretch on forever as I hurried through the darkened paths, my heart racing. Each step felt heavier, burdened by the weight of my unresolved emotions and the looming dread of returning home.

The night was silent except for the sound of my hurried footsteps. The streets were deserted, adding to my growing anxiety. My pace quickened as I reached the edge of the cemetery, my mind racing with thoughts of what awaited me at home.

As I finally approached my house, the reality of returning to the harshness of my life settled heavily on my shoulders. I unlocked the door, bracing myself for whatever awaited me inside, my heart pounding with fear.

Lucy and Ashley were both seated on the couch, staring at me, no expression to decipher their true feelings. Ashley seemed fine.

Except at the same time, she wasn't. Her face looked sunken, and her eyes- bloodshot, just like her mother's from this morning.

"The b***h finally decides to grace us with her lovely presence." Ashley sneered.

Lucy slowly stood up, her movements deliberate and cold. She clutched a crumpled piece of paper in her hand as she stalked over to me. The paper's edge pressed into my skin as she slapped me across the face. The force of the blow was so heavy it sent me crashing to the ground. I turned slowly to look up at her, my vision blurring with tears and fear.

"How dare you, you ungrateful, selfish slut?!" she spat, her voice dripping with venom. She thrust the paper in front of my face, forcing me to read it.

The words seemed to swim on the page as I read, each letter piercing my already frayed nerves.

Shoreland Bank

1234 Financial Way

Cityville, ST 56789

Dear Ms. Amelia Sheffield,

Subject: Approval of Trust Fund Application

We are pleased to inform you that your application for access to the account designated as 'Amelia's Trust Fund' has been successfully approved.

Below, please find the details of the upcoming transaction:

Deposit Amount: Fifteen Thousand Dollars ($15,000)

Account Information: [Account Number to be Provided]

Please ensure that the designated account details are provided to us at your earliest convenience to facilitate the transfer.

Should you have any questions or require further assistance, please do not hesitate to contact our customer service department at (555) 123-4567 or via email at csumyshorelandbank.com

Thank you for choosing MyShoreland Bank.

Sincerely,

Emily Lawson

Customer Relations Manager

Shoreland Bank

Lucy's eyes locked onto mine, brimming with hatred and accusation. I struggled to push myself up from the floor, my heart pounding furiously in my chest. The significance of the letter hung heavily in the air, magnifying the tension between us.

"You've been hiding all this money and didn't say a word!" she spat, her voice thick with fury. Before I could react, she hit me again. The force was heavier than usual, sending me crashing back to the ground.

"You selfish, good-for-nothing!" Another blow followed, sharper and more painful.

"Please, stop! I'm sorry!" I cried out, trying to shield my head with my hands, but Lucy continued her assault, kicking me relentlessly. Ashley joined in, adding her own blows. They struck me with their hands and feet, each hit more brutal than the last.

I couldn't believe this was how I was going to die—at the hands of my stepmother and stepsister, people who were supposed to be family. The thought was unbearable. I was just starting my life. I hadn't even graduated high school yet. I was about to turn eighteen.

I still had so much life ahead of me. I couldn't accept that it might end here, in such a cruel and painful way. I refused to give up. I couldn't. Drawing on a surge of unnatural strength, I pushed them off me. They tumbled to the floor, giving me a brief moment of respite. I scrambled to my feet and put some distance between us.

Lucy and Ashley lay motionless for a moment, and a cold sense of dread washed over me. They couldn't be dead—there was no way I could have killed them with just a push. My fear was soon confirmed. They sprang back to their feet, their movements eerie and unnatural. Their eyes were hollow, devoid of any sign of life. The realization struck me hard—they weren't really Lucy and Ashley.

The figures stared at me expectantly, as if waiting for me to make a move. Panic surged through me, and I yanked open the door, sprinting into the night. I ran for my life, the deserted streets amplifying my sense of despair. My breaths came in ragged gasps as I dashed away, determined not to stop, no matter how bleak the night seemed.

Desperate to escape, I veered into a narrow alley, hoping the shadows would offer some protection. I stumbled over discarded trash and clambered over broken crates, my breath coming in ragged gasps. The echo of my pursuers' footsteps grew faint, but the sense of dread never left me.

As I turned a corner, my relief was short-lived. The alley was not empty. A group of men, their faces obscured by the dim light, loitered near a graffiti-covered wall. They turned as I approached, their eyes narrowing with interest. I skidded to a halt, my heart racing with fresh terror.

"Well, well, what do we have here?" One of them drawled, a smirk playing on his lips. "A pretty little thing like you shouldn't be out here alone."

Another stepped forward, his gaze appraising me with a predatory gleam. "Looks like you could use some company."

I backed away, my hands shaking as I tried to push past them. "Please, just let me go," I begged, my voice quivering. "I don't want any trouble."

One of the men grabbed my arm roughly. "Come on, sweetheart. We'll show you a good time."

Panic surged through me, and I shoved him away with all the strength I could muster. He staggered but quickly regained his footing, his eyes now cold and furious. Without warning, he slapped me across the face, the impact sending me sprawling to the ground. Pain exploded in my cheek, and I cried out, tears mixing with the grime of the alley.

Was this the end for me? Was this how I was going to leave the world?

I instantly became filled with immense regret. Regret for leaving the 'OtherWorld'. Even if everything in it seemed insane, at least I didn't get beaten up every day of my life. I was not abused. And if I was being honest, I had felt some sense of security within the room I had been in back in Shadow Brook.

I would do anything to be there again. I should've never left.

I couldn't die like this. I wished for someone to save me now.. I didn't care who.

Please.

Anyone.

The alley's oppressive darkness seemed to close in, and just when I thought I might succumb to despair, a chilling silence fell over the scene. The men's murmured taunts faded as an overpowering presence began to manifest.

A sudden gust of wind swept through the alley, rustling the trash and making the shadows dance. The men fell silent, their faces twisting with unease. My vision was blurred by tears, but I saw a figure emerging from the darkness, like a silhouette of nightmares made flesh.

His entrance was almost cinematic—each step deliberate and resonant, casting an elongated shadow that danced menacingly on the brick walls. As he drew closer, the dim light revealed his commanding presence and intense gaze. His aura was magnetic, both familiar and overwhelmingly powerful.

Woodson.