Forbidden: Bite Of An Alpha

***Yara*** The sound of rain drumming against cracked pavement was a familiar melody, one that played almost every day in the heart of the city. Through the grimy window of my small, squalid apartment, I watched as water pooled in the streets, swirling around discarded newspapers and plastic bags that tumbled aimlessly—a reflection of the world I inhabited. I was Yara McKay, an orphan lost in a city that had long forgotten the meaning of compassion. My days were a cycle of survival; I woke early, even before the sun broke through the heavy clouds, the air thick with humidity. I lived on the outskirts of a dilapidated neighborhood where the struggle to exist overshadowed all else. The peeling walls of my apartment were a constant reminder of my reality—a chilling space void of warmth, love, or stability. Each morning was a confrontation with the harsh truth: that I had no family, no one to turn to, and a world that had little regard for the likes of me. I dressed quickly in the same ragged clothes I had worn for weeks. I tugged on a secondhand sweater, its fibers scratchy against my skin but warm enough to ward off the cold. My shoes, barely held together, scuffed as I stepped gingerly through the narrow hallway that smelled of mildew and despair. A single flickering bulb illuminated the way, casting eerie shadows that seemed to dance and mock me as I passed. Each day began with a quest for breakfast. I would make my way to the local soup kitchen, my stomach twisting in hunger as the smell of stale bread and lukewarm soup wafted through the air. The volunteers, though kind, seemed to share a resignation—they had grown accustomed to the endless stream of children and adults alike, battered by the same harsh life. “Yara! Back again for breakfast?” one woman said, her voice laced with familiarity. I nodded, my stomach growling audibly in response as she ladled a portion of soup into a bowl. She placed it in front of me, offering a warm smile that reminded me, for just a moment, of what comfort used to feel like. “Thank you,” I murmured, grateful yet painfully aware that this kindness was merely a temporary respite from the grinding reality that awaited outside. I devoured the soup slowly, savoring every drop as though it were a feast, but it was never enough to fill the abyss of hunger that gnawed at me. After finishing, I lingered, lost in thought, pondering my future. I dreamed of escaping this life, of one day attending college and creating a better existence for myself, one where I would not be defined by the label of “orphan.” The thought of studying fields I felt passionate about ignited a flicker of hope that sustained me. As I left the soup kitchen, the gray sky loomed overhead, a constant companion that did little to inspire vibrance in the world around me. Worn cobblestones greeted my tired feet as I made my way to the community college, a short trek through busy streets filled with hurried pedestrians and honking cars—each person consumed by their own issues, their own lives. The college campus was a hive of activity. Students chatted excitedly, their laughter and banter contrasting sharply with the isolation I felt within my own heart. I watched from a distance, longing to be part of the world they inhabited—a world filled with laughter, connections, and dreams freely chased. Yet each time I approached the bustling cafeteria or library, I felt like an outsider peering through a glass wall. Inside the confines of the library, I would retreat to the quiet corners, pouring over textbooks and tomes filled with knowledge I craved. The soft rustle of pages and the scent of old books calmed my racing mind, absorbing every piece of information as I clung to the hope that education would forge a path away from my dire circumstance. I often dreamt of what it would be like to experience the world beyond these walls, to have a family of choice rather than the cold emptiness I had known. I envisioned evenings spent laughing with friends, sipping warm cocoa, and discussing our dreams. But those dreams were as elusive as smoke, disappearing into the air when reality hit, reminding me of the trenches I still had to fight through. Every evening, I returned to the small apartment that felt like a prison. I would sit at the little table in the corner and work on my assignments by the light of a small lamp that flickered. I knew I could not let my situation define me. I had grown up believing that education was my escape route, the key that would unlock a brighter path. I worked jobs to support myself—cleaning houses, serving tables at a run-down diner, all the while maintaining enough focus to keep my grades up. But even in this pursuit, life found ways to intervene. I witnessed the heartbreaking stories of others, my heart aching for the children I encountered on the streets—kids like me caught in the cycle of poverty and neglect. I watched as friends I made were swept away by the tides of their struggles, unable to latch onto the same dreams I sought. It was a constant reminder that I could easily be one of them. But despite the trials, something resided within me—a fire that urged me to keep fighting. I was determined to change my story, to break the cycle and carve out an identity that wasn’t defined by abandonment and despair. College was my beacon, a chance to step into the light rather than remain obscured in darkness. Yet, as I prepared for my final exams, the struggle within me continued to grow. Every late night with textbooks felt like an uphill battle, and I often questioned whether I would have the strength to make it through. My dreams of college were coupled with the weight of reality—a reality that often felt oppressive. In a world that seemed cold and unforgiving, I clung to the hope that one day I would rise above my circumstances. I was determined to take my chances, to turn the tide in my favor. But that would require relentless grit and resolve. I would not be just an orphan; I would become a force to be reckoned with—an embodiment of strength born from hardship. With that thought swirling in my mind, I settled further into my studies, reminding myself that what I wanted was within reach. I would fight to secure my future—a beacon of light waiting to break free from the shadows that sought to define me. Even in the darkest corners of the world, I would rise. I was Yara McKay, and my story would begin and end with defiance.