MARRIED TO THE WRONG ALPHA

The majestic foyer stretched out before me, an astonishing breadth of riches and magnificence. The marble floors shone, their elaborate patterns sparkling like countless tiny diamonds beneath the light of the crystal chandeliers. The atmosphere was thick with the subtle aroma of lavender, blending with the polish that caused each surface to gleam. I remained immobile, gripping my tattered backpack as if it could anchor me to my previous existence. A woman came up to me with a friendly smile. Her gentle expression and hair with gray streaks made her appear welcoming, even in such a daunting environment. "You must be Miss Arianna," she remarked, her tone gentle but official. "I'm Margaret, the person who cleans the house." "Allow me to give you a tour." I managed a nod, my throat too constricted to speak. As I trailed behind her in the vast mansion, my sneakers made a soft squeak against the gleaming floor, highlighting the opulence surrounding me. My mind swirled like a tempest. How had my mother concealed this life from me for sixteen years? Why hadn’t she informed me that I was the illegitimate child of the President—a man I’d never encountered, a man whom I was now expected to refer to as “Father”? Margaret’s voice returned me to the current moment. “This is the dining hall,” she indicated, pointing to a room that could easily accommodate our whole apartment with extra room available. The table extended indefinitely, encircled by tall-backed chairs featuring golden accents. The walls were decorated with oil paintings of individuals I presumed were my ancestors—imposing men and women whose stares appeared to penetrate right through me. My pace stumbled as we arrived at the staircase. It twisted upward, every step adorned with a luxurious crimson carpet that softened the noise of footsteps. Margaret guided me to a grand double door, opening it to expose a bedroom that seemed fit for royalty. The bed was massive, its canopy adorned with fine lace. Tall windows from the floor to the ceiling showcased a breathtaking view of the garden underneath, where a fountain bubbled gently among carefully pruned hedges. I placed my backpack by the door, feeling completely uncomfortable. Margaret must have picked up on my discomfort because she gave me a comforting smile. "Take your time to get comfortable." "Dinner will be served at seven." She departed, and for an instant, the stillness was overwhelming. I approached the window, placing my hand on the chilly glass. The garden was stunning, nearly dreamlike. Still, it did not soothe the turmoil inside me. As I pivoted to survey the room, faintly from downstairs came the sound of elevated voices. My curiosity overwhelmed me, and I returned to the foyer. As I arrived at the base of the staircase, the front door flew open with a surge of energy. A young woman walked in, her heels echoing sharply on the marble. She was breathtaking—tall, with smooth dark hair and striking features that were nearly flawless. Her designer attire hugged her form like a second layer, and her aura demanded focus. She recognized me immediately. Her eyes squinted, and her mouth formed a frosty grin. “You must be the cause of the disorder in our perfect little family.” “I—” I started, but she interrupted me. “You are the result of my father's treachery,” she declared, her tone chilling. Her words hurt more than I wanted to acknowledge. She didn’t wait for an answer, pivoting on her heel and calling for her driver. Her leaving created a gap in the atmosphere, the echo of her contempt still ringing in my ears. Margaret came to my side, looking apologetic. "That’s Helen, your big sister." Don’t let her words affect you deeply. She... has difficulty with change.” I nodded blankly, although her words provided scant consolation. As I strolled through the garden later, two big dogs sprinted towards me, barking furiously. I was immobilized, my heart racing in my chest. Yet, at that moment, as if guided by an unseen power, they stopped moving. Their growls transformed into inquisitive sniffs, and shortly after, they began wagging their tails, their eyes friendly and welcoming. Margaret, who had come outside after me, appeared surprised. "That's not typical," she remarked. “They tend to be quite cautious around unfamiliar people.” I grinned uneasily, stroking one of the dogs on its head. "Perhaps they can sense I'm part of the family." She laughed softly, although a glimmer of doubt lingered in her eyes. As darkness approached, I went back to my room, wishing for some relief. The mattress was as plush as a cloud, and I gratefully settled into it. Nevertheless, sleep remained hard to find. As I eventually fell asleep, I found myself immersed in a vibrant dream. I sprinted through a thick forest, the trees creating elongated, unsettling shadows beneath a crimson moon. My breaths came in uneven gasps, and my legs felt heavy as lead. A huge wolf with fiery red eyes approached from behind me, its growls echoing in the darkness. I tripped and tumbled, the wet ground chilly against my body. The wolf jumped, its fangs exposed— I jolted awake, my body soaked in perspiration. The dream seemed incredibly authentic, so intense. A gentle tap on the door surprised me. "Miss Arianna, are you okay?" "I'm okay," I shouted, even though my voice shook. “The meal is prepared,” the maid announced. I got ready swiftly and headed to the dining hall. It was an extravagant event, the table adorned with silver utensils and crystal goblets. I was the initial one to show up, and the vacant space of the room only heightened my anxiety. Shortly after, a composed woman arrived. Her grace was nearly daunting, and I instantly identified her as my father's spouse. She flashed me a closed-mouth smile, driven more by courtesy than genuine warmth, before sitting down. Then he showed up—my father. His presence enveloped the room, his voice friendly and welcoming as he welcomed me. “Arianna,” he remarked, his eyes shining as he came closer. “Glad to have you back.” He drew me into a hug, and for a brief instant, the world seemed a bit less intimidating. Dinner started, yet the tension was evident. Helen showed up late, her animosity evident in every look she directed at me. Damian, my stepbrother, attempted to ease the tension with his disarming charm, yet it was evident that this family had significant rifts. As the night progressed, Helen's biting remarks and my father's strict scoldings depicted a scene of a family attempting to maintain its unity. By the time the dinner concluded, I felt more like an outsider than before. As I made my way back to my room, the whispers started up once more. Initially, they were barely perceptible, akin to the breeze. However, as I walked further down the corridor, they became increasingly louder, intertwining and disorderly. My head pounded, and my sight was fuzzy. I grasped the wall for stability, but it didn't help. The earth shifted, and shadows enveloped me. I tumbled, the murmurs dwindling as oblivion took hold of me.