Alpha Grayson: The Biker’s SnowFall Baby

Betty lingered at the small street stall, her fingers brushing over the delicate trinkets until she found it, a tiny, hand carved box that seemed to call her fiancé’s name. This is perfect, she murmured to herself, a soft smile curving her lips. She could already see Francis opening it, the surprise lighting up his eyes, the corners crinkling as he laughed at her thoughtfulness. It was a beautiful afternoon, the sun warm on her shoulders, the air carrying the faint scent of fried dough and fresh flowers. For a moment, the world felt still and she felt a lightness in her chest, a flutter of happiness she hadn’t realized she’d missed. She cradled the gift box carefully as she walked toward her car, the ribbon catching the sunlight. Her heels clicked against the pavement in a steady rhythm that matched her heartbeat. The thought of seeing Francis made her stomach flutter, a pleasant nervousness she hadn’t felt since they’d been teenagers. High school sweethearts, years of shared memories, promises said late at night, soon, marriage, soon, a lifetime together. Sliding into the driver’s seat, she started the car and let out a quiet hum of contentment. The city blurred past but her focus was narrow, fixed on the apartment where he waited. Her fingers tightened around the small box, anticipation bubbling in her chest like champagne. She arrived at his building and hurried up the stairs, the gift clutched tightly. “Francis?” she called as she reached the landing. “Are you there? I brought something for you.” Her voice echoed slightly against the walls, cheerful and warm. No answer. She took another step forward. “Francis? Where are you?” Her tone softened, tilting toward worry. “Francis, I’ve got something for you.” The door to his room was ajar. Betty’s heart lifted slightly, he was probably just in the other room. She stepped closer, calling again, “Francis?” And then she saw them. The sight hit her like a physical blow. Francis pressed against Anna, her best friend, in a kiss so intimate, so unmistakable, that Betty’s chest constricted and the world blurred. The small box slipped from her hands and hit the floor with a quiet thud, the ribbon unraveling. Her knees felt weak, but she forced herself to stand, frozen in the doorway, her mind unable to process the betrayal before her. Anna’s eyes flicked toward her first, wide with guilt and was it defiance? and Francis pulled back, panic written all over his face. “Betty…” he started, voice faltering, reaching for her. Her mind snapped into focus, and rage coursed through her veins, hot and wild. “Don’t!” she shouted, voice raw, trembling with fury. “How could you?!” “Betty, wait, I can—” Francis tried, hands raised in a placating gesture. “I trusted you!” she interrupted, stepping forward, voice rising. “I trusted both of you! You—” She gestured at Francis, her hands shaking. “Francis! How could you do this to me? After everything? After all we’ve shared?” Francis opened his mouth, but she didn’t let him speak. Her body moved on instinct, hand striking his face in a sharp slap that echoed through the apartment. His head jerked to the side, eyes wide in shock and guilt. “And you!” Betty snapped, turning to Anna. “My best friend? My sister in everything that mattered? You—” Another slap landed, hard, on Anna’s cheek. She stumbled back, hands raised, eyes wide with fear and shame. “Damn you both!” Betty spat, voice rough, trembling. “Damn you, Francis! I gave you my heart, my life, and you—” She pointed at him, shaking. “You throw it away for her? For her! My best friend! God, how could you?” Her fists shook at her sides, nails digging into her palms. She didn’t wait for them to respond. Her legs carried her toward the door like they had a mind of their own. She flung it open, storming into the hallway, the apartment behind her a furnace of anger and heartbreak. Francis’s voice trailed behind her, desperate and calling her name, but she didn’t stop. She didn’t answer. Her heels pounded the stairs, a drumbeat of betrayal. Outside, the night air hit her like a whip, sharp and cleansing and she gasped, letting it cut through the haze of shock that clouded her mind. She barely remembered her car, barely noticed the keys in her hands as she slid into the driver’s seat. The engine roared to life under her trembling grip, but she didn’t care where she was going. She needed to move, to escape, to let the city swallow her whole and take her far from the wreckage of her heart. And then the tears came. Hot, bitter, unstoppable. She cried like she’d never cried before, hands gripping the steering wheel as though she could steer herself out of the pain. She thought about Francis, the panic in his eyes, the way he had tried to explain. How could he? After everything? And Anna… Anna, who had promised to be her sister, her best friend had stabbed her in the softest, most intimate part of her heart. “Damn you both,” she muttered, voice sharp and venomous. “Damn you, Francis! And you too, Anna. I hope you choke on your lies, rot in your deceit! God, I trusted you both!” The tears kept coming, burning, scorching, cleansing. “Damn you… all of you.”