The Alpha
He wore black.
His eyes met mine. Not hungry. Not cruel. Just observing me. “Sit,” he said, motioning to the chair beside him.
My feet didn’t move to go and sit down. But I was already inside. And the doors shut behind me with a slow, echoing thud.
"I don't usually like repeating myself," he said, voice flat and emotionless. “I’m not here to follow whatever you tell me,” I snapped at him.
"Better behave before I tear your throat out," his words made me become speechless for a moment. I really didn't want to die right now.
For a long moment, we just stared at each other. Him, unblinking. Me, seething. But it was a quiet kind of rage, born from helplessness and stripped dignity.
Eventually, I sank into the chair, not for him, not because he said so, but because standing felt
