Sired to the alpha

Chapter One I’ve always been the girl who blends in. The one who does everything just right—no drama, no risks, no loud moments that make you stand out. I guess you could say I was the textbook example of “preppy.” In high school, I wore polos with collars popped, khakis that fit just right, and the brightest smiles you could imagine. I was a cheerleader—head cheerleader, actually—and I kept my life in perfect balance, just the way I liked it. My friends thought I had it all figured out: perfect grades, perfect boyfriend, perfect future. But that was before I came to college. At 19, I was still adjusting to the idea that I could be whoever I wanted to be. At least, that’s what I told myself. College was supposed to be my time to reinvent. To step away from the “good girl” persona and explore the world beyond the bubble of my small hometown. The truth? I was still figuring out who I was. Sure, I was a cute, perky brunette with a constant supply of bubblegum and a laugh that could fill up a room, but underneath all that was a girl who was a little unsure. I went to college in a town that could have been pulled straight from a rom-com. Sunny weather, tree-lined streets, cute coffee shops with quirky names, and an endless stream of events that screamed “college life.” The kind of place where everyone knew your name, or at least your face, whether you liked it or not. I had my circle of friends—Samantha and Julia, my best friends since freshman year—and we were inseparable, as cliché as that sounded. We sat in the front row of every lecture, went to every frat party, and acted like we were having the time of our lives. And, most days, we were. But something was missing. I guess you could say I was restless. Something about college felt… off. It wasn’t that I hated it, but it was the first time I’d felt alone, really alone, since I left home. Sure, there were people around me, but they weren’t my people, not in the way I was used to. I was trying to find my place in a world that felt a little too big for someone like me. And the more I tried to fit into the role everyone expected of me—the cute, happy, always-put-together girl—the more I realized it didn’t feel like me. At least not completely. One thing about being a “good girl” is that it tends to come with a reputation. People expected me to be perfect, to smile and laugh and always have a positive spin on everything. I was known for being easygoing, for being the girl who always had a bright attitude and a little sparkle in her eyes. No one knew the real me—what I wanted, what I craved, what I feared. They saw the surface. But underneath it, I had questions. Big ones. About life. About who I was. About why, even though everything in my life seemed to be going perfectly, I still felt… empty. I didn’t realize how much I needed a change until that day. It was just another Wednesday afternoon, the kind of day where I would walk across campus from my Sociology lecture to the café, order my usual iced vanilla latte, and run into half the school before heading to the library to finish a paper. You know, normal stuff. But as I was heading to my usual spot by the big oak tree in front of the library, I felt the hairs on the back of my neck rise. There was a presence—a pull, almost. Like someone was watching me. I stopped for a second, glanced around, but saw nothing out of the ordinary. People were milling about, chatting, walking with purpose. Everything seemed… fine. Yet, I couldn’t shake the feeling. It was as if someone—or something—was just out of sight, waiting for me to notice. I shrugged it off, chalking it up to nerves. It had been a weird semester, full of late nights, too much caffeine, and not enough sleep. Who wouldn’t be a little on edge? But the feeling lingered, gnawing at me, making my heart beat a little faster than it should have. I pushed it to the back of my mind, telling myself I was being dramatic. But that night, when I lay in bed staring at the ceiling, it was still there. The unease. The feeling that I was on the edge of something I didn’t understand. As a college girl, I had my fair share of boy trouble. The kind of light flings and harmless crushes you’d expect. The boys at school thought I was cute—nothing too serious, just passing moments of attraction. I never took them too seriously. Why would I? I was focused on my studies, my friends, my life. Relationships were for later, right? Later, after I figured out who I really was. But lately, the idea of something more had been nagging at me. A hunger I couldn’t quite explain, a desire that seemed to pull me in strange directions. I wasn’t just looking for someone to hold my hand—I was looking for something deeper. Something real. Something that made me feel… alive. It wasn’t until the next day that I truly understood what that feeling had meant. That was when I met him.