The Alpha's Temptation

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By the time I got home, the whole apartment was quiet. The hallway light was off except for the small night-bulb flickering near the kitchen. I pushed the door open gently.

The smell of homemade stew hit me immediately—Mom cooked. Again.

For me.

Even though she pretends she’s “not waiting up,” she always is.

She sat at the small dining table, her bonnet slightly pushed back, eyes tired but soft when she saw me.

“You’re late,” she whispered, careful not to wake my siblings. “Your plate is on the table.”

I dropped my tote bag, washed my hands, and sat down. She watched me carefully—the kind of watching only moms do when they’re worried but don’t want to start an argument.

“How was work today?” she asked.

I took a bite, swallowed, and exhaled. “Mom… Derrick Evans showed up at the café.”

She froze. Her eyes snapped wide open. “Evans? That Evans?” Her voice was a sharp whisper.

I nodded. “Yeah. They started demolition today. He came with his security team.”

She pressed a hand to her chest. “Glitter, tell me you didn’t confront him.”

I looked up. “I did. Somebody had to. The manager was panicking, and everyone else was scared. I just told him the law—said he couldn’t push demolition without proper notice.”

She stood up abruptly and began pacing. “Do you know who you’re talking about? People don’t argue with that man. People don’t even make eye contact with him.”

I put my spoon down. “I’m not ‘people’, Mom. I’m not scared of him.”

She shook her head quickly. “You should be. Derrick Evans is powerful, Glitter. That family is… different. Dangerous.”

I stared at her. “Mom… what do you know?”

Her expression tightened, like she said too much. “Nothing. Just—just be careful. Please.”

I leaned back. “It’s too late for careful. He already saw me.”

Her face drained of all color. She sank back into the chair.

“Oh God,” she breathed. “This is trouble. Real trouble.”

I wanted to laugh it off, but deep inside…

I felt something too.

The way he stared at me.

Not like a billionaire looking at a random college girl.

Like he recognized something in me.

Mom reached for my hand across the table. “Glitter, listen. Stay away from him. Even if he tries to approach you. Even if he acts interested. That family pulls people apart.”

I forced a smile. “Mom, guys like Derrick Evans don’t notice girls like me. All I did was challenge him at work—not his ego, not his empire.”

She didn’t smile back.

She whispered, almost shaking:

“And that’s exactly what I’m afraid of.”

Mom squeezed my hand tighter. “Glitter, listen to me. You need to avoid that family by all means. I don’t care what happened today—keep your distance. Promise me.”

I didn’t respond.

Not because I disagreed…

But because something in me knew it wouldn’t be that simple.

She sighed when she saw my silence. “Just finish your food. You need to rest—you have college tomorrow.”

So I ate. Quietly.

Mom cleaned up the kitchen even though I told her I’d do it, and she brushed it off like she always does.

After dinner, I headed to the bathroom, took a warm shower, tied my hair up in a messy bun, and changed into my oversized sleep shirt. I checked on my siblings before going to my room—both were out cold, probably exhausted from school and babysitting themselves until I got home.

I slid under my blanket, stared at the ceiling for a long moment, and closed my eyes.

But I swear… I felt something tug inside my chest.

A pull.

A shift.

Like someone far away was thinking about me.

I forced myself to sleep.

---

THE NEXT MORNING

My alarm went off at 6:00 AM.

I groaned, rolled out of bed, and got straight to work—no time to waste.

College doesn’t care if you’re tired.

Life definitely doesn’t.

I washed the dishes Mom left from last night, wiped down the counters, and started breakfast—scrambled eggs, toast, and a little sausage because it was the cheapest thing I could stretch for three kids.

My siblings got ready while I packed their lunches.

“Let’s go,” I called, grabbing my tote bag and my keys.

We locked up and headed to the bus stop.

I dropped them off at their school first, made sure they got inside safely, then jogged back to catch another bus toward campus.

Life on a scholarship meant one thing:

You don’t slack.

Ever.

By the time I reached Northern crest University, the campus was already buzzing—students rushing across the quad, coffee lines snaking out of the café, the morning sun glaring off the main glass building.

I tightened my backpack strap and exhaled.

Another day.

Another grind.

Another reminder that I didn’t have the luxury of messing up.

My first class of the day was Constitutional Law II—the kind of class that either builds future attorneys or destroys weak ones.

Most students dragged themselves in half-asleep, but I was fully awake. I had no choice.

Professor Adams walked in right on time, suit crisp, glasses low on his nose.

“Alright,” he said, tapping the podium. “Let’s begin with yesterday’s reading.”

The entire room groaned.

Not me.

I had read it twice on the bus.

Professor Adams scanned the room. “Ms. Dennis.”

Of course.

“Explain the doctrine of strict scrutiny as applied in cases involving fundamental rights.”

A few students turned their heads toward me.

I sat up straighter.

“Strict scrutiny requires the government to prove that a law violating a fundamental right serves a compelling state interest,” I said clearly. “And that the law is narrowly tailored to achieve that interest using the least restrictive means possible.”

Professor Adams’s mouth twitched—his version of a smile.

“Correct. And well-articulated, Ms. Dennis.”

He fired two more questions at the class—no one answered.

He turned back to me.

“Ms. Dennis, enlighten us again. How did the Supreme Court apply strict scrutiny in Sherbert v. Verner?”

I answered.

Flawlessly.

By the time the class ended, he walked up to me personally.

“You’re going far,” he said. “Keep your discipline sharp. You’re one of the strongest students I have.”

I nodded, trying to hide the pride swelling in my chest. “Thank you, Professor.”

---

AFTER CLASS — BUSINESS MODE

As soon as students started filing out, three girls cornered me near the hallway.

“Glitter, do you have the torts assignment?”

“You said it would be ready today.”

“I brought your payment.”

I crossed my arms. “Cash only.”

They handed it over—folded bills, exactly what I needed to buy groceries later.

I gave them the printed assignments, each one written in a different style so no professor could accuse us of copying.

“Don’t tell anyone I helped you,” I said.

They nodded fast and scattered.

Easy money.

Necessary money.

---

I stepped out of the academic building—and froze.

Kendra.

My father’s wife’s daughter.

Nineteen. Pretty. Spoiled.

And vicious in the way only insecure girls can be.

She leaned against a silver car, arms crossed, smirking like she owned the campus.

“Well, well,” she said. “Look who’s pretending to be a real college student.”

I clenched my jaw. Not today.

“Kendra, move. I’m late.”

She stepped in front of me, blocking me deliberately.

“You know,” she said sweetly, “you should be grateful. If my mom didn’t talk to your dad, you’d probably be at some cheap community college.”

I didn’t flinch. “I’m here because of my scholarship. Not your mother. Not your father. And definitely not you.”

Her smile cracked.

She hated when I didn’t react.

“Whatever,” she hissed. “Just know this—you’ll never fit in here. Guys like Derrick Evans don’t look twice at girls like you.”

My heart jumped at the name, but I didn’t let it show.

“Good,” I said coldly. “Because I’m not looking at him either.”

Kendra rolled her eyes dramatically. “Keep dreaming. I’m the one guys notice. Not you.”

I walked past her without another word.

Let her believe whatever she wants.

She lives off illusions.

I live off reality.

After classes, I headed straight to my part-time job at The Brew Box Café—the same café Derrick Evans walked into yesterday.

The moment I walked in, my manager nearly hugged me.

“Thank God you’re here. We’re short-staffed,” she said, handing me an apron.

I tied my hair up, clocked in, and went straight to work—taking orders, running drinks, wiping down tables, dealing with impatient customers.

By 7 PM, my feet were killing me, my back hurt, and I still had homework waiting.

But I needed the money.

Always.

When we finally closed, I threw my apron into the laundry basket, grabbed my bag, and stepped outside into the cool night air.

The street was quiet.

A perfect silence.

But something inside me felt… restless.

Like my blood was too warm.

Like something under my skin wanted to move.

I shook it off and headed home.

---

GOING HOME

Mom was folding laundry when I came in.

“You’re back late,” she said, standing.

“We closed late. I’m fine.”

She watched me with worried eyes. “You’re turning eighteen tomorrow… just get some sleep, okay?”

I kissed her cheek. “Goodnight, Mom.”

I checked on my siblings, showered, and crawled into bed.

But sleep didn’t come easily.

My heartbeat felt too loud.

My body too hot.

Something wrong… or something waking up.

Eventually, exhaustion won.

I drifted off.