HATING MY ALPHA HUSBAND

11 YEARS EARLIER

ANNIE THORNE

My little boots sink into the soft layer of snow that covers the mansion's garden, and I laugh to myself when I slip a bit.

I’m six years old and no one wants to play with me today.

Dad is in a meeting with other pack members and Mom told me to “burn off energy outside.”

So I came.

I brought a stone with me — round, pretty, covered in a bit of ice — and I’m pretending it’s a princess trapped in a winter spell.

I’m not afraid. I like the feeling of the wind in my hair, even when it slips through the collar of my coat.

The frozen lake glistens just ahead. I know I’m not supposed to go too close, but I like how the smooth surface looks like a magic mirror.

I’m about to start the part where the princess is rescued by a knight when I feel something. A shiver on the back of my neck, like someone’s watching me.

I lift my face slowly and look at the mansion next to ours — the only other one in this entire forest besides ours.

The Blackwood house. Always closed, dark, lifeless.

Except now.

A window on the top floor is open.

Behind it, standing like a shadow, is a boy.

Tall, thin, dark-haired, and with skin so pale he looks like part of the snow. He’s staring at me.

I freeze for a moment. It’s him. The Blackwood boy.

My parents always whisper about him when they think I’m not listening.

That he lost his parents young. That he’s now raised by a strict uncle. That he never goes out, never talks to anyone. A lonely boy in a house far too big.

I raise my hand and wave, smiling.

He doesn’t wave back.

I turn around, trying to keep playing, pretending I didn’t see him.

But my heart beats faster. I keep glancing over my shoulder, until I get distracted and drop the princess-stone in the snow.

When I bend down to pick it up, I hear footsteps behind me. I turn quickly.

It’s him. He came to me.

I jump to my feet, surprised.

"You came down!" I exclaim, excited. "Do you want to play with me?"

He doesn’t answer.

The wind blows through his hair and he looks at me with narrowed eyes, like he’s evaluating something. Or maybe judging.

"I’m the..."

"I know who you are," he cuts me off, cold as the morning wind. "The little werewolf princess. The alpha’s pup."

I stand there, not sure if he’s complimenting me or insulting me. Still, I take a step closer and offer him the stone, smiling.

"I was just pretending the stone was a frozen princess," I explain. "But if you want, you can be the hero."

"I don’t play with weak werewolves," he replies sharply, like the words disgust him.

My chest tightens.

"Weak?" I repeat, softly.

"You’re nothing but a spoiled child. You’ll never be truly strong. Want to know why?"

I take a step back. My stomach twists, but I ask anyway:

"W-why?"

"Because you have everything," he spits the words, like they burn. "Big house, powerful parents, everyone pampering you like you’re special. But deep down, you’re just a useless little werewolf. And when the world demands strength from you... you’ll break."

I feel my eyes fill with tears. I touch my face, as if that would protect me.

"But I... I just wanted to play..."

"Then go back to your castle," he says, turning his back. "And keep pretending. Because out here, no one has time to pretend weak girls matter."

I stand there. The snow feels heavier now. Everything loses its magic. The lake, the sky, even my princess-stone. Everything fades because of his words.

My voice comes out weak when I ask, my throat tight:

"Why are you like this to me?"

He stops. Doesn’t look back. The wind blows harder, as if pushing the trees away.

"Because I hate weakness," he says, almost a whisper. "And you’re the perfect picture of it."

Then he disappears into the trees. And I stay there, kneeling in the snow, hugging a stone that was never a princess at all.

TODAY

I open the front door smiling, holding the basket of fruit I picked from the garden.

I kick the door closed with my heel, humming some silly little tune.

But my smile dies the moment I step into the living room.

The smell of burning herbs in the incense burner. The crackling of the fireplace, lit even with the house already warm. And the two of them there.

My mother sitting on the leather armchair, her face marked by time and sleepless nights. My eyes land on her first, but quickly shift.

My father.

His skin is even paler than last week. The dark circles are deeper, his body hunched.

My father is dying.

I stop walking.

"What... what’s going on?" my voice sounds low, almost childish.

They both look at me. My mother forces a smile that doesn’t reach her eyes. My father clears his throat, tries to sit a little straighter, as if his posture still symbolized power.

"Annie, dear," he says with a hoarse voice. "We need to talk."

My heart beats harder.

I walk slowly to the couch and sit down, setting the basket aside. My fingers are cold.

"What is it?" I ask. "Is it about the tests?"

My mother lowers her eyes. My father nods, eyes fixed on me.

"The illness has advanced," he says with surgical calm. "Faster than we expected. The last cycle has already compromised parts of the lungs and heart."

I can’t breathe for a second.

"No," I whisper. "No, this... you said the new treatment..."

"It didn’t work," he interrupts. "I have, with luck, a few weeks."

I feel my throat tighten, my vision blur. My hands clench into fists.

"No, please."

"Annie," he says my name like a plea. "I need you to listen now."

I shake my head, trying to hold back the tears that are already falling, hot and heavy.

"You are my only daughter. The last of the direct Silverfang bloodline. The next leader. And I need to ensure the line continues. That our pack has a strong future."

"What does that mean?" I ask, even with a trembling voice.

It means what I already begin to fear.

"It means," he says, "you need to marry someone from a pure bloodline. Someone strong. Someone capable of producing powerful heirs at your side."

It feels like the ground cracks beneath my feet.

"You want me to get married?"

"It’s your duty, Annie," my mother says, voice choked. "As the heir. As the only child. As the leader."

"I don’t want this," I burst out, standing, my voice faltering. "I don’t want to marry anyone! I don’t want... children with someone chosen for me like I’m some breeding mare!"

"It’s not a choice, Annie," my father says. "It’s necessity. It’s tradition. It’s responsibility. You know this."

"No!" I shout. "Who do you want me to marry, then? Who is this oh-so-pure someone?"

Silence spreads through the room like poison. I see my mother’s gaze falter. My father’s hardens.

"Who?" I insist, tears falling uncontrollably.

Then he says it.

"Luca Blackwood."

For a second, I think I heard wrong. That my mind is playing tricks. That in some parallel universe this makes sense. But here, now, all I feel is rage.

"Luca... Blackwood?" I repeat, almost voiceless.

"You have to be joking. This is a cruel joke. It can’t be him. Anyone but him."

"He is the best candidate," my father insists. "Pure. Strong. No heirs. His bloodline combined with ours would guarantee powerful children, unmatched heirs."

"I hate him!" I scream, voice broken. "I hate him more than anything! He made my childhood a nightmare! He humiliated me, hurt me, broke me. And you... you want me to sleep next to him? To have children with him?"

My mother stands and approaches, her hands reaching for mine.

"I know, my love. I know it hurts. I know what he did. But duty... comes before desire."

"Not for me," I whisper, backing away. "Never for me."

My mother takes a deep breath, eyes brimming with tears.

"Daughter, sometimes the pack needs sacrifices. And sometimes those sacrifices... have faces we despise."

I cover my face with my hands. The smell of incense chokes me. Their silence, even more.

"I can’t do this," I whisper. "Not with him."

But deep down, even as I deny it, even suffocating... I know my will has never been strong enough to outweigh the weight of a legacy.

"Please, Dad. Please..." I beg, approaching him with tear-filled eyes, and he just shakes his head.

"It’s already done and nothing can change it. Annie."

"Mom..."

He looks at me with a sad expression.

"I’m sorry, dear, but..."

I don’t wait. I run from the living room.

I slam my bedroom door shut and lean my back against it, as if the whole world were trying to break in.

My knees give out and I slide to the floor, sobs escaping before I can even think.

My hands cover my face, but they don’t muffle the sound that comes from deep within my throat — a broken, heavy wail, as if the pain were tearing pieces of me from the inside.

My father is going to die.

And I’m going to be forced to marry Luca Blackwood.

Luca.

The boy who made me wish I could disappear when I was just a child.

The same one who called me weak, useless, spoiled. The cruel shadow that loomed over my childhood like a recurring nightmare. His name still tastes bitter, even after all these years.

I haven’t seen him since we were teenagers.

I’ve never gone near his mansion again.

After his uncle died, he vanished from the world.

They say he lives alone, runs the family business from afar, cold and silent as ever.

And now he’s going to be my husband.

My whole body trembles, but not from cold. It trembles from despair.

I cry until I can’t tell where the physical pain ends and the emptiness inside me begins.

The tears soak my neck, slide through strands of hair and vanish into the old wooden floor. My throat burns. My eyes sting. But I don’t stop.

Hours pass like this. Or maybe minutes. Time has lost all meaning.

When I finally lift my head, I look out the window. At the forest. And beyond it…

The Blackwood mansion.

The top floor light is on.

I stay still, staring at that distant point between the snow-covered trees.

The silhouette of the house looms against the night sky like a sleeping monster.

I still remember the day I saw him for the first time at that window. And how everything started.

I get up with difficulty, my body heavy.

I grab a thick coat from the closet, without even looking in the mirror. I know my eyes are red. I know my face is swollen. But I don’t care.

I need to get out of here.

I walk down the stairs in silence. The house is quiet, only the sound of the fireplace and an old clock filling the air. I open the front door and am greeted by a blast of icy wind that cuts my skin like a blade.

I walk through the snow, leaving irregular footprints that will soon be erased. I head to the only place that was always mine, where no voice could reach me: the lake.

The same lake where I used to play as a child.

I reach the shore and sit down. The snow is soft, cold, silent. I wrap my arms around my knees and let more tears fall. I don’t try to hold them back this time.

"I hate him," I whisper. "I hate him more than anything."

But I have no choice.

When I finally decide to go back, my legs are numb. I stand with effort and take the first step. The snow beneath my feet is unstable — slippery.

The ice near the shore creaks.

"No," I murmur, realizing too late.

My foot slips. I try to steady myself, but there’s no time. No support.

A crack.

The sound of ice breaking.

And then, I scream.

The fall is fast and brutal.

The icy water swallows me like it has teeth. A shock shoots through my whole body, a cold so sharp it steals the air from my lungs. I try to move, swim, scream — but everything is heavy, slow, unbearable.

The lake pulls me down.

My consciousness begins to fade. Thoughts blur. My limbs stop responding. The cold is winning.

No. No.

Everything darkens around me and then something happens.

An impact. A body entering the water.

Strong arms wrap around me.

Someone swims toward me and seconds later I’m pulled upward.

I’m lifted, taken out of the water. My face presses against a warm chest. There’s a murmur, something muffled.

But I don’t see who it is.

I only feel fingers tightening around my waist. A warmth against my body. A familiar scent.

And then... nothing.

Everything goes dark.

ANNIE THORNE

The soft light enters through the window covered by thick curtains, painting the room with a yellowish and gentle glow.

For a moment, I don't know where I am.

My eyes take time to focus. Everything seems blurry, as if the world around me is still submerged, like I was… in the lake.

The lake.

I try to sit up, but my body aches as if it had been crushed by a steamroller. I'm wearing different clothes — a soft sweater and sweatpants.

My still-damp hair is tied in a loose braid, and heavy blankets keep me warm.

I'm alive.

The bedroom door opens and my mother rushes in, her eyes watery but relieved.

"Annie!" she exclaims, coming closer to hug me. "Thank the moon gods, you woke up!"

I sit there, paralyzed for a few seconds, before returning the hug. Her presence is comforting, but something inside me still weighs heavily.

"What… what happened?"

"You fell into the lake. You were unc