Chosen To Be The Alpha's Surrogate

| Penelope |

My hazel green eyes twinkle as I eye myself in the mirror, the corners of my plump lips curling into a soft smile, satisfied at the rose pink ditsy floral dress that hugs my waist flawlessly.

This is cute. Donovan will love it.

Today is a special day. It’s our three year anniversary—three years of being married to my beloved Donovan.

We met when I was just 17, both searching for someone to cling to in this unforgiving world. Our love burned hot and fast, a wildfire that consumed us until it suddenly didn’t. Still, he’s my constant.

For two years now, we’ve longed for a child to call our own. But month after month, my body betrays me, barren and empty, just as everything else feels. Donovan tells me it doesn’t matter, that he loves me no less. But I see the disappointment in his eyes with each negative test.

Tonight is the night. It has to be.

I tracked the days on my calendar—the days to my ovulation cycle. I’m fertile today. Or at least I should be.

“Aye, ya done in there?!” Darnell, my oh-so favorite manager, yells through the door. His knuckles rap against the hardwood, his deep voice echoing once more. “Come on, Pen! I gotta close up!”

“Coming!” I shout as I scramble to gather my make-up and uniform from the counter, shoving it into my backpack.

With one final glance, I throw the bag over my shoulder and scurry out of the small diner restroom. “Sorry, Nell,” I mutter as I push the door open, emerging into the semi-lit restaurant.

“Sorry, my ass…” he grumbles, his voice tinged with a playful undercurrent. “Get on outta here so I can get home.”

I giggle softly, shooting the tall, burly, dark skinned man a smile over my shoulder as I make my way toward the backdoor. “Have a good night, Nell!”

Parked just a few feet away, I’m sliding into my old beat-up red car and slipping the keys into the ignition within seconds. The engine roars to life, and I visibly cringe, the sound of my muffler coughing reminding me that one of these days, my sweet baby’s going to give out.

I will love you ‘til the day you die.

…

But it better not fucking be today.

With both hands hugging the steering wheel, I drive my way out of the lot and onto the empty highway. The city lights blur past my window, the midnight wind hugging my car as I speed my way home.

My name is Penelope Stone and my life isn’t extraordinary, just a string of monotonous days bleeding one into the next. An orphan with no family to speak of, I’ve been on my own for as long as I can remember. Well, save for the past three and a half years that I’ve had Donovan to call my family.

I have a beautiful life, don’t get me wrong. But sometimes I can’t help but wonder if I rushed into a marriage that only seems to leave me so unsatisfied. We only dated for six months before we tied the knot, but things just seemed so perfect at the time. I never imagined the day would come that I’d be desperately looking for a way to rekindle the light that went out just months after we said our I do’s.

Maybe tonight will be our lucky try. Maybe in two weeks I’ll get a positive test and everything will go back to how it was.

As I pull into the shitty street parking of our modest apartment, I pop the trunk, hopping out of the car. With my backpack in one hand, I take the bottle of Donovan’s favorite pinot noir I bought before starting my 10-hour shift in the other. In one swift motion, I push the trunk shut and begin my way toward the door as I dream of a romantic evening in hopes of reigniting that old spark between us.

I take a deep breath, feeling my heart at my throat with the uneasy nerves of tonight being the perfect tonight as I push the door open.

Something’s…off.

My eyebrows furrow as I step into the living room, shutting the door behind me. My eyes gloss over the tidy space, and though it all looks the same, something’s different. It’s not the cracked ceramic lamps sitting on the coffee table set or the beer stained carpet Donovan swore he’d shampoo three months ago.

No. Something isn’t right.

As I move further into the room, just a few feet away from the bedroom door, my eyes land on a shirt crumpled on the floor beside a pair of unfamiliar stilettos. And emanating from the bedroom, unmistakable sounds of grunting and panting and skin slapping against skin.

No…

Hot tears fill my eyes, burning rage boiling inside me as realization sets in.

In our own home..? In our bed..?

Clinging to the bottle in my hand, I storm to the door and wrench it open.

There he is, the man who vowed to be mine, naked and intertwined with a blonde I’ve never seen before.

“What the hell is this..?” my voice quavers, filled with pain as I shatter their lustful reverie. They scramble apart, the women lazily covering herself with my sheets.

“Pen, I can explain —” Donovan starts, but I cut him off.

“Explain what? How you’re screwing some whore in our bed?” Humiliated tears sting my eyes, falling before I can attempt to blink them back.

The woman smirks, pulling an expensive looking necklace from her pile of clothes. “Maybe if you could give him a baby, he wouldn’t need to go looking somewhere else.”

Her words knock the wind out of me, hitting me like a punch to the gut. My worst fears, my biggest insecurities, laid bare for what feels like the world to see. In my embarrassment, my gaze lingers on the floor, shifting to her open bag—earrings, a watch sitting in a small gift box. All gifts from my husband to his mistress, tokens of affection more extravagant than anything he’s ever given me.

I’m not sure what comes over me—despair, fury, a sickening cocktail of both. With shaking hands, I unscrew the wine bottle and tip it back, the biting liquid splashing down my throat as I begin my movements toward the tangible tokens of my husband’s infidelity.

“Pen,” Donovan reaches for me but I jerk away, bringing the bottle down hard on the blonde’s open bag, drenching silk and lace and gold. It’s childish and futile, but God does it feel good.

I’m done. We’re done.

With the shattered remnants of my anniversary surprise strewn across the floor, my eyes meet Donovan’s golden-brown ones for the last time, and I storm out of our bedroom, tears blurring my vision.

I hear him call for me but I ignore him, slamming the door behind me and running down the street, not stopping until my lungs burn and a stabbing pain rips through my side.

I collapse onto a bus stop bench, my breath coming in heaving gasps that turn into wrenching sobs. The image of Donovan and that…woman fucking on our sheets flashes through my mind and I press the hells of my hands to my eyes, desperately trying to block it out.

How could he do this to me? To us?

…

I couldn’t give him a baby…

I should’ve known better. All the times he blatantly lied to my face, telling me it didn’t matter… It mattered. It fucking mattered.

How could I be so blind..?

I sit on the bench for what feels like hours, numb to the curious stares of passersby and the chill of the night air until my tears finally run dry. A heavy, leaden feeling settles over me, the shattered pieces of my heart rattling in the empty cavity of my chest.

*What am I supposed to do now..? *