The Alpha's Hidden heart

Isabella.

I felt a tightness in my chest, like my airways were closing up. It was a strange mix of pain and numbness, and my vision was blurred as tears filled my eyes. Through the haze, I could just about make out the dirt that covered my mother's lifeless body.

My heart broke as I whispered, "Mommy," sinking to my knees beside her grave. I placed both hands on the ground, feeling the cold dirt as I continued to cry. It was all I could do in that moment, as I faced the harsh realization that I was now alone in this sad and cruel world.

My mother hadn't just left me; she had sacrificed herself to protect me and our pack. She died a true hero, but in doing so, she left me to go through this scary world on my own. I wonder if I can even do it. It had only been seven days since her passing, and I already felt like I was losing my grip on reality. A deep sense of loneliness and confusion engulfed me, making it feel impossible to move forward without her by my side. She had been everything to me.

I do have my father, Alpha Roland and my older sister, Rosie, but I was always closer to my mother. My sister had gotten married to her mate a few years ago, and we hadn't been very close. It didn't even feel like I was missing anything with my sister being fair away. But when it came to my mother, it was a different story.

The pack mourned her death, but it seemed that the mourning period was coming to an end. Today marked the seventh day, and I was the only one here, sobbing in front of her grave.

Even my father wasn't here with me. I knew he loved her, but maybe not as much as I thought.

I let out a long, deep sigh in an attempt to alleviate some of the burden that weighed heavily on my shoulders. Though the tears had stopped flowing, the heaviness in my chest remained. I literally feel like a complete orphan without my mother because my father and sister feelsuseless.

Rosie rarely visited, and even when I informed her of our mother's passing, she took her time, showing up two days later with the excuse of her kids having school and other distractions.

If she weren't my sister, I would have let my frustration spill over and told her to fuck off. But in my pain, her presence was only adding to the weight I carried. She had always been nonchalant, claiming to possess a carefree sense of humor. Yet, I knew that it was a facade. She loved attention and had always sought it out. That was just the way she was. I didn't hate her, but she wasn't someone I particularly favored either.

And then there’s my father. As I grew older, I realized that he just held the title of a father, not someone who held the role of a true father figure. He complained incessantly, often blaming both Rosie and me for his bad days. He could be a hypocrite, depending on the day or situation. In truth, I felt alone in this world most of the time.

I stare at the stone one last time, trying to summon the courage to get up. My heart feels like it's being weighed down by a heavy stone, and I feel so fragile that I'm afraid it might shatter if I move too quickly. The wind starts to pick up, becoming stronger, and I know it's about to rain. I should quicken my pace, but I don't. Instead, I make my way slowly out of the cemetery, each step feeling heavier than the last.

I head back to the pack house and notice some unfamiliar cars parked nearby. I don't think much of it since we’re still receiving visitors. The pack warriors open the door for me as I approach the front entrance, and I step inside.

From where I stand, I can hear my father's laughter echoing through the house. The sound grates on my nerves, making me feel even more irritated. I saunter into the living room and see him standing there with two men. I took my eyes of them but then I noticed one of them staring at me intensely.

Reluctantly, I trace my eyes to his face. Warmth spread through me as I met his piercing gray eyes. His face was a work of art, with striking features that drew me in. A strong jawline added definition to his charismatic face, while chiseled cheekbones caught the light in just the right way. His deep, expressive eyes held a captivating gaze, and a well-groomed beard framed his relaxed yet confident expression. It was a visage that effortlessly combined rugged charm with undeniable handsomeness.

Feeling slightly flustered, I turned my head away, realizing that I had been openly admiring this man's beauty. I swallowed hard, both due to nerves and the intoxicating scent of his enticing cologne, which made me feel almost lightheaded. I don't even know how I perceived it but somehow, my sense of smell is strong than I thought.

I shifted my gaze back to my sister, instantly feeling a wave of guilt wash over me. How could I be so caught up in my attraction to this stranger when I should be solely focused on mourning my mother's death? I couldn't believe I had let my guard down and allowed myself to be distracted.

She was sitting on the one-seater, completely absorbed in her phone. She glances up at me for a moment, then dismisses me with a brush of her hand.

The air inside feels thick and heavy, much like the weight in my chest. I can still feel the cold wind from outside clinging to my clothes, a reminder of the storm that's about to break.

My father's laughter rings out again, louder this time, and I can't help but feel a surge of anger. How can he be so cheerful at a time like this? It feels like a betrayal, a mockery of the grief that's been suffocating me.

I take a deep breath, trying to steady myself. The urge to scream at him, to demand how he can laugh while we are still in mourning, is almost overwhelming. But I swallow it down, knowing it won't do any good.

Instead, I just stand there, shamelessly admiring them man that was also occasionally looking at me.

My sister is still engrossed in her phone, completely oblivious to the tension in the room. The two men with my father are strangers to me, but they seem to be enjoying whatever joke he just made.

My father notices me and smiles, but I don’t smile back. His cheerful demeanor feels like a slap in the face. “Where have you been, Bella? And why are you covered in dirt?” he asks, his voice breaking through the fog of my thoughts. I look down at my dress, realizing for the first time that the hem is stained with dirt. My hands, too, are smudged with earth. Do I really have to explain where I was?

“Go clean up and meet us here. We need to talk,” he says firmly, dismissing my appearance with a wave of his hand. I glance around the room at the others. They seem so casual, so unaffected. I turn away, making my way to the stairs and heading up to my room.

In my room, I strip off my dirty clothes and step into the shower. The warm water does little to wash away the chill that's settled deep inside me. I scrub at my hands, trying to erase the dirt and the memories of the cemetery. After a few minutes, I step out, dry off, and change into fresh clothes.

I make my way back downstairs, my steps slower this time. When I return to the living room, everyone is seated now. My father looks up at me and smiles again, but this time, his smile feels different. It feels wrong. Suddenly, a sense of distrust creeps in. I feel like I can't trust him anymore.

I sit down on the edge of a chair, my eyes scanning the room. The two men are still here, watching me with unreadable expressions. My sister is still engrossed in her phone, barely acknowledging my presence. The air is thick with an uneasy silence.

My father clears his throat, breaking the tension. “Bella, we have something important to discuss,” he begins, his tone serious. I brace myself, not sure what to expect. The unease in my stomach grows stronger. I can’t shake the feeling that whatever he’s about to say, it’s not going to be good.

The room feels smaller, the walls closing in on me. I take a deep breath, trying to steady my racing heart. My father’s eyes meet mine, and for a moment, I see a flicker of something, regret, maybe? But it’s gone as quickly as it appeared, replaced by a look of resolve.

"This is Alpha Blaze, the Alpha of Nightfall tribe. He's a well-respected man, trusted by your mother..."

"What does that have to do with me?" I interrupt, growing impatient with the formality. I fear where this is heading, knowing my mother saw me as bright, and I dread my father's intentions. "Don't interrupt me while I speak," he scolds, and I lower my gaze, sighing and fiddling with my fingers.

"He's going to be your husband," he announces, and my world shatters. My ear drums fail, and I look up, finding the seriousness in his face.