After My Alpha Called Me His, I Planned Revenge

The club smelled like money and sweat and something darker I couldn't name. I balanced the tray on my hip and moved through the crowd, keeping my left side angled toward the speakers. The bass thrummed through the floor, and I let it guide me. As long as I could feel the vibration, I could fake the rest.

Bottle service paid better than anything else I could get without references or a degree I never finished. The uniform was simple—black skirt, black top, heels that made my calves ache. I'd learned to smile with my mouth and keep my eyes empty. Most wolves didn't look past the tray anyway.

I set down a bottle of Grey Goose at table six, poured three glasses without being asked, and collected the empties. A hand brushed my waist. I stepped aside before it could settle. The wolf grinned like he'd won something. I kept walking.

Sylvia caught my eye from across the room and mouthed something I couldn't hear. I angled toward her, reading her lips. "VIP booth. Incoming."

I nodded and headed back to the bar. My fingers trailed along the edge of the tray without thinking, tapping out a rhythm that had no sound. Old habit. I stopped when I noticed.

The VIP section sat elevated at the back, separated by velvet ropes and a bouncer who looked like he ate smaller wolves for breakfast. When I approached with the bottle order, he stepped aside without a word. That meant Alpha.

I should have turned around.

But I'd spent three years working toward this moment, and I wasn't about to waste it because my hands wanted to shake.

I climbed the three steps to the platform, tray balanced, and immediately felt the shift in the air. The kind of presence that made unmated wolves drop their eyes and back away. I didn't look up yet. I set the tray down on the table, opened the bottle of Macallan 25 they'd ordered, and poured the first glass with steady hands.

Then I smelled it.

Pine and cold air. Snow on granite. The scent I used to bury my face in and breathe like it could keep me alive.

My head snapped up before I could stop myself.

Derek Miller sat in the center of the booth, one arm draped across the back, his jaw sharp enough to cut. He looked older. Harder. His dark hair was shorter than I remembered, and he wore a suit that probably cost more than I made in six months. But his eyes—those hadn't changed. Still that same unreadable gray that used to make me think I could see straight through to his soul.

I'd been so stupid.

His gaze locked on me, and his entire body went still. Not the kind of stillness that came from self-control. The kind that came from a wolf slamming into the surface, clawing its way up, demanding to be let out.

I watched his pupils blow wide. Watched his nostrils flare. Watched his hand curl into a fist on the table.

The mate bond hit me half a second later.

It felt like being shoved underwater. Like all the air had been sucked out of the room and replaced with his scent, his presence, the crushing weight of a connection I'd spent years trying to bury. My wolf stirred for the first time in months, whining low in the back of my mind.

I forced her down and kept pouring.

Derek's Beta, Nathaniel, sat to his left. I recognized him from the old days—sandy hair, sharp eyes, the kind of loyalty that didn't ask questions. He glanced between us and went very quiet.

"Dahlia."

Derek's voice was rough. Lower than I remembered. He said my name like he was testing it, like he wasn't sure I was real.

I set the bottle down and met his eyes. "Your order, sir."

His hand shot out and caught my wrist before I could step back. Not hard enough to hurt. Just hard enough to stop me.

"What are you doing here?" His thumb pressed against my pulse. I knew he could feel it racing.

I smiled. The kind of smile I'd practiced in the mirror until it looked easy. "Working."

"You—" He stopped. His jaw worked like he was chewing on words he couldn't spit out. "You're in Silverfang territory."

"I'm aware."

"You shouldn't be here."

I tilted my head, still smiling. "You're holding up my shift."

His grip tightened. Not painful. Just possessive. The kind of hold that said *mine* without saying anything at all.

Nathaniel cleared his throat. "Derek."

Derek didn't look at him. He stood, still holding my wrist, and pulled me half a step closer. The booth went silent. Every wolf at the table watched us like we were about to rip each other apart.

Maybe we were.

"We need to talk," Derek said quietly.

"No, we don't."

"Dahlia—"

"Let go."

He stared at me for a long moment. Then, slowly, his fingers loosened. I pulled my hand back and picked up the empty tray.

"Enjoy your evening," I said, and walked away before my legs could give out.

---

I made it through the rest of my shift on autopilot. Poured drinks. Smiled. Avoided the VIP section. When the clock hit two a.m., I grabbed my coat and headed for the employee exit.

Derek was waiting in the hallway.

Of course he was.

He stood with his back to the wall, hands in his pockets, looking like he had all the time in the world. When he saw me, he straightened.

"I told the manager you're done for the night," he said.

I stopped walking. "Excuse me?"

"You don't need to work here."

I laughed. It came out sharp and bitter. "You don't get to decide that."

"I'm offering you something better."

I crossed my arms. "I'm listening."

He stepped closer. Not crowding. Just close enough that I could feel the heat coming off him. "There's a suite next to my penthouse. Private floor. Security. You'd be safe."

"Safe from what?"

"From this." He gestured at the hallway, the club, the world outside. "From working yourself to death in a place that doesn't deserve you."

I held his gaze. "And what do you want in return?"

Something flickered in his eyes. Something dark and hungry and barely leashed. "I want you close."

"Why?"

"Because you're mine."

There it was. The truth he couldn't hide. The bond he couldn't ignore.

I should have said no. Should have turned around and walked away and never looked back.

But I'd spent three years preparing for this. Three years building a plan that required proximity, access, trust. And Derek was handing it to me on a silver platter.

I smiled again. Softer this time. The kind that looked almost real.

"Okay," I said quietly.

His eyes widened. Like he'd expected a fight. Like he couldn't believe I'd said yes.

"Okay?" he repeated.

"Show me the suite."

---

The elevator to his penthouse was glass-walled, offering a view of Grayhaven that stretched for miles. City lights glittered below us like fallen stars. I stood with my back to the view and watched the numbers climb.

Derek stood too close. His scent wrapped around me, and I focused on breathing through my mouth.

When the doors opened, he led me down a hallway with marble floors and recessed lighting. He stopped at a door near the end and pressed his palm to the scanner.

"This is yours," he said. "Full access. No restrictions."

I stepped inside.

The suite was massive. Floor-to-ceiling windows. A kitchen I'd never use. A bedroom with a bed big enough for four people. Everything was white and chrome and untouched.

I walked to the window and looked out at the city. Behind me, Derek's reflection watched mine.

"Thank you," I said softly.

He moved closer. I felt him stop just behind me, close enough that I could feel his breath on my neck.

"I'm going to fix this," he said quietly. "Whatever I did—whatever happened—I'm going to make it right."

I closed my eyes and counted to three.

Then I turned and looked up at him with wide, grateful eyes. "I believe you."

He exhaled like I'd just given him oxygen.

I smiled.

And started calculating how long it would take to break into his servers.