Bound to an Alpha Who Hates Me

Amiyah POV

The satisfaction of seeing Cassidy’s face turn purple was sweet, but short-lived. As I turned on my heel to leave, her shock morphed into a screech that clawed at my eardrums.

"Don't you walk away from me!" Cassidy lunged forward, though she didn't dare touch me. Her voice echoed off the high, vaulted ceiling of the hallway. "You think you've won just because you warmed his bed for a night? He will never *Mark* you! He's going to *Reject* you the moment he gets the chance, you stray!"

I paused, my hand tightening on the strap of my bag. My Inner Wolf growled low in my chest, urging me to snap back, to show this pup her place. But before I could open my mouth, the heavy oak door behind us flew open with a force that shook the floorboards.

A wave of power, cold and suffocating, slammed into the corridor. It was pure Alpha command.

Grayson stood in the doorway, a pair of dark sweatpants hanging low on his hips, his chest heaving. The golden light in his eyes hadn't fully faded, swirling with a storm of irritation.

"Is there a reason," Grayson’s voice was dangerously quiet, "that you are screeching like a dying cat outside my door, Cassidy?"

Cassidy shrank back, her earlier bravado dissolving instantly. She paled, pressing herself against the wall. "Gray, I... she was just—"

"Leave," he barked.

Cassidy scrambled away without another word. Grayson’s gaze then snapped to me. It was heavy, physical, like a hand gripping my throat. He was searching for something—fear, perhaps, or submission.

I gave him neither. I simply adjusted my bag, met his burning stare with a cool nod, and walked away toward the guest wing.

*

The tension didn't dissipate; it merely changed venues.

An hour later, I sat at the massive polished oak table in the Pack’s dining hall. The room smelled of old money and judgment. Georgiana Wilder, the former Luna, sat at the head of the table, slicing into her grapefruit with surgical precision.

"A proper future Luna," Georgiana began without looking up, "would have been awake at dawn to inspect the warriors' training. Sleeping in is a human habit, not one befitting the Blackwood Pack."

I unfolded my napkin, placing it on my lap. Across the table, Grayson was drinking black coffee, his eyes glued to a tablet, ignoring us both.

"I am here per Elder Douglas's arrangement, Mrs. Wilder," I replied, my voice steady. "I wasn't aware I was auditioning for the role of Pack housekeeper. My duties will be defined by my Alpha, not by the traditions of the past."

The silence that followed was sharp enough to cut glass. Georgiana’s knife screeched against her plate. Grayson didn't look up, but the corner of his mouth twitched—whether in annoyance or amusement, I couldn't tell.

As breakfast concluded in suffocating silence, I moved to leave. Georgiana intercepted me near the archway, her face a mask of faux benevolence.

"Wait," she said, sliding a sleek black credit card across the sideboard toward me. "Take this. Go buy some decent clothes. The Luna of Blackwood cannot be seen wearing... whatever this is. You look like a Rogue."

I looked at the card, then at her. The insult was wrapped in charity, designed to make me feel small, indebted.

My phone buzzed in my pocket. I pulled it out. A notification flashed on the screen: *Bank Transfer Received: $50,000,000.00.*

Immediately, a familiar, gruff voice echoed in my mind, bypassing the physical distance between us.

*Have fun, my little wolf. Don't let them think we Holloway wolves can't afford a skirt.*

My grandfather, Alpha Ashton of the Silvermoon Pack. A smile tugged at my lips.

"Thank you for the offer, Georgiana," I said softly, sliding my phone back into my pocket. I didn't touch the card. "But I think I can manage without the Pack's charity for now."

I walked past her, leaving her staring at my back, mouth slightly agape.

*

The drive to the Wilder Group headquarters was a different kind of torture.

The interior of the Alpha’s SUV was a sealed capsule of sensory overload. The air was thick with Grayson’s scent—cedar, rain, and that underlying spice that made my mouth water despite my hatred for him. My scent, jasmine and forest pine, mingled with his, creating a heady cocktail that made the air feel electric.

Grayson sat in the back seat beside me, his long legs cramping the space. He hadn't spoken a word since we left the estate, but the aggression rolling off him was palpable.

"Do not think I don't know what you're doing," he finally said, his voice a low rumble that vibrated through the leather seat.

I turned to look at him. "And what am I doing, Alpha?"

"This secretary act," he sneered, turning his predatory gaze on me. "You think if you play the submissive employee, if you force your way into my daily life, I'll eventually give in to the bond? You think you can trap me?"

I laughed, a dry, humorless sound. "You really are self-absorbed, aren't you? Let me make this clear, Grayson. I am fulfilling a contract. Three months. That is all I agreed to with Elder Douglas. The moment that clock runs out, the engagement is off, and I will be gone. I won't stay a second longer."

Grayson’s eyes narrowed, the gold flecks flaring. My rejection of him—of the bond—clearly stung his Alpha pride more than he wanted to admit.

"Three months?" He leaned in closer, invading my space until his breath fanned across my cheek. "I bet you won't last three weeks before you're begging me to claim you."

My heart hammered against my ribs, betraying me, but I held his gaze. "Then you are going to lose that bet. I will never love an arrogant, rude Alpha like you."

Grayson pulled back, a dark, dangerous smirk playing on his lips.

"*We will see about that,*" he murmured, the challenge hanging heavy in the air between us.

The car slowed to a stop in front of the towering glass skyscraper of the Wilder Group. The battlefield had shifted, but the war was far from over.