The Alpha Queen I Love Is Back

The world looked different from thirty thousand feet. The clouds were like cotton candy stretched across the horizon, the sun melting into them in streaks of gold and rose.

My camera was already rolling, balanced perfectly on the mount in front of my seat.

#TravelWithLuna would be trending again by tonight.

“Good lighting is free lighting,” I murmured into the lens, smiling just enough for my cheekbones to catch the glow.

“And today… we are landing in paradise.” Paradise, in this case, was Bacnotania — an island nation where the sand was white as sugar and the resorts made Maldives look budget.

My inbox was crammed with offers to promote their luxury spas, ocean villas, and exclusive clubs. But I wasn’t here just for ad money. I wanted the series to feel different — rawer, moodier, cinematic.

Behind the curated smiles, I had been restless for months. My followers wouldn’t see that. They’d see the girl who “lives the dream,” not the one who wakes at three a.m., heart pounding from another dream of running barefoot through a silver-lit forest. They didn’t hear the phantom sound of howls that lingered in my ears.

The plane dipped lower, and Bacnotania came into view. Mountains clawed at the clouds, dense forests unfurled like emerald waves, and beaches curved in lazy half-moons. For a moment, I forgot the camera was even on. Something in my chest tightened — a pull, like an invisible string was tethering me to that wild green heart of the island.

My phone buzzed. Clara: Touch down yet? Don’t forget to capture the “first step out” moment! Clara was my manager-slash-friend, or as I liked to call her, my “content drill sergeant.”

I typed back: On it. I’ll make it look like I’m stepping into another world. The airport was small, polished, and buzzing with tourists pulling designer luggage. I hit record as the sliding doors opened. Sunlight poured over me in a way that felt… personal. The air was warm, salted with sea breeze, but threaded with something sharper, wilder — like pine and rain.

The driver held a sign with my name in clean, gold letters. “Miss Veyra, welcome to Bacnotania,” he said, voice accented. “Mr. Draven’s resort sends their regards.”

Mr. Draven? My curiosity pricked, but I played it cool. Probably the billionaire owner whose name was on half the brochures. The drive to the resort was a blur of coastline and jungle. The villas rose like art pieces against the cliffs, each framed by infinity pools spilling into the horizon. My villa was a glass-and-wood masterpiece overlooking the sea. Inside, floor-to-ceiling windows framed a sky that was deepening into violet. Perfect lighting.

I changed into a silk dress, pale gold to match the sunset, and padded barefoot onto the deck. The camera hummed as I filmed the ocean far below, the waves catching fire in the dying light. I added soft background music, my voice low and intimate:

“There’s something about this place… like I’ve been here before.” A shadow moved in the treeline beyond the pool.

I froze.

It wasn’t the lazy sway of branches or the quick dart of a bird. This was deliberate. Heavy. My gaze snagged on it — a flash of black fur, massive shoulders, and… eyes. Silver, even in the dimming light. My heart stuttered. I didn’t even think — my camera swung toward it, autofocus scrambling to keep up. I caught maybe four seconds before the figure vanished into the forest.

“What the hell…” I whispered, replaying the clip. The shape was wolf-like, but far too big. Too intentional. A knock at the door made me jump.

A hotel staffer stood there, holding a cream envelope. “For you, Miss Veyra. From Mr. Draven. You are invited to the Moonlight Gala tonight. Black tie. Our car will pick you up at eight.”

I raised a brow.

“That’s… sudden.”

“It’s Mr. Draven’s way of welcoming his special guests.” The man’s smile didn’t reach his eyes. “It is… strongly recommended you attend.”

When the door shut, I stared at the envelope like it might bite me. I didn’t know this Mr. Draven, but the wolf in the forest and the sudden gala invite felt connected.

By eight, I was in a black silk gown that hugged like a second skin, my hair swept up, and a diamond choker glinting at my throat. The car slid through winding roads, deeper into the island until the trees opened onto a cliffside manor bathed in golden light.

Inside, the air was perfumed with expensive cologne and something darker, more primal. Guests moved like they belonged to old money — sleek dresses, sharp suits, champagne in hand. But there was a charge in the atmosphere, almost electric, raising goosebumps along my arms.

Then I saw him. Across the room, framed by tall windows and moonlight, stood a man whose presence cut through the crowd like a blade.

Tall, broad-shouldered, dressed in a perfectly tailored black suit that looked like it had been made just to hold his body. His hair was dark, his jaw shadowed, and those eyes… molten silver. The same eyes that had watched me from the forest.

Our gazes collided, and I swear the room fell away. My pulse thudded in my ears, my breath catching like I’d been running.

He moved toward me with deliberate, predatory grace, the crowd parting instinctively. When he stopped in front of me, the air between us felt too thin. His voice was low, velvet over steel.

“Callie Veyra.”

It wasn’t a question.

“You know my name?” I tried for casual, but my voice wasn’t fooling anyone.

“I know a lot of things about you.” His gaze lingered on my throat, like he could hear the frantic beat beneath the choker.

“Some you don’t even know yourself.” My skin prickled.

“Like what?” He leaned in just enough for his breath to brush my ear.

“Like why the island feels familiar. Why the forest calls to you. And why you can’t seem to look away from me.”

The words sent a shiver down my spine, sharp and unwanted. I took a step back, but he followed, slow and deliberate.

“You’re wondering if I was in the forest,” he said, a faint smile ghosting his lips.

“If I’m the shadow you saw.” His eyes caught the light, silver flashing. “The answer is yes… and no.”

I didn’t know whether to run or demand answers. All I knew was that my heart was racing, my skin was hot, and something in me — something deep — recognized him.

Before I could speak, his gaze dropped to my phone, still in my hand from earlier filming.

“Careful what you record here, little Luna,” he murmured. “Some things aren’t meant for your followers to see.”

And then he was gone, melting back into the crowd, leaving me standing in the middle of the gala with my pulse still in his grasp.