THE HIDDEN ALPHA WHO PUCKED AND RUINED ME
Elara Crowley is the most bullied girl on campus-petite, plain, and invisible to everyone but her tormentors. What no one knows is she's also half-wolf, the outcast of a world that never wanted her.
Aldric Harlow, the arrogant hockey star with a dangerous temper, hides a secret of his own: he's a runaway Alpha. When his wolf side threatens to break free during a game, the last person he ever expected-Elara-calms the beast inside him.
Now tied together by scandal, jealousy, and a fake relationship that feels far too real, Elara and Aldric must fight their growing bond... while the world around them is ready to tear them apart.
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Chapter 1
ELARA'S POV
"Pour more. Deep down her throat."
The burn of cheap liquor wasn't the worst part-it was the laughter.
Lyra Walter's voice sliced through the pounding club music, sharp as glass.
"Pour it deeper. Make sure she chokes on it."
Her little army of followers obeyed instantly. Bottles tilted, cold liquid splashed over my head, soaking through my thin uniform until it clung to my skin. The smell of alcohol wrapped around me, sticky, humiliating. Their giggles echoed off the bathroom tiles, cruel and endless.
Not the first time. Not the second. Not even the fiftieth.
It was easier to lose count than admit how many times I'd been their target.
My knees hit the ground hard, but I kept my chin tucked, waiting it out like always. Fighting back only made things worse.
Knock. Knock.
"Hey-what's going on in there?" A man's voice from outside the bathroom door.
Panic flared across Lyra's perfect face. She snapped her fingers, and just like that, her loyal shadows scurried after her. Their heels clicked against the floor as they vanished, laughter trailing behind them like smoke.
The door didn't open. Whoever had knocked walked away, probably deciding it wasn't worth the trouble.
I stayed behind, dripping, breath shaking.
Dragging myself up, I staggered toward the cracked mirror above the sink. A broken reflection stared back-brown eyes red, black hair plastered to my cheeks, uniform ruined.
Invisible. Pathetic. Forgettable.
I peeled the wet fabric off and pulled on the spare uniform I always kept in my locker. By now, it was a habit-prepared for disaster, because disaster always came.
A whisper left my lips before I could stop it.
"If I disappeared tomorrow, no one would notice."
Shoving down the thought, I grabbed a rag to wipe at the mess on the floor and forced myself back into the pulsing lights of the club.
"Elara!" Jane's voice caught me the second I stepped out. My coworker-same age, same tired eyes-hurried over with a tray in hand. "Where the hell have you been? The boss has been looking for you. You're already on thin ice tonight."
I swallowed the lump in my throat and nodded. "I'm here now."
She pressed a bottle of wine and a clean glass into my hands. "Table twelve. VIP section. Don't screw it up."
VIP. Great. Probably some rich jerk with more money than sense.
I steadied the tray on my palm and made my way across the crowded floor, weaving between laughing strangers and drunk customers. The bass thudded in my chest, every beat urging me to keep moving.
But the moment I reached table twelve, I froze.
Alric Harlow.
The name alone carried weight. Hockey's golden boy. The man every magazine called untouchable. Twenty-six, undefeated, the league's star. His face was plastered on billboards, dorm walls, and TV screens across New York.
And now he was here-sitting back in the VIP lounge, broad shoulders stretched beneath a leather jacket, dark hair falling carelessly into ice-blue eyes that seemed to see straight through me.
He leaned forward, elbows on his knees, fingers tapping against his glass like he owned the place. Which, in a way, he did.
My stomach clenched. This wasn't just another customer. This was the kind of man whose orbit destroyed girls like me without even noticing.
"Wine," I managed, setting the tray down with trembling hands.
He looked up, gaze flicking over me once, slow and deliberate. Something unreadable sparked in those glacial eyes.
"Careful," he said, voice low, smooth, threaded with arrogance. "You're shaking. Don't spill it."
Heat burned across my cheeks. I poured the wine, forcing my hands to stay steady even as my heart pounded like a drum.
But fate had other plans. The glass slipped, tilting sharply, crimson liquid spilling across his knuckles before splattering the table.
Gasps rippled around us. My stomach dropped.
"I-I'm sorry-" I stammered, reaching for a napkin, but his hand shot out, gripping my wrist before I could touch his clothes. His hold wasn't harsh-just firm enough to stop me.
Those eyes-icy, sharp, unsettlingly focused. For a moment, my breath caught in my throat. His cologne, dark and intoxicating, filled my senses.
Then, as if I were nothing more than a passing amusement, he smirked and released me.
"Relax. It's just wine."
I blinked at him. That was it? No shouting? No threats? Just...a smirk?
Clutching the empty tray to my chest like a shield, I forced myself to step back. Every nerve screamed for me to run, yet my feet refused to move.
He leaned in, his voice a low murmur meant for me alone, warm breath brushing against the curve of my neck.
"You don't look like you belong here."
Before I could muster a reply, a burst of laughter and rapid camera clicks cut through the air. I turned and froze-Ulric Hale, Alric's infamous hockey rival, stood only a few feet away, phone raised, snapping photos like his life depended on it.
Every flash seemed aimed at me. The overlay of all those eyes pressed down, tightening my chest until breathing felt impossible. Why...why was he taking pictures of me?
Then came the manager's booming voice, calling my name across the floor. The spell shattered. With a mumbled apology, I snatched up my tray and fled, the sound of laughter and whispers echoed behind me.
Back in the staff room, my hands wouldn't stop shaking. I stuffed the uniform into my bag, changed into my hoodie, and slipped out the back door into the freezing night.
The air hit me like a slap, sobering, cruel. I wrapped my arms around myself, whispering into the darkness.
"Just one night without drama. That's all I want."
But the universe had other plans.
Because when my alarm buzzed the next morning, my phone was already exploding with notifications.
Dozens of missed calls. Hundreds of messages.
And there, splashed across every social media feed, was my face.
Elara Crowley. The invisible girl.
Frozen forever in the glare of a camera-standing beside Alric Harlow.
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7.8
My fiancé and my cousin destroyed my life. Their betrayal led to my mother's suicide and my grandmother's death. They framed me for arson, and I went to prison.
Three years later, I' m a trauma surgeon. The ER doors burst open, and there he was, carrying her in his arms. She was pregnant, and she was bleeding out.
He begged me to save them.
"Save her, Alana. Please. Save them both."
Then he accused me of wanting revenge, his eyes filled with hate.
"You're enjoying this, aren't you?"
The man who took everything from me was now on his knees, his world depending on my skill. I was the only one who could save the woman who stole my life.
I did my job. I saved them both. But as I walked out of the hospital that night, his car was there, blocking my path. This wasn't just a chance encounter. He was back to reclaim what he thought was his.
8.9
I gave my childhood sweetheart, Kade, ten years of my life and the code that built his empire. I thought we were a team. Then, on the night of our success, I overheard him call me his "unpaid intern" and "beta test."
He publicly discarded me for a strategic marriage, shattering my world. I fled, rebuilt my life from scratch, and found real love with a kind man named Heath.
But Kade came back, obsessed and unhinged. When I refused to take him back, he had his thugs beat Heath bloody in an alley.
He cornered me, begging for another chance, his eyes wild with a twisted love.
"It was always you, Addy! I made a mistake!"
I walked straight into his corporate office, my heart cold as stone. I looked the monster I once loved in the eye and delivered my final promise.
"You will stay away from me and the man I love," I said, my voice lethal. "Or I will expose every last one of your family's secrets and burn your entire empire to the ground."
8.9
I was the lead architect for the Pack's billion-dollar tech company, and I was secretly carrying the Alpha's heir.
I thought the merger would finally make Caleb Mark me.
Instead, I walked into my office to find a mistress sitting in my chair.
Caleb didn't just fire me. When I refused to hand over the encryption keys to the system I built, he locked me in a reinforced closet lined with silver mesh.
For a pregnant wolf, silver is poison.
I pounded on the door until my knuckles bled.
"Caleb! Please! It burns! I'm losing the baby!"
I screamed until my voice broke, feeling the life drain from my womb.
But outside the door, his mistress laughed. "Don't listen to her, Caleb. She's just a weak Omega faking it for attention."
And my Fated Mate believed her.
He left me in that dark box while our son died in a pool of my own blood.
He thought he had broken me. He thought I would die a silent death so he could parade his fake heir around.
He forgot one thing: I wrote the code that runs his entire life.
Three days later, I didn't show up to the hospital morgue.
I rolled my wheelchair onto the stage of his global press conference, flanked by the rival Alpha he feared most.
I held up the remote to the main server.
"You killed my son for a lie, Caleb," I smiled into the microphone as the screens behind him broadcast the footage of his crime. "Now, say goodbye to your empire."
7.0
My five-year-old daughter, Lily, was dying.
I used my entire tech fortune to secure a donor heart, a last-ditch effort to save her.
The only surgeon I trusted to perform the transplant was her father, my husband, Graham.
But on the day of the surgery, he vanished.
He diverted the heart I bought to another child-the daughter of his mistress, Bella Savage.
Lily died.
As her heart monitor flatlined, Graham called not to console me, but to celebrate the successful surgery for his lover's child. He blocked my number as I screamed for him.
He didn't even come to the funeral.
He called me selfish. He said I didn't deserve to be a mother.
He stood at our daughter's grave and asked her to forgive the little girl who now had her heart.
My love for him died with our daughter, replaced by a cold, surgical rage.
He thought he had destroyed me. He had no idea he had just created the monster who would incinerate his entire world.