Fated To The Tyrant Alpha

“Amelia!” I heard my stepmother’s voice echo through the hall when I was just about to round the corner.

My body stiffened instinctively and pressing my back against the wall, I peeked around the corner just enough to see Margaret standing in the corridor, with her hands perched on her hips like a hawk scanning for prey.

“Have you seen Amelia?” Margaret asked a maid passing by with a mop.

The maid shook her head nervously. “No, Luna. Not since this morning.”

Margaret clicked her tongue in irritation and strode off in the opposite direction, skirts rustling against the floor.

I exhaled slowly and turned back the way I came, because I wasn't ready to face Margaret today, of all days. A day I wanted to spend quietly, honoring the woman who had given her everything. But as usual Margaret would be searching for me, ready to hand me meaningless chores until the day slipped by unnoticed. And Hunter, ever eager to impress “Mother,” would no doubt be lurking somewhere too, ready to taunt me.

Sighing, I turned down the corridor toward my room.

“Lady Amelia!”

I turned to see a maid that was breathless from running.

“Yes?” I asked softly.

“The Alpha requests your presence in his study.”

My eyes narrowed. “My father?”

“Yes, Milady.”

I could count on one hand how many times my father had wanted to talk to me since Margaret and Hunter arrived after mother died. Which meant that my father rarely called for me unless there was some task to criticize. So what could he possibly want now?

“Thank you.” I said, masking my unease with a calm tone as I hurried through the halls.

When I reached the study, I knocked once and entered.  “Good morning, Father.” I greeted him, lowering her head respectfully.

Alpha Gerald barely looked up from the papers on his desk. “Sit.”

I obeyed, settling into the chair opposite him.

Without preamble, he slid a portrait across the desk toward me. “Tell me what you think of him.”

I studied the picture and couldn't deny that the man was striking with brown-hair, a clenched jawline and hazel green eyes.

“He looks… handsome.” I admitted carefully, unsure where this was going.

“That’s Killian Storm, Alpha of the BlueMoon Pack. He’ll be arriving by the end of the day and staying at the inn.”

My eyes lifted, puzzled. “Why not here at the Packhouse?”

“As per tradition…” Father replied. “The groom is to stay separate from the bride’s home until the wedding.”

I froze. “Whose getting married?”

“Yours, of course.” He looked at me as though I was slow. “It’s not as though Hunter can marry a man.”

“And why can’t he?” I shot back. “If he can’t, then why should I?”

“Enough! You will not make a mockery of this arrangement.” Gerald’s jaw tightened. “The Pack is struggling and we’ve lost resources, allies, and trade routes. This marriage will give us security as Killian’s pack is strong, and prosperous. And you marrying him will unite our territories and stabilize everything.”

“So that’s it.” I laughed softly, but there was no humor in it, only bitterness. “After years of trying to prove myself to you by training intensely , handling disputes, and running errands for the Pack, this is what I’m worth to you? A bargaining chip?”

“You’re thinking like a child.” His expression hardened. “This isn’t about you, it’s about your people who need this alliance.”

“Oh, now they’re my people?” I snapped. “You’ve spent years reminding me that I’m nothing like you and that Hunter was your true heir. But suddenly, when you need someone to sacrifice their life for the Pack, I’m yours again?”