Chapter 152: Addicted to the Alpha
Varen
The little bell above the boutique door chimed as I stepped inside, and immediately, the air shifted. Silk, perfume, and too-bright chandeliers surrounded me, every corner of the room screaming femininity. A few clerks at the front desk froze, their gazes landing on me like startled prey catching sight of a predator.
"Alpha Varen..." one of them stammered, bowing so quickly her pen slipped from her hand and clattered on the polished marble floor. "We... we didn’t expect you here."
I walked deeper into the boutique, ignoring the wide eyes that followed me. My mind wasn’t here for them. It was on her. Always her. Josie.
I scanned the racks, hand brushing against the silks and satins. Nothing looked worthy enough. Nothing screamed her. My mate deserved more than fabric; she deserved art. My heart pounded, restless, hungry to find something that would set her eyes alight, something that would remind her she belonged with me.
A trembling saleswoman edged closer. "Alpha, if you... if you’d like, perhaps you should bring Miss Josie with you? That way we can—"
I turned, voice slicing like steel. "No."
She flinched.
"This is a surprise," I said firmly. "You’ve seen my mate often enough to know her size. If you can’t get it right, then perhaps this store doesn’t deserve to remain open in my pack."
Their faces blanched as if I’d threatened to rip the very walls down. I wasn’t usually this sharp, not with the people who worked under me. They knew me as the calm Alpha, the one who laughed easily, who rarely raised his voice. But Josie... when it came to her, calm deserted me.
The women exchanged nervous glances and rushed to pull a few gowns forward, laying them across the counter as if they were peace offerings. I sifted through them, unimpressed, until my fingers brushed against one that stopped me cold.
It was black—deep, sultry, but elegant, not mournful. Off-shoulder, with a flowing skirt that shimmered faintly beneath the lights. Sophisticated, dangerous, beautiful.
Just like her.
My chest tightened. "This one," I said, my voice lower, more certain.
They nodded furiously, promising alterations, promising perfection. But I was already gone in my mind, already seeing Josie draped in the gown, her hair tumbling over her shoulders, her eyes sparking with that stubborn light she carried everywhere. My mate. My undoing.
I paid without a blink and carried the box myself, ignoring the clerks’ flustered bows.
Back at the pack house, I moved with purpose. I wanted everything perfect. One of the servants told me Josie was with Thorne, and though my jaw tightened at the name, I forced myself to let it go—for now. She’d come back to me. She had to.
I went to the kitchen next. If I couldn’t put my feelings into words she’d believe, maybe she could taste them. I rolled up my sleeves, ignoring the startled glances from the chefs, and began preparing a meal myself.
Something warm. Romantic. Comforting.
Steak seared golden, creamy mashed potatoes, red wine sauce laced with herbs from the garden. And for dessert—a simple chocolate soufflé, delicate, but rich, the kind of thing that collapsed if you weren’t careful. Just like me. Just like us.
By the time I was done, sweat clung to my brow, but satisfaction hummed in my chest. I carried the plates myself to the patio, setting everything down carefully. Then I went outside to the gardens. Roses, lilies, even wildflowers—I didn’t care. I plucked them all with my bare hands, ignoring the sting of thorns.
When I returned, I scattered petals across the table, across the floor, weaving them around the chairs. A private world of color and fragrance bloomed around the meal, as if the universe itself bent for her.
I stood back, hands on my hips, chest heaving. Yes. This would make her smile.
"Whoa," a voice cut in, half-amused, half-intrigued.
I turned. Kiel leaned against the doorway, arms crossed, smirk tugging at his lips.
"What are you doing, brother? You planning to propose or something?"
"Get out," I muttered, arranging the cutlery with precision.
He walked closer, ignoring me. "Is this all for Josie? Damn, Varen, you’re pulling out the stops. Flowers, wine, homemade meal... If you start reciting poetry, I’ll actually puke."
I shot him a glare. "Do you ever shut up?"
He grinned wider. "Not when you look like some love-struck fool trying to win the prom queen."
"Get. Out." I kicked lightly at his leg, forcing him back a step.
"Alright, alright." He raised his hands in surrender, laughter in his eyes. "But don’t say I didn’t offer to help. If she loves me more after this, you’ll regret not letting me in on it."
My lips pressed tight. I shoved him toward the door, and he went, chuckling the whole way.
When everything was done—perfect, finally perfect—I went to change. A crisp black shirt, sleeves rolled, collar open. A faint cologne, nothing overpowering. I wanted her to look at me, to see me.
Then, I sent one of the servants to fetch her. My heart pounded with each second that passed. I waited. And waited.
Minutes stretched into an hour. The soufflé deflated, the steak cooled.
She didn’t come.
Frustration burned through me. I clenched my fists, pacing the patio. Finally, I couldn’t take it. I stormed upstairs, went to her room—empty.
My chest sank. My jaw locked.
She was still with Thorne.
The anger came swift and hot, a storm in my veins. I pulled my phone out, called her. Straight to voicemail. Again. Again. Her phone was off.
"Damn it!" I roared, and with one furious sweep of my arm, I overturned the entire table. Dishes shattered, wine spilled like blood across the patio stones, petals scattered into the night. My chest heaved with the sound of my own breathing, ragged, desperate.
Footsteps came rushing—Kiel again.
"Varen!" he hissed, rushing forward. "What the hell are you doing?"
"Leave me alone!" I shoved him back, chest burning, vision hazy. "She’s not coming. She’ll never choose me. Never."
He caught himself, eyes widening at the sight of the wreckage. "Brother..."
I didn’t listen. I stumbled to the bar instead, grabbed a bottle of whiskey, and drank straight from it. The fire burned down my throat, but it wasn’t enough. Nothing ever was.
"I’m so damn tired," I muttered, slumping against the counter. "Tired of trying, tired of fighting. She’ll never see me. I’ll never be enough. Not when she has you, not when she has him. I’ll always be second. Always."
The bartender stood frozen, unsure what to do, but I kept talking, my words tumbling out between gulps. "I hate this. I hate that I care. I hate my damn life. Why did I even try? She’ll never love me like she loves my brothers. Never."
My chest ached so badly it felt like my heart was tearing apart from the inside.
"Varen." Kiel’s voice came from behind me again. Calm, careful.
I turned, bottle still in hand. "Don’t. Don’t you dare."
"Don’t what?" he asked carefully.
"Don’t talk to me like I’m some drunk fool who doesn’t know what he’s saying." My voice broke. "You’ve always been selfish, Kiel. Always. You take and take, and I’m left with nothing. You’re taking Josie too. Both of you are."
His eyes narrowed. "What the hell are you talking about?"
"You think I don’t see it?" I spat. "The way she looks at you. The way she smiles. You think I don’t feel how much more she gives to you than to me? You’re taking her from me!"
"Varen, you’re drunk," he snapped.
"I’m not drunk!" I slammed the bottle down, whiskey sloshing out. "I just want her. I just want to love her. Why is that so damn hard? Why does it have to hurt this much?"
Kiel tried to step closer, but I shoved him away. My body swayed, the alcohol finally clawing at my balance. I opened my mouth to yell again, but the words slurred. My knees buckled.
"Varen—" Kiel lunged forward, but too late.
I tripped, crashed face-first onto the floor. Darkness swallowed me before I could fight it.