Page 8 of Bully Alpha's Pregnant Mate

Except, our little book club and Alec’s little crew always ended up butting heads over the library schedule. They’d want the common room for “team meetings” and “pre-game strategy sessions.” And because Alec’s crew could do no wrong, we’d inevitably be shooed out, our quiet reading time interrupted by their obnoxious chanting and general chaos.

One time, we tried to stand our ground. I remember holding on to my copy ofWuthering Heightslike it was a shield, heart racing as I explained to Alec—calmly, reasonably—that we’d reserved the space, that this was our time.

He’d just laughed with that infuriating smirk on his face. “What, and you’re actually planning on fighting us for it? Relax, Isadora. We’re just warming up for the game. Besides, a little fresh air might do you some good.”

I’d had to watch as his friends burst out laughing when he gave a pointed look to my chubby midsection. Before I could say anything, his girlfriend from his home pack, Molly, had sauntered up, looping her arm through his. She always stopped by to visit him when he was in East Hills, and this time, she’d tilted her head, pretending to look thoughtful, and then said, “Oh, let her stay, Alec. She could use the practice socializing with, you know, actual people.”

The memory makes my hands clench into fists, and I can practically hear her voice, dripping with fake sympathy. Molly had been the queen bee, the one who could smile sweetly at a teacher one second and have you in tears the next. And when Alec was in town for the summer, he’d either joined in or looked the other way, not once offering a shred of help.

We were invisible to him, our little group of bookish nobodies. And we were an easy target.

There was one time I remember all too well, when we’d planned a special book discussion. It was on Jane Austen—Pride and Prejudice, one of the few books that had brought almost everyone out of their shells, excited to talk about characters who felt as real to us as anyone else in town. We’d stayed late, setting up our tables and snacks, ready for what should have been a great meeting.

But then Alec and his team had shown up. He hadn’t said much, just stood in the back, leaning against the doorframe, arms crossed and watching with a smirk as Molly and her friends marched in, loudly claiming the space was “booked” for them. They’d taken our tables, eaten our snacks, and laughed in our faces as we gathered our things, humiliated and defeated.

Alec hadn’t lifted a finger to stop it. If anything, he’d looked entertained.

“So sorry to keep you from their intellectual pursuits,” Molly had sneered, casting a pointed look at my copy ofPride and Prejudiceas I tried to slip past her.

To this day, I can still feel the heat in my cheeks, the humiliation burning brighter than the anger. I’d never been the kind to fight back; it wasn’t in my nature. And Alec and his friends knew that, of course. They had used it against me, time and time again.

The memories pile up, one after another, each one sharpening the resentment that’s been buried for years. I’ve tried to put it behind me, to remind myself that I’m not the same girl I was back then. But it’s hard to forget the sting of it all. Even now, years later, it feels as fresh as if it happened yesterday.

And now I’m standing here, about to marry him. My tormentor, my constant reminder of everything I wasn’t when we were teenagers, is the person I’m meant to spend the rest of my life with.

A part of me almost wants to laugh at the absurdity of it. Alec Thornton, my husband. The irony is enough to make my head spin.

But before I can sink too deeply into the memories, a voice breaks through, cutting through the haze like a blade.

“Isadora?” My mother’s voice is soft, as if she knows exactly where my mind has gone and wishes she could pull me back.

I blink, and the past fades as she yanks me back into the present, into the soft murmurs and quiet rustle of fabric around me. My mother stands in front of me, smoothing the lace of my dress. Her eyes are filled with a mixture of pride and something that looks suspiciously like regret. She doesn’t say it, but I can see it in the way she fusses over my veil, her hands trembling just a bit. She knows exactly what I’m about to do, and somewhere, deep down, I think she realizes it isn’t fair.

“Are you… are you ready?” she asks, her voice barely above a whisper.

I glance down at the dress, at the intricate lace and heavy fabric that feels like it’s weighing me down, rooting me to the spot. My hands are cold, my heartbeat a little too fast, and for a moment, I wonder if I can really do this. If I can really walk down that aisle, look Alec Thornton in the eye, and pretend that this is anything other than a nightmare come to life.

But then I think of my family. Of the debts, of the years they’ve struggled, and of the threat Alec so casually held over my head. If I walk away, they lose everything. And that’s something I can’t live with.

“Yeah,” I tell her. “I’m ready.”

My mother’s lips press together in a thin line. She nods, stepping back to give me a once-over, her eyes glistening. “You look beautiful, Izzy. Truly.”

I give her a small smile, though it feels like a lie. “Thanks, Mom.”

With one last look, she turns to leave. Her footsteps are quiet as she slips out of the room, leaving me alone. I take a deep breath, glancing at myself in the mirror one last time, at the girl who somehow managed to grow into herself despite everything. I’m not that timid bookworm anymore. I’m stronger now, and maybe, just maybe, that will be enough to get me through this.

But as I turn away from the mirror, all I can think about is the boy Alec was back then—and the man he is now, the one waiting for me at the end of the aisle.

The ceremony itself is a blur, like I’m moving through a heavy fog. My dress weighs on me like a thousand-pound cloak, and each step down the aisle feels like I’m walking into a trap that snaps shut behind me, inch by inch.

The crowd’s chatter fades as I take my place beside Alec. The reality of it all finally hits home. The vows, the traditions, the faces watching our every move, looking on with expressions that range from delighted to calculating. My mother dabs at her eyes, my father looks awkward but proud, and my sisters watch, quiet and observant, probably wondering if this is all really happening.

Alec, on the other hand, stands there looking perfectly at ease. He’s dressed in a perfectly tailored dark suit that emphasizes every lean, powerful line of his body, the fabric hugging his broad shoulders and tapering at his waist in a way that almost feels unfair. The crisp white shirt beneath his jacket highlights his tan skin, and the silver cufflinks at his wrists catch the light, adding a sharp, polished edge to his already striking look. His hair is brushed back but still slightly unruly, with a few dark strands falling across his brow. The hint of a smirk playing at his lips tells me he knows exactly how good he looks.

Still, I get through it. I repeat the words, bow my head when required, keep my voice steady, and remind myself that this is for my family. For the pack. Not for him, or for any twisted idea of fate.

When the ceremony finally ends, we move straight into the “ritual reception,” a celebration that’s about as traditional as it gets. The pack elders gather around to give us their blessings, and to remind us of our duties and the responsibilities we carry now that we’re united. Each person offers their congratulations, their eyes sparkling with the expectation that we’re truly, blissfully happy.

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