Page 11 of The Alpha's Chosen Outcast

As I walk home and start packing, all these options volley in my head. I hesitate at the sight of the photos of my parents on my dresser. If I pack them and someone finds them, they might recognize my parents and then turn me in.

But I can’t imagine not seeing their faces for three months. I already can’t see them in person. I pack the photos and leave behind the latest dress I’ve been working on, still on the form in my dining room. Hopefully, I live to return and finish it.

I walk around leaving little notes on things—instructions for my plants, things that are about to go bad in the fridge and need to be tossed or eaten, a request to sort the mail on the dining room table, whatever I think Jessie might need to know while I’m away.

Jessie graciously agreed to waive my rent while I’m gone. The shop is making more than enough off this client to make up for it. I look around at this cottage I’ve called home for the past five years and think about the life I’ve built that I was just admiring this morning.

That seems like it was ages ago.

When I walk outside, Jessie is already there in her black sedan. I put my bags in the trunk and get in on the passenger side.

“You ready?” She smiles at me enthusiastically.

“As ready as I can be.” I look ahead.

With a happy nod, she puts the car in drive, and we head off. At the airport, an attendant gathers my bags out of the car. Apparently, the client had told Jessie to book me in first class.Violet. That name sounds familiar, but I can’t put my finger on it. Not a lot of people are named “Violet.”

I’ve never flown first class, and I couldn’t tell you what it was like because the entire trip went by in a blur. I know someone handed me a glass of champagne at one point, and I drank it way too quickly.

I don’t know what this feeling is, but I know it’s taking over. Is it terror? Anxiety? I really hope it subsides before I have to meet this client in a couple of hours.

I can tell who Marly is as soon as I see her at baggage claim. She looks like a slightly older version of Jessie.

She’s prattling on as we walk to the parking lot and get into her car. I barely register what she says and she doesn’t pause long enough for me to get a word in anyway.

We get to her shop, and she starts showing me around. No one else is here, and I feel a tiny bit of relief that we drove in her car instead of taking a train from the airport—less chance of someone recognizing me.

Marly gives me a tour of the bathroom, the break room, the sewing room, and the display area where the client can try on the dress in front of mirrors on a platform.

I put my bags in the break room and ask Marly where to set up to talk to the client and when she’ll arrive. Marly waves her arm at a table near the back, which has catalogs strewn atop it and fabric swatches falling to the floor.

“Oh my god, I’m so sorry!” She starts tidying up.

“It’s fine,” I tell her, “Really, I can do this.”

“You’re sure?”

“Of course. Like I said, I prefer privacy. You can head out. I’ll meet with the client and then give Jessie a call and tell her how everything went.”

“Oh, I already texted her that you got here okay.”

“Perfect. Thank you so much for letting me use your shop like this.”

“The pleasure is all mine. I can’t believe Violet Hanover wanted you to make her dress and that you’ve been working for Jessie! My own sister is going to be responsible for a Hanover wedding!”

My blood runs cold. Terror seizes me.

“Are you okay?” Marly looks at me with concern.

“I’m totally fine, really. I’ll see you around, okay?”

I’m trying not to let my panic show—at least, not until Marly leaves and I hear the door close. Then, I run to the bathroom. Everything I’ve eaten today, including the champagne, comes up. I start shaking.

She said Hanover. FuckingHANOVER.

The Alpha is a Hanover. Violet must be related to him. I hurry to the file I hadn’t read earlier on my tablet and almost drop the whole device when I read the details.

Bride: Violet Hanover

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