Flash Marriage to the Dangerous Secret Alpha

Anna POV:

"He's thirty minutes late."

I stared at the digital clock on my phone, the numbers glowing like a small, mocking accusation.

Thirty. Minutes.

My thumb hovered over my brother Michael's contact. One tap and he'd be here in ten minutes, ready to flip the table and probably the man who was supposed to be sitting across from it.

I took a deep breath, the air thick with the smell of burnt coffee and sugar. No. I was twenty-three. I could handle a disastrous blind date on my own.

The bell above the cafe door chimed, and a gust of cold city air swept in. A man swaggered through, his shoulders too broad for the narrow aisle between tables. Hayes. He didn't apologize. He didn't even offer a tight, insincere smile. He simply pulled out the chair opposite me, the legs scraping loudly against the tile floor, and dropped into it.

He scanned me from head to toe. My comfortable jeans, my favorite worn-in sweater, my practical boots. His eyebrow arched in a clear expression of disdain.

"Anna Hamilton?" he asked, his voice laced with a condescending drawl.

I forced a polite smile that felt like stretching a cold rubber band across my face. "That's me. And you're Hayes."

I pushed the laminated menu across the table toward him. "Can I get you a coffee? Their latte is actually pretty good."

He shoved it back with two fingers, as if it were contaminated. "I only drink VOSS. Still. Which I doubt this place carries."

My smile tightened. My stomach did, too. It was a familiar knot, the one that appeared whenever I had to deal with men from the pack's upper echelons.

"Right," I said, my voice clipped. I flagged down a waitress and ordered a bottle of their most expensive sparkling water for him. For myself, I ordered a large iced Americano. I needed the bitter shock of it.

Hayes didn't wait for the drinks to arrive. He leaned forward, his elbows on the table, creating an immediate, unwelcome sense of intimacy. "Let's get straight to it. My mother says you run some kind of little shop."

"I own a coffee shop, yes," I corrected him, my posture stiffening. "It's doing very well."

"That's nice," he said, the words dripping with dismissal. "You'll have to close it, of course."

The air in my lungs seemed to freeze. "I'm sorry, what?"

"After we're mated. My Luna can't be out serving coffee to strangers. It's unseemly. You'll have duties at home. My parents are traditional. They'll expect you to be available."

I stared at him. The knot in my stomach tightened into a cold, hard stone. My own shop, The Daily Grind, was my life. I'd built it from nothing, pouring every dollar I had and every ounce of my soul into its four walls. It was the one place in the world that was entirely mine.

I picked up my water glass, my fingers cold against the condensation. "And why, exactly, would I give up my business?" My voice was dangerously quiet.

He actually laughed. A short, barking sound that made heads turn at the next table. "You're a wolfless, Anna. You should be grateful an Alpha from a family like mine is even considering you. You don't have the luxury of making demands. Your only role is to support your mate and his pack."

Wolfless.

The word hit me like a physical blow. It wasn't an insult; it was a fact. I was born into a werewolf family, adopted, but my inner wolf had never surfaced. I couldn't shift, couldn't mind-link, couldn't feel the pull of a mate. In the rigid hierarchy of our world, I was a dud. A human living on the fringes of their society.

My gaze dropped to the table, my vision blurring. My hands started to tremble.

The waitress arrived with our drinks. She placed the iced Americano in front of me, the dark liquid swirling around the ice cubes. The bottle of overpriced water landed in front of Hayes with a soft clink.

He didn't even acknowledge her. He was too busy enjoying his own monologue. "You'll also be expected to attend all pack functions. You'll need to learn the family histories of the top twenty families. My mother will quiz you. She's very particular." He unscrewed the cap on his water, looking smug, as if he were bestowing a great gift upon me.

I took a slow, deep breath. The trembling in my hands stopped. My vision cleared. I looked at the condensation dripping down the side of my glass, then at the arrogant smirk on his face.

He thought I was weak. He thought I was desperate.

He was wrong.

"You know," I said, my voice suddenly light, almost conversational. "You've given me a lot to think about."

His smirk widened. "I knew you'd see reason."

I picked up my iced Americano. The plastic cup was cold and solid in my hand.

"I've thought about my career," I said, my eyes locked on his pristine white shirt.

"Good," he nodded, leaning back.

"I've thought about your family's expectations."

"Excellent."

"And I've come to a decision."

With a flick of my wrist, I upended the entire cup.

The dark, cold liquid, mixed with a cascade of ice cubes, arced through the air and hit him square in the chest.

The shock on his face was instantaneous. His mouth fell open. A single ice cube slid from his collarbone down the front of his shirt, leaving a wet trail.

He leaped to his feet, knocking his chair over with a loud crash that silenced the entire cafe. "What the hell!" he shrieked, his voice cracking.

Icy brown liquid dripped from his chin onto the floor. His expensive shirt was a ruined, clinging mess.

Slowly, I stood up. I reached into my purse, pulled out a ten-dollar bill, and slapped it onto the table. "For the drinks," I said, my voice as cold as the ice now melting down his chest.

"You're insane!" he sputtered, pointing a trembling finger at me.

"No," I said, looking him directly in the eye. "I'm not. But you are incredibly selfish, and I would rather die alone than be mated to a man who sees me as a possession."

The other patrons were now openly staring, some hiding smirks behind their hands. A few teenagers in the corner were filming on their phones.

Hayes's face contorted with rage. He lunged, his hand reaching to grab my wrist.

I sidestepped him easily. Years of navigating crowded cafes had made me nimble. "Don't touch me," I warned, my voice low and final.

He froze, his hand hovering in the air, suddenly aware of all the eyes on him. The humiliation was a visible wave that washed over his features. He let out a strangled curse, clutched his soaked shirt, and practically ran out of the cafe, the bell jangling violently behind him.

I let out a breath I didn't realize I'd been holding. The tension in my shoulders eased. A small, triumphant smile touched my lips.

It was a short-lived victory, I knew. My mother would be furious. But for a moment, it felt good.

As I turned to leave, a strange sensation prickled the back of my neck. A feeling of being watched. Intently.

I scanned the crowded cafe. My eyes swept over couples sharing pastries, students hunched over laptops, a mother trying to quiet a fussy baby. Nothing seemed out of place.

Then my gaze snagged on a man sitting alone in a dim corner. He was half-hidden behind a newspaper, but I could see a strong jaw and a dark, well-fitted jacket. There was an stillness about him, an intensity that felt out of place in the casual chaos of the cafe.

For a split second, I felt a jolt, a strange hum of energy in the air.

That sense of familiarity made no sense. I'd only been looking at him for a couple of seconds, but a strange ripple went through me-like a distant, long-forgotten image surfacing from deep water, only to sink again before I could grasp it. Was it the line of his jaw? The way he sat so utterly still, that coiled tension in his posture? I was certain I had never seen this man before, yet my body seemed to know something my mind didn't-a faint tightness in my chest, as if some old, dormant string had been quietly plucked.

I found myself sifting through my past: a stranger brushed past in college? A brief glance on some long-ago trip? None of it fit. But the feeling wouldn't leave. It clung to a dark corner of my mind like a tune I couldn't name-stubborn, half-remembered, and refusing to be dismissed.

He must have felt my stare, because he shifted, the newspaper rustling as he lowered it slightly. I couldn't see his eyes, but I felt them. A weight. A pressure.

It was probably just my nerves, frayed from the confrontation. I shook my head, dismissing the feeling as paranoia.

I pushed open the heavy glass door and stepped out onto the bustling sidewalk, the city noise washing over me. The brief moment of unease was forgotten as I started the walk back to my own shop, my sanctuary.

Anna POV:

The rage hadn't faded.

It was a hot, buzzing thing under my skin. I channeled it into my work, scrubbing the stainless steel steam wand of my espresso machine with a fury that made the metal gleam.

Scrub, scrub, scrub.

Each motion was a mental jab at Hayes's smug face. Close my shop? Serve your parents? Wolfless?

I was so lost in my anger that I didn't hear the bell on the door jingle. I only registered someone was there when a large shadow fell over me, blocking the afternoon light.

A deep, calm voice spoke my name. "Anna."

I looked up, startled, my hand freezing on the machine.

A man stood on the other side of the counter. He was tall, with broad shoulders that strained the fabric of a simple flannel shirt. He had dark, thick hair, a clean-shaven jaw, and eyes so deep and brown they seemed to pull you in. There was something familiar about his face, a ghost of a memory from a long time ago.

"I'm sorry, do I know you?" I asked, wiping my hands on my apron.

A slow, easy smile touched his lips, and recognition clicked into place. Derrick Farrell. He'd been a few years ahead of me in the pack's designated high school. He was quiet back then, always in the background. A nobody, really. Just another wolf from a lower-ranking family. My elder brother Michael knew him well, but I'd barely exchanged a dozen words with him.

"Derrick," I said, a genuine smile replacing my scowl. It was nice to see a friendly, or at least neutral, face. "Wow. It's been years. What are you doing in this part of town?"

"Working a construction gig down the street," he said, his voice a low rumble that was surprisingly pleasant. "Saw the sign. Figured I'd see if the coffee was as good as the name."

His smile was warm, and his eyes held a friendly light. He felt... safe. Normal.

"Well, you came to the right place," I said, my professional persona kicking in. "What can I get for you?"

"How about a pour-over? Whatever you recommend."

"Coming right up."

I moved with practiced ease, grinding the beans, the whir of the machine a familiar comfort. The rich, nutty aroma of the coffee filled the air, and I felt some of the tension in my shoulders begin to unwind.

As I prepared the filter, Derrick leaned against the counter, his posture relaxed. "I think I saw you earlier," he said casually. "Leaving the cafe down the street. You seemed to be in a hurry."

I sighed, the anger from my disastrous date bubbling up again. I stopped what I was doing and leaned my own hands on the counter. "You have no idea."

And then, it all came spilling out. The thirty-minute wait, the condescending attitude, the demand that I close my shop, the wolfless comment. I told this man who was almost a stranger to me, this ghost from my past, everything. He was just so easy to talk to. He listened, his dark eyes fixed on my face, his expression unreadable but intent. He didn't interrupt. He just let me vent.

When I got to the part about him calling me wolfless, a flicker of something cold and hard passed through his eyes. It was there and gone so fast I thought I might have imagined it.

"And then there was Cody," I found myself saying, the name leaving a bitter taste in my mouth. "My ex. He cheated on me six months ago. Told me I was lucky he'd even dated a wolfless human in the first place. I swear, I think all the men in this pack are programmed with the same arrogant, misogynistic software."

At the mention of Cody's name, I saw Derrick's hand, which was resting on the counter, clench into a fist. The knuckles went white. Again, the reaction was so swift, so quickly controlled, that I dismissed it. He was probably just a decent guy who hated hearing about cheaters.

"He sounds like an idiot," Derrick said, his voice still calm, but with an underlying edge of steel. He reached over and gently took a paper napkin from the dispenser, dabbing at a drop of water that had splashed onto the back of my hand while I was talking. "You're not any of those things they say you are. You built this place. That takes strength."

His fingers brushed against my skin. A tiny, unexpected jolt, like static electricity, shot up my arm. I pulled my hand back, my cheeks suddenly warm.

"Thanks," I mumbled, turning my attention back to the coffee, my heart beating a little faster. I finished the pour-over, the hot water blooming over the grounds, and pushed the steaming mug across the counter to him.

"It's just..." I started, then stopped, shaking my head. "It's my mother. She's the one setting up these horrible dates. She's desperate to see me mated off."

As if on cue, my phone, tucked into the pocket of my apron, began to vibrate violently. A frantic, angry buzzing against my hip.

I pulled it out. The screen glowed with a single word: Mom.

A wave of exhaustion washed over me. I pressed the ignore button and shoved the phone back into my pocket, closing my eyes for a brief second.

"Trouble?" Derrick asked softly.

"The source of all my problems," I muttered. "She won't stop until I'm married off to some 'suitable' Alpha who will probably want me to be a domestic slave." I let out a humorless laugh. "God, sometimes I wish I could just hire a fake boyfriend. Someone to parade in front of her for a few months until she finally gets off my back."

Derrick picked up his coffee mug, taking a slow sip. He watched me over the rim, his eyes thoughtful. He didn't say anything, but a corner of his mouth tilted up in a smile that didn't quite reach his eyes. It was a hunter's smile.

My phone started vibrating again, more insistently this time.

"I'm so sorry," I said, pulling off my apron in frustration. "I have to take this, or she'll send a search party."

"Go ahead," he said, his voice smooth as silk. "I'm not in any hurry." He took his mug and walked over to a small table in the corner, settling into a chair as if he had all the time in the world.

I gave him a grateful look and retreated toward the back of the shop, my phone buzzing like an angry hornet in my hand.

With a deep, fortifying breath, I swiped to answer, bracing myself for the storm.

"Anna, what have you done?"

I walked through the curtained doorway into the small, cluttered employee break room, the scent of coffee and my mother's impending rage filling my senses.

---

Anna POV:

"What have you done?"

My mother's voice was a shriek, so sharp and high-pitched it felt like a physical jab in my eardrum. I held the phone an inch away from my ear, wincing.

"Hello to you too, Mom," I said, sinking onto a worn-out stool in the cramped break room. I rubbed my temples, a headache already beginning to form.

"Don't you 'hello' me! Hayes's mother just called me. Hysterical! She said you assaulted her son! You threw a drink on him in public!"

"He was a misogynistic pig who told me I had to give up my life's work to become his personal servant," I shot back, my voice low and tight. "He was lucky it was only iced coffee."

"He's from the Goodwin family, Anna! They are one of the most respected lines in this pack! You don't have the right to be picky! You're wolfless! Do you understand what that means? Your options are limited!"

There it was again. Wolfless. The word she used like a brand to remind me of my place. A cold, sharp pain lanced through my chest. My hand tightened on the phone, my knuckles turning white. It wasn't just the word; it was the way she said it. Like I was a defective product she was trying to offload before the warranty expired.

"My options are my own," I said through gritted teeth.

"No, they are not!" she screeched. "If you don't secure a proper mating by the end of the month, the elders will step in. Alpha Marcus has already suggested a match. Bernard from the Silver Creek Pack."

My blood ran cold. Bernard was in his late fifties, twice divorced, with a notorious drinking problem and hands that wandered. The thought of him touching me made my stomach churn with bile.

"No," I whispered, a wave of pure, hot rage surging through me. "Absolutely not." I kicked the metal leg of a storage shelf, the impact rattling a stack of coffee filters. "He's a disgusting old drunk, Mom! You'd really marry me off to him? You don't care if I'm happy, do you? You just care about appearances!"

"Don't be dramatic," she said, her voice turning cold and dismissive. "It's a good alliance. The elders have spoken. My hands are tied."

A suffocating wave of despair washed over me. The walls of the tiny break room felt like they were closing in. I was trapped. No matter how hard I fought, they would find a way to cage me. My gaze drifted aimlessly around the room, landing on the gap in the curtain that led back into the cafe.

Through the opening, I could see him. Derrick. He was sitting quietly at the corner table, nursing his coffee, a picture of calm in my storm. He was just a normal guy. A working man. Uncomplicated.

An idea, wild and desperate, flickered in my mind. A tiny spark in the overwhelming darkness.

I pressed the phone against my chest, muffling the speaker. I pushed through the curtain and walked quickly to his table. He looked up as I approached, his dark eyes questioning.

"I'm so sorry to ask this," I whispered, my voice frantic. "This is going to sound crazy, but do you know anything about the prominent families in Crestfall City? Like, gossip? Scandals?"

A strange light gleamed in his eyes. He leaned forward, his voice a low conspiratorial rumble. "The Hendersons' youngest son has a gambling problem. Alpha Sterling's designated heir just got his third DUI. And the Goodwin family? Their entire fortune is built on a fraudulent land deal from two generations ago. It's an open secret."

It was exactly the ammunition I needed. I felt a surge of triumphant energy.

I hurried back into the break room, putting the phone back to my ear. "A good alliance?" I scoffed, my voice dripping with newfound confidence. "You mean with the Goodwins, whose family wealth is a complete sham? Or maybe you'd prefer I marry into the Hendersons, so my future mate can gamble away my coffee shop? These 'noble' families are a joke, Mom."

There was a stunned silence on the other end of the line. I had never spoken to her like this, never used the pack's dirty laundry against her.

She sputtered, trying to regain control. "You are being disrespectful, Anna!"

"I'm being realistic!"

"That's it!" she finally snapped, her voice hard as nails. "I am done with your games. This weekend. You will bring home a suitable fiancé to the family dinner. Not a date. A fiancé. Or on Monday morning, I will personally drive you to the courthouse to sign the papers with Bernard. This is your final warning."

The line went dead.

I stood there, the dial tone buzzing in my ear. A fiancé. By the weekend. It was impossible. She had finally checkmated me.

My arm dropped to my side, the phone feeling impossibly heavy. It almost slipped from my numb fingers.

I stumbled back out into the cafe, my legs feeling weak. Derrick was watching me, his expression concerned. He stood up and pulled a napkin from the dispenser, holding it out to me. I hadn't even realized I was crying until I felt a tear slide down my cheek.

I took the napkin, my fingers brushing his again. This time, the warmth from his hand felt grounding. Steady.

I looked at him. At his solid frame, his calm demeanor. He wasn't an Alpha. He wasn't from a powerful family. He was just... Derrick. And in that moment, he seemed like the only solid thing in a world that was crumbling around me.

A fake boyfriend wouldn't work. My mother was too shrewd. She'd see through it in a second. She'd demand proof, background checks, a family meeting.

Only something real, something legally binding, would stop her. A marriage certificate.

The crazy spark from before ignited into a full-blown, terrifying blaze. It was insane. It was reckless. It was my only way out.

My breathing evened out. My gaze sharpened, focusing on Derrick with a new, desperate intensity. He met my stare, his head tilted slightly. A flicker of something-anticipation?-crossed his face.

I walked back to his table, but this time, I wasn't asking for gossip. I pulled out the chair opposite him and sat down, the motion deliberate and formal.

I folded my hands on the tabletop, my heart hammering against my ribs like a trapped bird. This was either the stupidest or the smartest thing I had ever done.

"Derrick," I began, my voice surprisingly steady.

"I have a proposition for you."

The words hung in the air between us, suspended in the thick aroma of coffee and desperation.

Derrick leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms over his broad chest. He didn't look surprised. He looked... interested. He raised a single, dark eyebrow. "I'm listening."

My mouth was suddenly dry. I licked my lips, my heart pounding a frantic rhythm against my ribs. "I need a fiancé. Just for show. To get my mother and the pack elders off my back." I rushed the words out before I could lose my nerve. "I would pay you, of course. A generous amount. You'd just have to show up to a family dinner this weekend, play the part. After a few months, we can stage a messy, public breakup. Everyone goes their separate ways."

He was silent for a long moment, his dark eyes studying my face. The intensity of his gaze made me feel like a butterfly pinned to a board. When he finally spoke, his voice was low and thoughtful.

"A fake fiancé," he mused, tapping a finger against his chin. "Your mother strikes me as a sharp woman, Anna. Do you really think she'll be fooled by a show? She'll ask questions. She'll want to see proof."

He was right. My stomach sank. "I know," I admitted, my voice barely a whisper. "It's a long shot, but I don't have any other options."

Derrick leaned forward, his forearms resting on the table. The space between us shrank, and his presence seemed to fill my entire field of vision. He smelled of sawdust, fresh air, and something else... something uniquely masculine and deeply unsettling.

"There is another option," he said, his voice dropping even lower, a conspiratorial rumble. "One that's foolproof."

I looked at him, confused.

"We get married."