THE ALPHA'S TEACHER

MIA'S POV:

I parked in front of the house I used to call home, my hands gripping the steering wheel too tight. But it didn't feel like home anymore-maybe it never really had. I let out a long breath. My old Peugeot made a strange sound, like it was just as tired of the trip as I was. It had been through a lot, just like me.

The house stood there, quiet and cold, full of memories I didn't want to think about. I tried to push those thoughts away and made myself get out of the car. The air felt heavy the moment I stepped inside.

As soon as I walked through the door, my mother's voice cut through the silence.

"Well, finally, the daughter of my husband shows up."

Her words stung, but I didn't even have time to react before my father spoke from the dining table.

"Mia, you know I hate driving at night. And here you are, coming in late in that old Peugeot. Don't you think about how dangerous that is?"

"I had to finish some work at the mall," I said, walking over to the table. My voice was flat, tired. I sat down in my usual spot-the one at the end, far from everyone else. I liked it there. It was easier to stay quiet, to stay unnoticed.

Then, of course, she arrived.

"Mum, I'm here!" Prisca Winslow said, walking in like she was the main event. My stepsister. The favorite. The one who could never mess up.

She looked perfect, as always. Her makeup was flawless, her clothes neat and stylish. She had that natural confidence I could never copy. I sat there in my plain skirt and blouse, trying to disappear. I adjusted my glasses and stared straight ahead.

"My baby!" Mum said, rushing over to hug Prisca tightly-the kind of hug I never got.

"You look stunning, sweetheart," she said, her voice full of praise. So full it made me feel sick. She'd never said that to me. Not once. But I'd always wanted her to.

I thought I'd be used to it by now. But the pain still hit me. That quiet kind of hurt that never really leaves.

I could expect this from Mum-she had always treated Prisca better. But Dad... he was supposed to be different. And yet, as Prisca walked over to him, he gave her a smile I had wished for my whole life. A smile that hurt to see. She ran into his arms, and he hugged her like she was the best thing that ever happened to him. Like she was his only child.

He didn't even say a word about her being late.

Something tightened in my chest, like someone had reached in and squeezed my heart. I swallowed hard, pretending I didn't feel the sting. I was his daughter too. So why did he act like I was just... there?

"Mia," Prisca's voice cut through my thoughts like a knife wrapped in glitter. "What have you been eating? You look heavier than last time."

I looked straight at her, not blinking. "Food," I said, calm and steady.

She gave a smug little smile, then turned away like I didn't matter.

"Babe," she called sweetly, her tone suddenly soft. I followed her gaze toward the door-and there he was. Tall, sharp suit, nice smile. Handsome, in a clean, polished kind of way. The kind of guy who never looked twice at girls like me.

All I had was Martin. A guy who thought his broken guitar and garage band dreams made him special. Spoiler: they didn't.

"Hope you found parking okay," Prisca said to the guy, voice full of honey. "We're a little tight on space."

"Mum, this is Luca. My boyfriend," she added with that glowing smile, the kind that made everyone lean in like she was made of light.

"Hello, everyone," Luca said smoothly, sliding into the seat beside her like he belonged.

And just like that, the whole room shifted. Every word, every glance, every bit of attention clung to Prisca. Her love life. Her success. Her beauty. It was like I'd disappeared.

"If I were you, I'd eat less," Mum said suddenly, her eyes locked on me as I reached for the food. "No man wants a girl who can't control herself. You'll never get married like that."

The air seemed to freeze around me. My stomach twisted. Still, I didn't let my face show anything.

"Look at your sister," she went on, voice soaked in poison. "She's already bringing someone home. What about you? Who's going to want you when you're always stuffing your face?"

My fingers clenched around the fork. I wasn't even hungry anymore. I had been starving before this-literally hadn't eaten all day. But now? I just felt sick.

They didn't know. They never asked. They didn't care.

If I could have skipped this monthly nightmare, I would have. But here I was again, sitting in my usual spot, playing my usual role. The extra. The shadow. The unwanted daughter no one saw.

MIA'S POV:

The night stretched out like an endless abyss as I drove back to my apartment, the darkness pressing in on me, suffocating. I thought leaving home would be my escape, a fresh start, but instead, it felt like life had only gotten harder. I had a degree in English, yet it seemed to mock me from the shadows, a piece of paper that had no power in a world that valued experience over ambition. The only thing I had now was a part-time position as a mall attendant-a far cry from what I'd dreamed of. It was all I had, though, and even in the dissonance of failure, I didn't regret leaving that place.

The place I once called home.

The house, filled with false smiles and tension. The constant barbs from my stepmother, the words that cut deeper than any blade-words that served as a reminder that I was always "less." I wasn't her daughter, her real daughter. It didn't matter how hard I tried. I could never be the daughter she wanted. My real mother... I didn't know her. She died giving birth to me. All I had left was an old photograph, a fading memory of a woman I would never truly know. She was beautiful. So beautiful, I sometimes wondered how I could possibly be her daughter. I didn't have her delicate features, her graceful figure. The one thing I did inherit from her-this curse of existence-was the loss of her.

"She was too weak," my stepmother would always say. "That's why she died after having you."

Her words were a constant sting, a relentless whisper in the back of my mind that never ceased. Even now, the echoes of them followed me, relentless. You're not enough. The sting was sharp tonight, the words digging into my soul like they always did. But there was one thing that kept me going, a fragile thread in the darkness-faith. I clung to it desperately, like a person stranded at sea, grasping at anything that floated by. I didn't know where it would lead, but I clung to the hope that there had to be more-there had to be light beyond the shadows.

But, God, I felt so lost.

The tires hummed on the wet asphalt as I navigated the empty road, the headlights cutting through the dark like a fragile lifeline. The radio played softly, the melodies a distant hum in my ears, but they couldn't mask the noise in my head-the incessant swirl of thoughts, each more painful than the last. The stillness of the night only seemed to amplify my loneliness. The low hum of the engine beneath me was the only sound, a cold reminder that I was alone.

And then, from the void, a figure appeared.

A flash of movement, a silhouette darting in front of my car. My heart stopped, my body instinctively jerking in response, and I slammed on the brakes. Tires screamed against the pavement as I wrenched the wheel, the car jerking to a sudden halt. My breath caught in my throat as my eyes went wide with panic. "Oh my God, did I hit him?"

The stillness was deafening. For a split second, I thought I might have run him over, and I felt the world tilt beneath me. God, what have I done?

Panic clawed at my chest as I threw open the door. My breath was shallow, my pulse hammering in my ears. It could be a trap. People were lured this way-injured, helpless, only to find themselves dragged into something darker. But I had nothing. No money, no valuables. I was just a girl who had just 'hope'. What could anyone possibly want with me?

I moved around the front of the car, my body stiff with fear, my steps hesitant. And then I saw him.

He stood a few feet away, swaying slightly on unsteady legs. His white shirt was soaked in blood, dark red staining the fabric. Blood seeped from a wound on his arm, dripping in slow, steady drops that darkened the pavement beneath him. His face was pale, and there was a shadow of pain in his eyes-eyes that locked onto mine with such intensity. It felt like they were searing into my soul.

For a moment, I froze. The world seemed to hold its breath.

His body swayed again, and I saw his knees buckle slightly. He wasn't going to last much longer. Without thinking, my legs moved toward him, my voice escaping in a soft whisper. "Are you alright?"

He didn't answer, but his eyes didn't leave mine. There was something in the way he looked at me, something that pulled at me like an invisible force. And then, in one swift movement, he reached out, grabbing my wrist with a strength that startled me. His grip was firm, demanding, and I felt a jolt of electricity shoot through my body.

"Take me to your home," he rasped, the words a command, not a request. His voice was rough, and I could hear the strain in it.

I blinked, startled by the suddenness of it. "What?" I managed to say, my mind trying to catch up. My heart was pounding in my chest, my breath coming faster now. He was injured-bleeding-and here he was, giving me orders.

But something about his presence, the way he stood, despite the pain and the blood, made me hesitate to argue. There was an undeniable force about him, a strength that was more than just physical. He seemed like the kind of man who didn't accept no for an answer.

I helped him into the car, my hands trembling slightly as I moved him into the passenger seat. His body shifted painfully as he tried to find a comfortable position, and I could see his jaw clenching with the effort to stay calm.

I slammed the door and got in the driver's seat. The engine roared to life, the sound of it loud in the stillness of the night. I glanced at him briefly, trying to make sense of this situation. His shirt was drenched in blood. the colour so stark against his pale skin. The air in the car felt thick, heavy with something I couldn't name.

"No," I said, my voice strained. "I'm taking you to the hospital. That wound looks bad. You need proper care."

He groaned, shifting in the seat. "Take me to your house. I don't like repeating myself."

My patience snapped. "Excuse me?" I adjusted my glasses. I couldn't hide the bite in my tone . "You're the one who got hurt, and I'm the one doing you a favour. I could have just left you there to die, but I didn't. So you'd better watch how you talk to me."

His eyes flashed with irritation, and he winced as he adjusted himself again. "You'll need a statement from the police before I can get treated. And if you wait for that, I'll be dead before you know it."

I bit my lip, my thoughts racing. What kind of person is he?

"And who said I'm qualified to take care of you at my place?" I snapped back. "I'm not a nurse, I'm just trying to survive myself."

He let out a low grunt, dismissing my concern as though it didn't matter. "If you've got salt and water, that'll do for now. You don't need to be a nurse to clean a wound."

I stared at him in disbelief. Who does this man think he is?

I muttered under my breath, my frustration reaching its peak. "Fine. Whatever. But if you're some kind of criminal on the run, I'm not going down for you."

He exhaled, a deep sigh that seemed to carry more weight than his words. "I was attacked. On the same road you were coming from. They took my car, beat me down, left me for dead."

I blinked, my mind reeling. Attacked? The words hit me hard, my heart sinking in my chest.

"So you want me to take you to my house, patch you up?" I asked, still unsure of what was happening.

He nodded, though his face twisted with pain. "Exactly. Just a little home treatment, and tomorrow, we deal with the rest."

I frowned, my mind working through the details. "With a wound like that, how can you be so sure you'll make it until tomorrow?"

His lips twitched into a small smirk, though it didn't reach his eyes. "Trust me. I'm not dying tonight."

There was something in the way he said it-so certain, so sure-that for a moment, I almost believed him. There was a strength in him, a quiet assurance that nothing could break him. And yet, here he was, struggling to stay upright, blood staining his clothes.

I glanced at him again, only to catch the faintest hint of a smirk on his lips. "If you keep looking at me like that, we're going to have an accident," he murmured, his voice rough, teasing.

I quickly turned my eyes back to the road, my heart racing for an entirely different reason. "I wasn't staring," I muttered, flustered.

The faint smile lingered on his lips, but he didn't respond. The silence between us was thick, but somehow, it wasn't uncomfortable.

AIDEN'S POV:

I groaned in pain, the pressure in my arms only growing worse, but I know it is just a matter of time, and I will soon start getting better. But the real trouble wasn't the pain-it was the girl beside me who couldn't keep calm for a second. From the way she stared at the steering wheel, it was obvious she was scared. It seemed like she had never seen blood like this before, but then again, I couldn't help but find it amusing to watch someone react like that to a little mess.

It was a relief she agreed to take me to her house instead of the hospital. Going there wasn't an option. By tomorrow, the wound would heal on its own, so what was the point of going? It would just freak her out more if something miraculous as this happens.

"Humans never cease to amaze me with their inability to believe that our kinds exist. " I muttered under my breath.

After driving for a while, we turned onto a remote road, passing through rundown houses and rough terrain. I was too tired to care, and honestly, the wound would be gone by morning. I lost track of time, my mind wandering, not realizing I had dozed off until I heard her voice.

"Hey," she called, her voice cutting through the quiet.

I stayed silent, curious to see how she'd react.

"Hey, can you hear me?" she asked again, panic creeping into her voice.

I didn't respond, but I could still hear her.

"Veronica always says that I'll get myself into trouble I'll never be able to escape from by acting without thinking. The day is finally here, now I have a dead man in my car," she said to herself.

I could sense the panic in her voice.

"What do I do now?" she continued, sounding desperate. "I can't spend the rest of my life in jail... No, no way." Her voice was shaky. "Oh my goodness, oh my goodness..." she repeated, walking out of the car. With great effort, she opened the door to my side.

"Hey, you-is this how you repay me for rendering to you?," she begged.

I couldn't contain the laughter that bubbled up inside me. "What does that even mean? Is that what you will tell a dead body?" I chuckled.

She looked at me, clearly flustered, but I couldn't help but notice her calm beauty. Her blonde hair framed her face softly, and the glasses she wore added a quiet elegance to her look.

She's a human, Aiden. You can't admire them, a voice inside my head whispered.

"You know what?" she said, her voice dripping with frustration. "I can't help someone in distress and then end up in distress myself!"

I smirked. "The salt and water?" I asked, never one to apologize.

"Very annoying," she muttered under her breath.

I manoeuvred with great effort to get out of the tight, creaky old car. We stood in front of her door while she struggled with the lock.

Does she struggle with everything? First the car and now the door knob I thought, watching her. I couldn't help but feel she knew exactly what I was thinking, though she didn't say a word.

"Sit here," she said, guiding me to a couch the moment we got inside. "I'll be right back."

She disappeared into a small room I assumed was the kitchen. Her sitting room is indeed tiny. Everything about her space was small, and looking around, it hit me that she probably lived hand-to-mouth.

"Uhmm, here. Sorry it took me a while-I had to boil the water," she said, rushing back with a bowl containing water and a small towel on the other hand.

She had changed into something more comfortable gown. The printed skirt she'd worn earlier made her appear bigger, but now I could see she was a curvy woman.

"Keep the water and salt on the table," I instructed, the authority in my voice still there despite the discomfort in my arm.

MIA'S POV:

I couldn't help but stare at him for a moment. The light from the room illuminated his face, and I couldn't stop noticing how handsome he was. His sharp cheekbones made his features even more striking.

"Keep the water and salt on the table," he said, his tone commanding.

The way he spoke so authoritatively made me scoff, but I decided to let it slide. He then took off his stained shirt, revealing his bare chest, and I had to force myself to look away. But occasionally, I couldn't stop glancing at his abs as he cleaned his wound. Even in pain, he still looked incredibly attractive.

"Hold this," he said, handing me the bowl of dirty water and the salt.

Like an idiot, I took it, returning to the kitchen and glancing around my small space, feeling a little embarrassed. I had nothing to offer him. The kitchen was bare. Quickly, I made him a milkshake, grabbing the two slices of bread I had left for breakfast before work tomorrow.

"Hey," I called, walking back to the living room where I found him snooping around, inspecting my humble home.

"You live here alone?" he asked, raising an eyebrow. "Doesn't look like more than two people could fit here."

His words stung, and I bet he noticed my slight frown. I set the meal in front of him, trying to keep my voice steady.

"Exactly. The house is too small for even one person," I replied, doing my best to brush off the comment.

I was sure he could tell I was bothered because he quickly backtracked. "Look, I didn't mean it like that. I was just..."

"It's fine," I interrupted, trying not to let it get to me. "By now, I've figured out that you're the kind of guy who speaks his mind and likes things done your way."

I sat down at the end of the couch, trying to keep things casual.

"Here, please manage this. I don't have any cooked food in the house," I said, showing his food as I got up , remembering that I had analgesic in the lower cabinet of my cupboard. I stood up, squatting down to retrieve it.