THE HIDDEN ALPHA WHO PUCKED AND RUINED ME

ELARA'S POV

"Pour more. Deep down her throat."

The burn of cheap liquor wasn't the worst part-it was the laughter.

Lyra Walter's voice sliced through the pounding club music, sharp as glass.

"Pour it deeper. Make sure she chokes on it."

Her little army of followers obeyed instantly. Bottles tilted, cold liquid splashed over my head, soaking through my thin uniform until it clung to my skin. The smell of alcohol wrapped around me, sticky, humiliating. Their giggles echoed off the bathroom tiles, cruel and endless.

Not the first time. Not the second. Not even the fiftieth.

It was easier to lose count than admit how many times I'd been their target.

My knees hit the ground hard, but I kept my chin tucked, waiting it out like always. Fighting back only made things worse.

Knock. Knock.

"Hey-what's going on in there?" A man's voice from outside the bathroom door.

Panic flared across Lyra's perfect face. She snapped her fingers, and just like that, her loyal shadows scurried after her. Their heels clicked against the floor as they vanished, laughter trailing behind them like smoke.

The door didn't open. Whoever had knocked walked away, probably deciding it wasn't worth the trouble.

I stayed behind, dripping, breath shaking.

Dragging myself up, I staggered toward the cracked mirror above the sink. A broken reflection stared back-brown eyes red, black hair plastered to my cheeks, uniform ruined.

Invisible. Pathetic. Forgettable.

I peeled the wet fabric off and pulled on the spare uniform I always kept in my locker. By now, it was a habit-prepared for disaster, because disaster always came.

A whisper left my lips before I could stop it.

"If I disappeared tomorrow, no one would notice."

Shoving down the thought, I grabbed a rag to wipe at the mess on the floor and forced myself back into the pulsing lights of the club.

"Elara!" Jane's voice caught me the second I stepped out. My coworker-same age, same tired eyes-hurried over with a tray in hand. "Where the hell have you been? The boss has been looking for you. You're already on thin ice tonight."

I swallowed the lump in my throat and nodded. "I'm here now."

She pressed a bottle of wine and a clean glass into my hands. "Table twelve. VIP section. Don't screw it up."

VIP. Great. Probably some rich jerk with more money than sense.

I steadied the tray on my palm and made my way across the crowded floor, weaving between laughing strangers and drunk customers. The bass thudded in my chest, every beat urging me to keep moving.

But the moment I reached table twelve, I froze.

Alric Harlow.

The name alone carried weight. Hockey's golden boy. The man every magazine called untouchable. Twenty-six, undefeated, the league's star. His face was plastered on billboards, dorm walls, and TV screens across New York.

And now he was here-sitting back in the VIP lounge, broad shoulders stretched beneath a leather jacket, dark hair falling carelessly into ice-blue eyes that seemed to see straight through me.

He leaned forward, elbows on his knees, fingers tapping against his glass like he owned the place. Which, in a way, he did.

My stomach clenched. This wasn't just another customer. This was the kind of man whose orbit destroyed girls like me without even noticing.

"Wine," I managed, setting the tray down with trembling hands.

He looked up, gaze flicking over me once, slow and deliberate. Something unreadable sparked in those glacial eyes.

"Careful," he said, voice low, smooth, threaded with arrogance. "You're shaking. Don't spill it."

Heat burned across my cheeks. I poured the wine, forcing my hands to stay steady even as my heart pounded like a drum.

But fate had other plans. The glass slipped, tilting sharply, crimson liquid spilling across his knuckles before splattering the table.

Gasps rippled around us. My stomach dropped.

"I-I'm sorry-" I stammered, reaching for a napkin, but his hand shot out, gripping my wrist before I could touch his clothes. His hold wasn't harsh-just firm enough to stop me.

Those eyes-icy, sharp, unsettlingly focused. For a moment, my breath caught in my throat. His cologne, dark and intoxicating, filled my senses.

Then, as if I were nothing more than a passing amusement, he smirked and released me.

"Relax. It's just wine."

I blinked at him. That was it? No shouting? No threats? Just...a smirk?

Clutching the empty tray to my chest like a shield, I forced myself to step back. Every nerve screamed for me to run, yet my feet refused to move.

He leaned in, his voice a low murmur meant for me alone, warm breath brushing against the curve of my neck.

"You don't look like you belong here."

Before I could muster a reply, a burst of laughter and rapid camera clicks cut through the air. I turned and froze-Ulric Hale, Alric's infamous hockey rival, stood only a few feet away, phone raised, snapping photos like his life depended on it.

Every flash seemed aimed at me. The overlay of all those eyes pressed down, tightening my chest until breathing felt impossible. Why...why was he taking pictures of me?

Then came the manager's booming voice, calling my name across the floor. The spell shattered. With a mumbled apology, I snatched up my tray and fled, the sound of laughter and whispers echoed behind me.

Back in the staff room, my hands wouldn't stop shaking. I stuffed the uniform into my bag, changed into my hoodie, and slipped out the back door into the freezing night.

The air hit me like a slap, sobering, cruel. I wrapped my arms around myself, whispering into the darkness.

"Just one night without drama. That's all I want."

But the universe had other plans.

Because when my alarm buzzed the next morning, my phone was already exploding with notifications.

Dozens of missed calls. Hundreds of messages.

And there, splashed across every social media feed, was my face.

Elara Crowley. The invisible girl.

Frozen forever in the glare of a camera-standing beside Alric Harlow.

Elara's POV

The internet didn't just chew me up-it swallowed me whole.

By the time I reached campus, my face was everywhere. Plastered across phones, whispered about in every corner, dissected like some scandalous exhibit.

Elara Crowley, mystery girl beside hockey's golden boy.

I yanked my cap lower over my face, heart hammering in my chest. It didn't matter. Eyes followed me anyway. Murmurs buzzed down the hall like a swarm of bees.

"Is that her?"

"No way-why would Harlow even look at her?"

"She probably begged for it. Pathetic."

My stomach twisted. Each word was a stone thrown my way, bruising what little dignity I had left.

And then, of course, Lyra.

She was waiting in my classroom like a queen on her throne, one heel hooked on the edge of my desk. A carton of eggs sat open beside her. My chair? Already dripping with yolk.

"Well, well, well." Her smile stretched wide, venomous. "If it isn't our little celebrity."

Her friends cackled as I froze in the doorway.

"Shouldn't you be at some mansion right now?" Lyra cooed. "Or did Alric finally realize you're trash?"

Laughter cut sharp through me. My fists clenched, but I said nothing. That was the game. Don't fight back, don't make it worse.

I bowed slightly, murmured a faint good morning. But before I could rise fully, the stench of raw egg hit my nose. Cold slime dripped down my jacket, sticking to my skin.

A sharp kick struck the back of my knees. I collapsed onto my butt, pain shooting up my legs. Tears stung, but I swallowed them down.

Lyra crouched, yanking my chin up. "Look at you. Cheap. Ugly. A little nerd nobody. Pathetic." Her words snapped into my face, punctuated by a hard slap that smeared egg yolk across my cheek.

The classroom roared with laughter.

"What's going on here?" my English teacher finally barked from the doorway. He glanced at the mess, sighed. "Enough. Sit down, Lyra. Elara-clean yourself up. Class is starting."

And that was it. No justice. No protection. Just another day of being invisible.

By evening, the whispers followed me to work.

The manager hauled me into his office, arms crossed, face thunderous.

"Elara, I don't know what the hell you've gotten yourself into, but this-" He shoved his phone at me, headlines screaming about Alric Harlow's mystery girl. "-is bad for business. Customers are asking questions. If this keeps up, you're done here."

My throat closed. My job. My rent. My last shred of security-hanging by a thread.

I stumbled out into the alley behind the club, fighting tears.

And that's when I saw him.

Alric Harlow.

Leaning against the brick wall, cigarette glowing between his fingers, leather jacket zipped, cap pulled low-but still unmistakable.

Every nerve in my body froze. I turned to leave, but his hand clamped down on my shoulder.

"Disgusting chipmunk," he muttered, low but sharp enough to cut.

My chest tightened. "W-what... what do you want?" I whispered.

"Be my girlfriend," he spat. It wasn't a request.

I blinked, stunned, until his grip shoved me back against the wall. Pain jolted down my spine.

"You're going to pretend to be my girlfriend for as long as I say." His jaw flexed, rage rolling off him.

"Stop whining. Fuck!" His fist slammed into the wall beside my head. Brick cracked.

My body shook. His eyes-God, his eyes-weren't normal. For one flicker, they burned red. Wild. Feral.

Before I could move, he shoved me down. My palms scraped the ground as I gasped. He took a step forward like he'd crush me-then kicked a metal bucket instead, the crash splitting the alley.

His phone rang. He ripped it out, barked into it, then cursed and hung up so violently the screen shattered.

His gaze snapped back to me, hard as steel.

"Your job now," he said, voice deadly, "is to pretend to be my girlfriend. You breathe a word, and I'll dig into your skin and rip out your lungs. Do you understand?"

"I... I don't-"

"Does it look like I'm asking?" His palm slammed the wall near my head, the sound exploding in my ears. "You don't have a choice."

He jammed his phone close, playing a voice note:

"Alric, you better fix this shit. Your contract, your sponsorship deals, even the championship slot-it's all hanging by a thread. You already have a bad reputation, but this? This is everywhere. It's on the news, spreading like wildfire. Clean it up fast, or everything you've built is gone."

The voice cut off as Alric hurled the phone against the wall. Shards skittered across the alley.

"But... but Lyra likes y-" I stammered.

"Who said I'm not aware?" His eyes narrowed. He gripped my chin roughly, forcing me to meet his glare. "Don't flatter yourself. You're not special. You're a pawn. And I'll use your ugly face if I want to."

The words burned worse than Lyra's slap. Tears slid down, hot and humiliating.

He yanked me upright, dragging me forward.

"W-where are we going?"

"To clean you up," he said coldly. His grip only tightened. "And don't make me repeat myself."

Minutes later, we burst into a glittering mall. Everyone's gaze was suddenly turned at me instantly-some sneering at me, others starry-eyed at him, glittery.

Alric didn't glance at anyone. His jaw was stone as he dragged me into the designer section.

He stopped, gaze sweeping me like filth.

"Do you have a shower?"

The attendant wrinkled her nose as I slipped into the mall bathroom.

"Ugh, why do you smell like cat food?" she muttered, throwing a white towel at me before leaving.

I faced the mirror. Just minutes ago, I'd been in my work uniform; now lashes, makeup, and a whole new face stared back. I couldn't help but giggle at my transformation- not until Alric reflection appeared.

"Even after a makeover, you still look like tuna fish."

Elara's POV

"I only need your best pose, not that sheepish posture," Alric muttered, irritation curling in his voice.

"So-sorry," I blurted, fumbling for words. Being this close to the almighty, most popular, ridiculously handsome hockey player makes me nervous.

"Relax, dear. Just close the distance and give me a smile." The photographer mentioned.

My legs felt like jelly as I stepped closer, but Alric didn't wait. His arm snaked around me, pulling me flush against him. I felt my breath stop momentarily, an awkward smile forced onto my lips as the flashes exploded.

Click. Click. Click.

The shoot ended almost as quickly as it started. I grabbed my phone, but it buzzed before I could even breathe. Notifications poured in like an avalanche.

Breaking News: Alric Harlow Spotted With Mystery Girl.

Exclusive: Hockey Star's New Girlfriend Revealed.

"Go change. Quickly." Alric's voice resounded, leaving no room for argument.

I slipped into my usual simple dress for college-nothing fancy, just me.

On the drive, I kept my eyes glued to the scenery outside, forcing myself not to scan or admire the sleek interior of his luxurious car. If I did, my heart might actually burst out of my chest.

The car stopped at the college entrance. Fear rooted me to the seat; I sank lower, pinching my fingers nervously.

Alric's voice cut through. "We're only pretending to date, and already you're looking for princess treatment? Should I open the door for you before you get out?"

"N-no... no."

He smirked faintly. "I will anyway. Good acting-you're already doing well. Guess you're not as dumb as I thought."

As we walked down the hallway to my class, all eyes turned on me. Whispers filling the hall. Gazed on me, some twisted in disgust, others wide-eyed in curiosity.

Alric held me close-so close I could feel his chest against mine, his cologne sharp and Rosey, definitely one of his most expensive scents. Each step made my heart hammer harder, trying to ease my breathing.

"No... way. Is this true?"

"Who does she think she is?"

"Seriously... Harlow's dating her?"

My knees nearly gave way. I wanted to vanish, melt into the floor.

We stopped at the entrance to my classroom. My mind raced, words stuck in my throat.

"I... I... should go in now," I stammered, voice barely audible.

Alric bent slightly, brushing his lips against my cheek in a quick, almost casual peck. My stomach flipped, a surge of heat and somewhat jelly feeling over me.

By four, he had whispered it-"At the stadium"-and then left like it was nothing.

The rest of the day dragged on. In class, every single eye was pinned on me. Not the teacher. Not the board. Just me. I kept my gaze down, glued to the corner seat by the window. My only hiding spot.

It felt like everyone studied me harder than the subject. Each whisper, each stare, burned more than any chalk line across the board.

Finally, the bell. My chest loosened. I packed up fast, ready to bolt for my shift at the supermarket.

But I didn't even make it out the door.

Lyra's friends. Blocking the way.

One shoved me against the wall, her nails biting into my dress. The fabric strained. Their perfume was suffocating.

"You bitch," one spat, face inches from mine. "The nerve you have to take a picture. Do you know Lyra's been crying all day because of you? When she's back-you're done. Graveyard done."

Another sneered, her hand sliding up like she wanted to leave a mark across my cheek.

"Argh, your existence is so fucking irritating."

The hand drew back. My breath hitched.

Then-

"Alric is coming!"

The words shot through the hallway like a gunshot. Their grips faltered instantly. My lungs filled again, but my knees nearly gave out. Because if Lyra was my nightmare... then Alric was something else entirely.

She let go of me so fast it was like I burned her, stumbling back before hitting the floor. I bent, snatched up my bag that had been shoved aside, clutching it tight.

"Hi, Alric," one of them chirped quickly, voice dripping fake sweetness. "Are you here to see Lyra? She's been looking for y-"

She didn't even get to finish.

Alric brushed her aside without a word, his broad frame cutting through them like they were air. His eyes landed on me, sharp, heavy, and my heartbeat slammed against my ribs.

"Let's go."

Two words. Low, commanding.

Before I could argue, his hand caught mine. Fingers strong, warm-intertwining like he'd done it a thousand times. The casual dominance of it made my skin prickle. His friends followed behind, tall and built, their presence alone radiating a pressure that made the hallway shrink. Every student nearby froze, eyes wide, not daring to breathe.

By the time I realized where we were heading, we were already there.

The school stadium. Packed. Every seat filled, everyone buzzing with pre-match energy.

And me? Pulled right to the front.

For the first time, I sat where the spotlight actually touched, not hiding in the back, not invisible. My chest tightened. This was a world I'd only ever watched from far away.

The whistle blew. The game started, and the crowd roared.

Ulric Hale, team captain of the rivals, skated like a predator circling prey. I wasn't blind-I saw the way his eyes cut toward Alric every time he moved. It wasn't just a game for him.

And then I noticed it. The flick of his wrist, the deliberate angle of his stick-not aiming for the puck, but for Alric's knee.

My breath hitched.

He was cheating. Over and over, subtle, but lethal if it landed.

But Alric... Alric was faster. Every time Ulric lunged dirty, Alric dodged clean, sliding past with a smirk that only seemed to enrage him more. It was like watching two wolves fight for dominance, the whole stadium feeding off the tension.

By halftime, sweat gleamed on Alric's temples. The players broke for a breather, benches filling. And that's when it happened.

Girls swarmed.

Cheerleaders, classmates-hands shoving water bottles, towels, anything just to get close.

I sat frozen, clutching the cheap plastic bottle I always carried, until Alric's gaze found me.

Cold. Intense. A look that burned straight through the crowd and pinned me to my seat.

My body reacted before my brain did. I stood, walked stiffly toward him, and held out my water. My hand trembled, but I kept it steady enough.

He didn't take it.

I stretched the bottle toward him, but in a split second his hand clamped around mine. My balance slipped-I fell against his chest, breath knocked out.

Before I could think, his cold lips crashed onto mine. He didn't stop, he grabbed my waist sucking on my lips.