Fated to my Saviour Alpha

The hallway outside Luke's apartment smelled faintly of lavender from the air freshener plugged into the wall. Sophie's fingers tightened around the bouquet of daisies she'd picked up on her way over. Their cheerful yellow centers seemed to mock the gnawing unease in her stomach.

"Don't be paranoid," she muttered under her breath, shaking her head as if she could dislodge the thought. She smoothed down her sundress, took a steadying breath, and pushed open the door.

Laughter spilled out—a woman's laugh, high and unfamiliar. Sophie froze, her fingers tightening against the doorframe.

The living room was dimly lit, but enough sunlight seeped through the blinds to highlight the crumpled pile of clothing on the floor: a leather jacket she didn't recognize, Luke's favorite hoodie, and something lacy and red.

Sophie's heart plummeted, a sick weight settling in her chest. She stepped forward, the daisies trembling in her hand. She didn't want to see. But she had to.

The bedroom door was slightly ajar. Inside, the sheets tangled around two bodies, their silhouettes stark against the morning light.

"Luke," Sophie said, her voice cutting through the quiet like a knife.

The figures jolted apart. Luke scrambled to sit up, his face pale as he looked at her.

"Sophie," he stammered, reaching for the sheets to cover himself. "I can explain—"

"Explain?" she echoed, her voice low and dangerous. "Explain what, exactly?"

The woman—a petite blonde with tousled hair—grabbed a shirt from the floor and slipped past Sophie without meeting her eyes.

"Don't you dare leave," Sophie snapped at her, but the woman was already out the door. The sound of her heels clicking against the linoleum was the only answer.

Luke stood, fumbling with his pants. "It's not what it looks like," he said.

Sophie let out a bitter laugh, one that felt like it was scraping against her ribs. She threw the bouquet at him, the daisies scattering across the floor.

"Not what it looks like?" she repeated, her voice rising. "You're unbelievable."

"Then what is it like, Luke?" Sophie's voice cracked as anger overtook her.

When he reached for her, Sophie stepped back, her hand brushing against the dresser. Her fingers curled around the first thing they touched—a car key. She glanced down and recognized it as Luke's spare.

"Don't bother," she said, slipping it into her pocket. Her gaze swept over the room, over his discarded clothes, and an idea struck her.

Luke's protests faded into the background as Sophie moved with purpose. She scooped up his jeans and jacket, the leather soft under her grip. Next, she grabbed the woman's scarf, her lips curling into a vindictive smile.

"What are you doing?" Luke asked, his voice tinged with panic.

Sophie didn't answer. Her pulse thundered in her ears as she stormed out, her arms full of their clothing.

Luke stepped toward her, his hands raised as if to calm her. "I messed up, okay? I—"

"Don't," she interrupted, holding up a hand. Her chest felt tight, like she couldn't breathe. "Just... don't."

She turned and walked out, slamming the door behind her.

"Breathe, Sophie," she muttered to herself, but the words felt hollow.

Sliding into the driver's seat, she gripped the steering wheel until her knuckles turned white. She could still see Luke's face in her mind, the guilt etched into his features. It made her stomach churn.

Her phone buzzed on the dashboard. Luke's name lit up the screen. She swiped the call away, her jaw tightening.

"You don't get to explain," she whispered.

The engine roared to life as she twisted the key in the ignition. The tires screeched as she pulled out of the parking lot, her foot pressing harder on the gas than it should. The world outside blurred, her vision tunneling as she drove aimlessly through the city.

Her mind was a whirlwind of anger and heartbreak. Every memory with Luke—the late-night talks, the promises, the way he'd looked at her like she was his whole world—felt like shards of glass slicing into her.

She didn't see the turn until it was too late.

The car swerved, the tires screeching in protest. Sophie's hands jerked the wheel, but the momentum carried her forward. The impact was deafening—a metallic crunch that reverberated through her skull.

Sophie stumbled out of the car, her knees wobbling. The front of her sedan was crumpled like a soda can, smoke curling up from the hood.

"Fantastic," she muttered, brushing a strand of hair from her face. Her hands were shaking, her pulse racing in her ears.

A low growl pulled her attention to the other car. It was a sleek black SUV, its front bumper crushed against the curb. The driver's door opened, and a man stepped out.

Sophie's breath hitched.

He was tall—easily over six feet—with broad shoulders and a sharp jawline that could have been carved from stone. His dark hair was tousled, and his piercing gray eyes locked onto her with an intensity that made her stomach flip.

"What the hell were you thinking?" he demanded, his voice low and dangerous.

Sophie bristled, the adrenaline in her veins fueling her defiance. "It was an accident," she snapped. "No one was hurt."

The man stalked toward her, his movements deliberate and predatory.

"An accident?" he repeated, his tone mocking. "You destroyed my car."

Sophie crossed her arms, refusing to back down. "I'll pay for the damages."

The corner of his mouth twitched into a smirk, but there was no humor in it. "You couldn't afford to."

Heat rose to Sophie's cheeks. "Look, I don't know who you think you are, but—"

"Darius Vance," he interrupted, his name rolling off his tongue like a challenge.

Sophie's heart skipped a beat. There was something about the way he said it—something that made her feel like she should already know who he was.

"Well, Darius Vance," she said, lifting her chin, "maybe you should watch where you park."

His smirk vanished, replaced by a look so cold it made the hair on the back of her neck stand up.

"Careful, little girl," he said, his voice low. "You don't know who you're dealing with."

Sophie opened her mouth to retort, but the words caught in her throat. A strange sensation washed over her, like static electricity prickling along her skin.

Darius froze, his eyes narrowing as he studied her.

"You've got to be kidding me," he muttered under his breath.

"What?" Sophie asked, her voice sharper than she intended.

Darius didn't answer. Instead, he took another step closer, his gaze locked onto hers. Sophie felt the air shift between them, a pull that was magnetic and undeniable.

Her breath hitched as she stared up at him, her pulse racing. There was something about him—something dangerous and captivating all at once.

"You feel it, don't you?" he asked, his voice soft but edged with something dark.

Sophie blinked, shaking her head as if to clear it. "I don't know what you're talking about."

Darius's lips curled into a knowing smile, but his eyes remained cold. "You will."