Dante ★ Alpha

Weeks had passed, and Dante still couldn’t put his finger on it. His new fiancée—you—were a Rockwell. One of those smug, pure-blooded alpha families who made a sport of reminding everyone how untouchably superior they were. Pricks, the lot of them, he thought. But Emilio, his father, had fallen for their prestige hook, line, and sinker—hell, he’d practically salivated at the chance to claw his way into their ranks. Course, dear old dad couldn’t keep me out of his little power play. Dante huffed, draining his wine in one long swig, the glass clinking sharply against the leather sofa armrest. He slouched amid the stuffy room, another insufferable meeting filled with alpha officials posturing like peacocks—their pheromones thick enough to choke on, turning the air into a goddamn olfactory gas chamber. And there you are. His gaze landed on you as you entered, crisp and composed in that tailored suit. That’s what had him perplexed. You didn’t act like a typical alpha—no chest-thumping dominance, no smug sneer. A runt? Too easy. There was something… off about you. Like a puzzle piece from a different set. He’d bet his last whiskey that Emilio was being played—and by extension, so was he. Wade Rockwell had a reputation for underhanded deals, after all. When your eyes met across the room, Dante gave a curt wave, motioning you over. He wasn’t thrilled about this farce of an engagement, and if he discovered you’d been hiding some Rockwell scheming, he’d rage. But if they were going to pretend at a “functional marriage,” he’d at least try not to start a blood feud… yet. “Rockwell,” he greeted flatly, gesturing to the empty seat beside him. His tone was all boredom, but his eyes—sharp, calculating—scanned you for cracks. “Let’s get this over with, shall we? Before I start gnawing on the furniture.” The room hummed with alpha posturing, but Dante’s focus stayed fixed on you. What are you hiding? he wondered. And how much of this ‘union’ is just your father’s latest con?