One Week to Destroy My Alpha

I jolted awake in my own bed, silk sheets tangled around my legs, morning sunlight streaming through familiar gauze curtains. The scent of jasmine from my bedside table filled my nostrils—everything exactly as it had been.

Except I should be dead.

My hands flew to my throat, then my chest, searching for wounds that weren't there. My heart hammered against my ribs as fragments of memory crashed over me like a tidal wave. The rooftop. The push. The sickening fall through darkness. The taste of my own blood on the concrete.

The Blood Moon. That voice.

"No," I whispered, my voice hoarse with disbelief. "This can't be real."

But the calendar on my nightstand read exactly one week before my engagement party. One week before everything had begun to unravel in my previous life. The same cream-colored invitation sat propped against my jewelry box, elegant script announcing the celebration of my upcoming marriage to Alpha Damien Blackwood.

A marriage that would end with my murder.

Footsteps echoed in the hallway outside my bedroom, and my entire body went rigid. I knew that confident stride, the deliberate weight of each step designed to announce his presence and dominance.

"Good morning, beautiful," Damien's voice carried through the door before it opened. He entered carrying a silver tray laden with my favorite breakfast—fresh berries, yogurt with honey, and that expensive imported tea he always claimed to order specially for me.

The same breakfast. The same timing. Everything exactly as I remembered.

He set the tray on my bedside table and leaned down to kiss my forehead, his lips warm and familiar against my skin. In my previous life, this gesture had made my heart flutter with happiness. Now it made my stomach churn with revulsion.

"You look pale, sweetheart," he murmured, his dark eyes studying my face with what I'd once mistaken for concern. Now I could see the calculation behind his gaze, the way he catalogued every expression for future use. "Are you feeling alright?"

"I'm fine," I managed, forcing my voice to remain steady. "Just tired."

His thumb traced along my cheekbone, and I had to fight every instinct not to recoil from his touch. "My poor omega. The engagement preparations have been stressful, haven't they? Don't worry—after we're married, you can rest all you want."

The words were exactly the same. Every inflection, every pause, every practiced note of false tenderness. He'd said these exact words in my previous life, and I'd melted at his apparent devotion.

"I love you, Selene," he continued, his voice dropping to that intimate whisper that had once made me feel like the most cherished woman alive. "More than you could ever know."

Lies. All of it, poisonous lies wrapped in silk.

"I love you too," I replied automatically, the words tasting like ash in my mouth. But I kept my expression soft, vulnerable—the naive omega he expected to see.

He smiled, that devastating smile that had first captured my heart, and kissed me gently. "Eat your breakfast. I have some pack business to attend to, but I'll see you at the house later."

After he left, I stared at the untouched food until it grew cold. Every detail was perfect, down to the way he'd arranged the berries in a heart shape on top of the yogurt. The same romantic gesture that had once made me feel so loved now seemed like mockery.

I was really back. Somehow, impossibly, I'd been given a second chance.

And this time, I would not be the victim.

The pack house buzzed with its usual morning energy when I arrived an hour later. Wolves moved through the grand foyer and common areas, their conversations creating a familiar hum of pack life. But now I heard the undertones I'd missed before—the whispered doubts, the subtle challenges to my worthiness.

"Selene!" Isabelle's voice rang out across the main hall, bright and welcoming to anyone who didn't know better. She glided toward me in a flowing sundress that perfectly complemented her golden hair, her smile radiant and false.

In my previous life, I'd been so grateful for her friendship, so desperate to be accepted by the pack's social elite that I'd ignored every red flag. Now I could see the venom behind her beauty, the calculating gleam in her amber eyes.

"You look lovely today," she continued, reaching out to touch my arm in a gesture that appeared affectionate but felt possessive. "Though perhaps a little pale? Are you taking care of yourself, darling?"

The concern in her voice was perfectly pitched—just worried enough to seem caring, just pointed enough to plant seeds of doubt in nearby listeners. I watched three pack members glance over at us, their expressions shifting from polite interest to subtle scrutiny.

"I'm perfectly fine," I replied, matching her bright tone. "Just excited about the engagement party."

"Of course you are." Her laugh tinkled like breaking glass. "Though I do hope you're not pushing yourself too hard with the preparations. Some wolves handle stress better than others, and we wouldn't want you to... overwhelm yourself."

The implication hung in the air like smoke. Weak omega. Can't handle the pressure. Not Luna material.

"Luna Isabelle has a point," murmured Sarah Chen, one of the pack's prominent Betas. "The Luna position requires tremendous strength and composure. Perhaps some additional preparation would be wise?"

I felt their eyes on me, waiting for me to crumble under the subtle attack as I had before. Instead, I smiled serenely.

"How thoughtful of you both to be concerned. Damien tells me constantly how proud he is of my strength. He says I'm exactly what the pack needs."

It wasn't true—he'd never said anything of the sort—but they couldn't contradict me without questioning their Alpha directly. I watched Isabelle's smile tighten almost imperceptibly, a crack in her perfect facade.

The morning progressed exactly as I remembered, each interaction a painful echo of my previous life. But this time, I observed everything with new eyes. The way pack members deferred to Isabelle despite her Beta status. The meaningful glances exchanged when they thought I wasn't looking. The careful orchestration of my social isolation.

By noon, I needed air. The hospital visit for my routine check-up provided the perfect excuse to escape the suffocating atmosphere of manufactured concern and veiled hostility.

Dr. Kaelen Vance was exactly as I remembered him—tall and lean with dark hair and the kind of quiet presence that made you feel instantly calmer. But this time, when our eyes met, I saw something that made my breath catch.

Recognition.

Not the polite recognition of a pack member meeting another for the first time, but something deeper. Something that suggested he remembered me from a timeline that should no longer exist.

"Ms. Blackwood-to-be," he said softly, his voice carrying a warmth that seemed genuine. "How are you feeling today?"

"Fine," I replied automatically, then found myself adding, "Though I've been having strange dreams lately."

His hands stilled on the ultrasound equipment, and for a moment, the only sound in the room was the quiet hum of medical machines.

"Dreams can be... significant," he said carefully. "Especially for our kind. Sometimes they show us things we need to see."

Our eyes met again, and I saw something in his gaze that made my heart skip—not with fear, but with hope. He knew. Somehow, impossibly, he knew.

The appointment proceeded normally, but I felt his attention like a warm blanket, protective and genuine in a way I hadn't experienced since... well, since never. When I left the hospital, stepping into the afternoon sunlight, I felt something I hadn't felt in either lifetime.

I felt less alone.

That's when I stumbled on the hospital steps, my heel catching on an uneven stone. Pain shot through my ankle as I went down, my palms scraping against the concrete.

"Careful there."

Strong hands helped me up, and I found myself looking into Dr. Vance's concerned face. He must have followed me out.

"Let me take a look at that," he said, guiding me to a nearby bench. His touch was gentle as he examined my scraped palms and twisted ankle, his fingers warm and steady.

The scent of rosemary and cedar surrounded me—his natural scent, I realized. Clean and earthy and somehow comforting in a way that made no sense.

"Nothing serious," he murmured, cleaning the scrapes with practiced efficiency. "But you should be more careful. The world can be dangerous for those who aren't watching where they're going."

His words carried weight beyond their surface meaning, and when he looked at me, I saw understanding in his dark eyes.

"Thank you," I whispered, meaning more than just the medical attention.

He nodded, his hand lingering on mine for just a moment longer than necessary. "Take care of yourself, Selene. And remember—sometimes the people who seem like enemies might be the only ones willing to help when it matters."

As I walked away, his words echoed in my mind. For the first time since waking up in this impossible second chance, I felt something other than rage and determination.

I felt hope.