Once Rejected, Now Desired by Three Alpha’s

Chapter 2

Peach's POV

I gazed at my phone, utterly dumbfounded; the surreal news seemed more like a vivid dream than reality.

"Let me confirm," I whispered, pinching my cheek. The twinge of pain convinced me that I wasn’t dreaming. Becoming a renowned fashion designer, a dream I've cherished, appeared to be materializing. The excitement bubbled within me, yet uncertainty lingered about how to cross this newfound opportunity. My parents, unaware of my aspirations, only knew of my fervor for design, which I meticulously cultivated in the solitude of my room.

"I should inform Father; he'd be thrilled for me," I mumbled, heading towards the doorknob. However, a sudden pause seized me, and I reconsidered. It seemed prudent to keep this revelation to myself until after the impending interview. Sleep proved elusive with butterflies fluttering in my stomach, but eventually, I succumbed to exhaustion.

The next morning, anticipation woke me prematurely. Excitement pulsed through me, overshadowing the need for a plausible excuse to leave the house, especially convincing my mother.

"You're up early today," my dad greeted with a smile, detecting my enthusiasm. "We still have three hours before class," he added, a hint of confusion in his tone.

"Well, Dad…"

"Where are you going?" My mother interjected with a chilly tone. "Why are you dressed as if you're heading for an interview?" Her words startled me, but I quickly composed myself.

"It's not an interview," I nervously explained, sensing their curiosity. "I just wanted to showcase my new design to the world," I added, forcing a hesitant smile.

"Do you think we're foolish enough to believe that? You're our daughter, and I can tell when you're lying," my mom retorted, annoyance lacing her words. "Now, tell me where you're really going," she demanded sternly.

Caught in a web of lies, I struggled to concoct an escape plan without divulging the truth.

"The truth is... After Dad informed me about being betrothed to the prince, I decided to leave the house after two years to familiarize myself with everyone," I blurted out, hoping she would buy into my hastily fabricated excuse.

"Why are you carrying a bag, then?" She inquired, noticing the bag in my possession.

"You know how much I love to draw and design; the bag is filled with my drawing pad," I replied, a hint of nervousness evident in my voice.

"You..."

"I think you should let her be," my dad interjected, interrupting her. "This is a good thing; our daughter is finally leaving the house," he added with a smile. I felt relieved that my dad supported my decision.

"I suppose you are right. You can leave the house, but be back in an hour," my mom sternly stated.

"I'll be back soon!" I exclaimed, rushing out of the house with overwhelming excitement.

Hours later, I stood in front of the school building, my eyes widening with anticipation. The school surpassed my expectations, and the reality of attending it thrilled me. Taking a deep breath, I proceeded to enter.

As I walked, clutching my bag, I felt a sudden sense of smallness. However, this time, no judgmental stares followed me. The absence of scrutiny made me more comfortable, boosting my confidence.

Guided by the map on my phone, I eventually reached the office. Softly knocking on the door, I was beckoned inside by a woman in her late forties, slender and elegant with a pair of glasses.

"Good day, ma!" I greeted with a smile.

"Can I help you?" she coldly stated, catching me off guard.

"I was told to come here for the interview," I said nervously. She stared at me with confusion before turning her attention to her computer.

"Miss Peach O'Riley," she called out my name.

"Yes, ma'am! That's me," I replied, maintaining a hopeful smile.

"I am sorry, but I think there is a mix-up. You aren't precisely what we are looking for in our school," she said, shattering my heart. The smile on my face faded instantly.

"What have I done wrong, ma'am?" I asked, trying to suppress my confusion and the urge to cry.

"It's our fault for not knowing how you physically look. You did see the students on your way here; you aren't what we are looking for," she added with a cold tone, leaving me devastated.

"You mean I won't be accepted here because of my body type?" I questioned, biting my lips to hold back tears.

"You're smart for a fat person," she remarked with an amused tone. "We don't accept people like you; you don't meet our standards. Do yourself a favor and take care of your health. You're a little young to have diabetes," she added callously, and tears welled up, unable to be restrained.

"Thanks for the advice," I replied with a forced smile, turning to leave her office. Outside, I let the tears flow. Rejection once again, it tore at old wounds I had desperately tried to forget. The feeling of being unwanted engulfed me; a weight that seemed insurmountable.

I couldn't face going home in this condition; it would worry my parents. Seeking solace, I decided to visit a place where adults often sought refuge when burdened by sadness. I would turn eighteen soon. As I walked, I spotted a bar and made my way inside, pushing the door open to find a middle-aged man staring at me.

"Miss, it's quite early for you to be here,"

the bartender remarked as he meticulously cleaned the cups. The unfamiliar atmosphere of the place heightened my sense of unease—it was my first time in such a setting.

"Can I get a glass of whiskey?" I politely requested, surprised by the unexpected choice that escaped my lips.

"Where is your ID card?" he inquired with a suspicious tone. Panic set in; revealing my ID would expose my underage status, likely resulting in being turned away.

"I forgot to bring my ID, but you should know I'm a full adult. I mean, look at my body size," I tried to manipulate him, exploiting my insecurity about my appearance.

"I guess I can give you a glass, but we aren't open yet," he responded calmly. Grateful for his understanding, I mustered a smile.

"It's been a rough day for me. Please let me stay here. I really have nowhere else to go," I said with a hint of sadness, hoping to evoke sympathy for my current predicament.

"I guess one customer won't hurt. You can stay," he agreed, and a relieved smile crept onto my lips. The glass of whiskey was handed to me; taking a sip, I grimaced at the unfamiliar taste but resolved to drink it all.

"I'd like to take a little nap," I said with a raspy tone, my voice affected by the alcohol's impact. Unsure why my voice sounded this way, I decided to rest my head on the table for a while, a serene smile playing on my lips.

The pulsating sound of music reverberated in my ears, and confusion enveloped me upon waking. A glance towards the bartender jogged my memory—I had come here on my own.

"Are you okay, miss?" he inquired with genuine concern. Turning my gaze towards him, I recalled the situation. "Should I call a cab to take you home?" he suggested.

"You don't need to worry about me; I'm fine!" I declared loudly over the din, strangely unperturbed by the cacophony around me. "I need another glass," I requested with a contented smile, determined to savor the experience this time.

"You're finally awake," a voice spoke from behind. Turning, I saw a tall man with a chiseled chest and a sharp jawline – undeniably handsome. Confusion gripped me; something felt off.

"Who are you, and what do you want from me?" I questioned with a cold tone.

"I see you're a feisty one," he remarked, amused. "Can I sit with you?" he asked politely.

"You can't sit with me, and I'm fine on my own," I replied, maintaining my frosty demeanor.

"No need to yell; I'm right beside you and can hear you clearly," he said, adding an amused tone. I felt a tinge of embarrassment, realizing I had unknowingly raised my voice. "I'll sit down beside you anyway," he declared with a smirk before I could object. As I fumbled through my bag, my phone vibrated, revealing a call from my father. Checking the time, panic set in – I was running late, and facing my parents would mean punishment.

"I'm so dead," I muttered under my breath.

"Is anything the matter?" the stranger inquired, but I didn't respond. "I don't think you should go home for now," he suggested.

"I think you should mind your business and leave me alone," I retorted, attempting to stand but staggered. Fortunately, he caught me in time. "You don't need to help me," I insisted as I composed myself.

"A thank you would be nice," he remarked with a hint of sadness in his tone. Realizing my coldness, I softened. "I'm sorry; I'm just a little stressed out, that's all," I admitted in a hushed tone.

"I figured you're troubled about something, but you can tell me; I'll listen," he offered with a genuine smile. Opening up, I shared my rejection and the struggles I was facing, finding comfort in his apparent interest.

"That's it about me," I concluded with a faint smile.

"I'll tell you that you're beautiful just the way you are, and you shouldn't listen to what others say," he assured, causing my eyes to widen. Besides my father, he was the second person to ever call me beautiful, creating a strange, newfound feeling. As I gazed into his eyes, the alcohol coursing through my body intensified the urge to kiss. "I'll take the bold step," he declared, pressing his lips against mine. Shocked, I closed my eyes, savoring the unexpected moment of my first kiss.