Alpha Santa

The Art of Seduction

Piper's

Throughout the night, sleep evades me like a cruel joke. My bed is comfortable—too comfortable, actually. Yet every time I close my eyes, Elijah’s face is there. His smirk, the warmth of his lips on my cheek, the way he said, “Dream of me.” It’s like he’s haunting me, and I’m not even mad about it.

By 3 a.m., I give up. Grabbing my phone, I scroll mindlessly, and there it is—Adam’s name glowing on the screen. Missed calls. Messages. Voice notes. My stomach twists, but this time, it’s different.

I stare at his name, and without overthinking, my thumb hovers over the block button. The memory of Elijah’s kiss gives me the courage to press it. The second I do, I exhale loudly, like a weight has been lifted off my chest. For the first time in forever, I feel free. His voice notes and messages? Deleted without a second thought.

By morning, my body feels lighter, even if my mind still races. I stand in front of the sink, brushing my teeth, staring at my reflection in the mirror. The girl looking back at me seems… different. Is it the lack of sleep, or something else entirely?

A sudden knock at the door startles me, and I rinse my mouth quickly before heading to answer it.

I pull the door open, expecting Zoe, but instead, it’s a staff member—a woman dressed sharply in black and white, holding an envelope and a box. Her face is composed, but she looks slightly annoyed.

“Good morning, ma’am,” she says briskly. “I’m here to inform you that there will be an art exhibition this afternoon. All guests are expected to dress elegantly.” She hands me the invitation card before shoving the box toward me. “This is for you.”

I blink, confused. “For me? What’s in it?”

She sighs dramatically. “The box is heavy, ma’am. Just take it.”

“Oh, sorry!” I apologise, grabbing the box from her arms.

She nods curtly and turns to leave, leaving me standing in the doorway, utterly bewildered.

I close the door, set the box on my bed, and carefully open it. A gasp slips from my lips.

Inside lies the most stunning red dress I have ever seen. It’s silky, elegant, and practically dripping with luxury. My fingers skim over the fabric, marvelling at its softness. A dress like this isn’t just expensive—it’s impossible for someone like me.

For a moment, I panic. “Oh no,” I mutter, pacing the room. “Is this going to be added to my bill? There’s no way I can afford this.”

My rambling stops when I spot a folded piece of paper inside the box. With trembling fingers, I open it.

“Don’t worry about the cost. This dress is free, and it will not be added to your fee. Enjoy the evening. –The CEO”

My jaw drops. “The CEO? Why would the CEO give me this?”

I sit on the edge of the bed, staring at the dress and the note. “Does he do this for every woman?” I whisper to myself, a strange mix of confusion and excitement bubbling in my chest.

After a few moments of hesitation, I decide—why not? I’m not going to overthink it. I slip into the dress, letting it glide over my skin like water. The fit is perfect, hugging my body in all the right places without being too tight.

I stand in front of the mirror, breathless. The red fabric gleams, and I look… beautiful. For the first time in a long time, I actually feel beautiful.

I grab a tube of red lipstick, the bold colour matching the dress perfectly. My makeup is simple—just enough to enhance my features without overpowering them. When I’m done, I spin in front of the mirror, a giddy smile breaking out on my face.

The clock strikes noon, and just as I’m smoothing down the dress, there’s another knock at the door.

“It’s time,” a voice calls from the other side.

My stomach flips with nerves. Taking one last glance in the mirror, I wonder if Elijah will be here, even though he’s working as a waiter. A small part of me hopes he’ll at least notice me—see this version of me.

Another staff member appears, gesturing for me to follow. My heels click softly against the polished marble as I descend a grand staircase, my hands clutching the sides of my dress. The smooth, silky fabric between my fingers offers little comfort.

We come to a stop in front of a massive set of double doors. The staff member steps forward, pulling them open, and I take a deep breath before stepping inside.

The room is stunning—bright with the glow of Christmas lights strung delicately around the walls. Paintings hang in perfect symmetry, each more captivating than the last. The guests, dressed in gowns and tuxedos that scream wealth and privilege, are scattered throughout, champagne glasses in hand as they chat in small groups.

But the moment I enter, the energy shifts.

The low murmur of conversation falters, and the room goes silent.

I stop in my tracks, my heart pounding in my chest. All eyes turn toward me, and the weight of their gazes presses down hard. I feel my cheeks flush under the sudden attention, but I force myself to keep my head high and my shoulders back.

The men don’t bother to hide their appreciation. Some whistle softly, their eyes sweeping over my dress. One man raises his glass in my direction, a crooked grin on his face.

The women, however, aren’t as kind. Their gazes sharpen, lips pressing into tight lines. One woman actually rolls her eyes, and another whispers something to her friend, who snickers behind her hand.

And then there’s Amber.

She’s standing near the corner, her manicured fingers wrapped possessively around her man's arm. Her blonde hair is styled perfectly, cascading over one shoulder, and her emerald-green dress clings to her frame like it was painted on. But her glare is icy, her scowl so deep I’m surprised her face doesn’t crack.

I hold her gaze for a moment, a small smile tugging at my lips despite the tension. I wonder fleetingly if she might look less menacing—and even more beautiful—if she smiled. But judging by the way her grip tightens on her date’s arm, she’s not in the mood for pleasantries.

Deciding not to engage, I tear my gaze away from Amber and scan the room, my eyes darting unconsciously from face to face.

I’m looking for him.

I don’t even realise it at first, but my chest tightens with disappointment when I don’t spot Elijah among the crowd. My shoulders sag slightly as my gaze sweeps the room one last time.

And then I see it.

A painting near the far wall catches my eye, and everything else fades into the background.

The wolf.

It’s massive, taking up nearly half the wall, and its golden eyes seem to pierce through the canvas, glowing with an intensity that feels almost… alive. The black fur is painted with such intricate detail that I can almost feel its softness just by looking at it.

Without thinking, I move toward it, weaving through the clusters of people like I’m being pulled by an invisible force. My breathing slows as I stand before the painting, my eyes locked on the wolf.

It feels like it’s staring at me. Not in a menacing way, but with a kind of knowing.

I can’t explain it, but the longer I look at it, the more I feel… seen.

My fingers itch to reach out, to touch it, even though I know I can’t. “It’s incredible,” I whisper under my breath, so low I’m not sure anyone can hear me.

A strange longing stirs in my chest, and for a moment, I imagine what it would be like to have this painting in my room. How it would make the walls feel less empty, how it would fill the space with this unexplainable presence.

I’ve never cared much for art before, but this? This is different.

Someone steps up beside me, their movement breaking my trance. I blink and take a step back, suddenly self-conscious. I glance around the room again, hoping—just maybe—that Elijah might have slipped in while I wasn’t looking.

But he’s not here.

And yet, standing in front of this painting, I don’t feel alone.

My fingers hover a breath away from the canvas, the pull toward it almost undeniable. The golden eyes seem to draw me in, like they’re trying to whisper secrets only I can hear. I don’t even care if it’s inappropriate to touch it. I just need to feel it.

“Do you like it that much?”

His voice startles me. Low, smooth, and far too close.

I freeze, my breath catching as my heart skips. His words send a ripple of warmth down my spine, and it takes everything in me not to whirl around instantly. I nod, my fingers curling into my palm as I let them fall back to my side.

“I do,” I say softly, my eyes still glued to the painting. “I wish it were mine.”

There’s a pause, and I hear him take a step closer. I swear I can feel the warmth of his breath at the back of my neck. A tingle shoots down my skin, and my body stiffens, caught somewhere between excitement and nerves.

“Well,” he murmurs teasingly, “if you want it so badly, you should tell Santa.”

I blink, furrowing my brows. “Santa?” I repeat, more to myself than to him. Slowly, I turn around.

The moment I meet his eyes, the world seems to stop.

He’s standing just a step away, his hands casually tucked into the pockets of his black slacks, the crisp white shirt he’s wearing open at the collar. The waiter’s vest doesn’t diminish his beauty; if anything, it makes him seem even more captivating, like he doesn’t belong in such a mundane uniform.

His striking blue eyes lock onto mine, a playful glint shining in them, and I forget how to breathe. They seem to glow, impossibly bright, and for a moment, I wonder if they’re real. His dark hair is tousled in a way that feels effortless, but it only adds to his charm. He’s undeniably handsome—no, breathtaking—and the way he’s looking at me is doing absolutely nothing to steady my racing heart.

He tilts his head slightly, the faintest smirk playing on his lips. “What’s the matter? Cat got your tongue?”

I force myself to shake my head, heat creeping up my cheeks. “No, I just…” I stammer, suddenly forgetting how words work. “What do you mean, ask Santa? Who is Santa?”

He chuckles, the sound deep “Santa,” he says, his grin widening, “is an Alpha who can get you anything you want. You know… just like this dress you’re wearing.”