Alpha Santa

Painted in Shame

Piper.

I gape at him, caught off guard by the arrogance lacing his words. “No,” I snap, recovering. “The CEO got me this dress. Who the hell is Santa anyway? I’ve never heard of such a name.”

His grin falters just a little, but he quickly recovers, his eyes dancing with amusement. “Santa,” he repeats, his tone dripping with mockery, “is an Alpha who can grant your every wish. But I suppose if you’d rather believe it was the CEO…”

My jaw drops. “Wait, are you saying…”

His eyes flick to my dress again, a knowing gleam in his gaze. “Exactly what you’re thinking.”

My head spins as I connect the dots. The CEO. The dress. Could he mean...?

“Are you saying the CEO—”

“Shh,” he interrupts, pressing a finger to his lips. “Let’s keep some things a mystery, hmm?”

I open my mouth to argue but snap it shut, my cheeks burning. His cocky smirk is infuriating, yet something about it is disarming. Before I can fire back, he leans in slightly, his voice dropping to a whisper.

"Enjoy the exhibition, Piper. May Santa grant your wish."

And with that, he turns on his heel and walks away, leaving me rooted to the spot, my mind a chaotic mess.

I glance back at the painting one last time, the golden eyes seeming to mock me now, and then a booming voice fills the room.

“Ladies and gentlemen, the exhibition is about to begin. Please take your seats.”

My seat number is printed on the small card they gave me earlier. It’s in the centre, of course, the perfect spot to draw everyone’s attention. I walk over, trying to keep my head high, but I can feel the weight of stares on me. Their laughter, their whispers—it’s like they can smell the insecurity I’m trying to bury.

The lights dim slightly, and the first painting is brought out. People immediately start calling out figures that make my jaw drop—$50,000, $75,000. Houses, cars, and my entire life savings are being tossed around like spare change. I sit there, clutching the hem of my dress, trying to look unaffected, but I feel so small surrounded by all this wealth.

Why would anyone spend so much on a stupid painting of wolves?

My thoughts drift to his words—Alpha Santa. What a joke. Even if he—or the CEO—could afford something like this, why would they bother? I’m no one to them. I should be grateful for the dress and move on.

I’m shaken from my thoughts when the black wolf painting is brought out. My breath catches. It’s even more stunning under the spotlight, the golden eyes glowing like fire.

The announcer starts the bidding at one dollar, and my heart leaps.

I fumble in my purse, pulling out the single ten-dollar bill I have, and raise my hand. “Ten dollars!”

The room bursts into laughter, and I feel my face flame as people snicker and whisper.

“Is that all she’s got?” someone mocks, their voice dripping with disdain.

Before the announcer can even finish, Amber’s voice rings out from behind me. “One hundred dollars.”

I whip my head around to see her standing there, her smirk smug, her eyes gleaming with malicious delight.

My hands clench into fists at my sides. I could let it go, let her have it, but when I glance back at the painting, it’s as if the wolf is staring into my soul, urging me to fight.

I bite my lip, hesitating for only a moment before I raise my hand again. “One thousand dollars,” I say firmly, surprising even myself.

The room erupts into laughter again, louder this time, but I keep my gaze fixed on the painting, ignoring the burn of embarrassment in my chest.

Amber doesn’t miss a beat. “Ten thousand dollars.”

My gasp is audible, and when I look back at her, she’s basking in the attention, clearly enjoying every second of this.

I sink back into my seat, defeated. There’s no way I can compete with that.

“Going once… going twice—”

“ONE HUNDRED THOUSAND DOLLARS!”

The deep, rough voice cuts through the room like a knife. Silence falls instantly, and every head turns to the source.

My breath catches when I see him. A tall man, dressed sharply in a sleek black suit, stands near the back. His face is strikingly handsome, though his aura isn’t as intense as Elijah’s or the director's.

Whispers ripple through the crowd, disbelief evident in their hushed tones.

One hundred thousand dollars. For a painting.

I glance back at the wolf, my chest tightening. I wanted it so badly, but now it’s slipping away.

And as the announcer declares the bid won, I let out a soft sigh, sinking deeper into my chair. So much for dreams and wishes. Alpha Santa, my ass.

The painting is carried off the stage, its golden eyes briefly catching the light before disappearing into the crowd. The auctioneer announces that the winning bidders will soon receive their paintings, and I can’t help the pang of envy that hits me. It’s stupid, really. Just a painting.

Still, I scan the room, trying to distract myself. The waiters glide effortlessly between the glittering guests, their trays laden with champagne flutes and hors d'oeuvres. My gaze sweeps across the opulent space, but Elijah is nowhere to be found.

Frowning, I glance toward the far corner of the room, and my heart stutters. Zoe. She’s standing there beautifully dressed, but unfortunately she’s not alone.

Zack is by her side, his head wrapped in a bandage, his face pale and drawn. He looks like he’s been through hell, and my stomach twists at the sight of him.

I lift a hand, waving tentatively at Zoe. She meets my eyes for a brief moment, then turns away, her arm slipping protectively around Zack’s waist.

The rejection stings more than I’d like to admit. I lower my hand slowly, my chest tight as I swallow back the lump forming in my throat.

Trying to shake off the hurt, I flag down a waiter and grab a glass of wine from his tray. I take a sip, the liquid burning its way down, and then—

“Well, well. Trouble in paradise?”

Amber’s voice is like nails on a chalkboard, sharp and grating. I don’t even have to turn to know she’s smirking, relishing every second of my discomfort.

I close my eyes briefly, exhaling through my nose before turning to face her. “Not now, Amber.”

She laughs, the sound sickly sweet and dripping with malice. “Oh, poor Piper. Thinking you could rub shoulders with us. You don’t belong here. Go back to whatever little hole you crawled out of.”

Her words cut deep, but I refuse to let her see it. I take another sip of wine, meeting her gaze evenly. “I said, I’m not in the mood.”

Amber’s smile widens, her perfectly glossed lips parting as she leans in closer, her voice dropping to a venomous whisper. “That dress can’t hide what you are. A charity case in designer scraps. You’re nothing but a leech. You think dressing up makes you one of us? "

My grip tightens on the wine glass, my knuckles whitening.

“I mean, really,” Amber continues, her voice rising slightly, loud enough for the people nearby to hear. “You’re a joke, Piper. A pathetic little gold digger who—”

The wine in my hand splashes across her face before I even realise what I’ve done.

Amber gasps, her hands flying up to her now-soaked hair and dress. The room goes silent, all eyes turning to us.

My heart pounds wildly, but I hold my ground, watching as Amber sputters in shock. “You—you—”

I don’t wait for her to finish. Without a word, I grab the hem of my dress, lift it slightly to avoid tripping, and stride out of the room. My heels click against the marble floor, each step a defiant beat against the judgemental stares I can feel boring into my back.

The air outside the ballroom is cool, and I breathe it in deeply, letting it fill my lungs. My hands are shaking, adrenaline coursing through me, but there’s a strange sense of satisfaction blooming in my chest.

Screw Amber. Screw them all. And most of all, screw that damn wolf painting.