Married to the Alpha

Chapter One: Deal

|Maria|

“Maria,” my mom's voice echoed as I stepped into our kitchen, a relic from the eighteenth century. The uneven walls, painted a tired off-white, bore the weight of time. Market baskets hung from the wooden beams, while mismatched cabinets and open shelves lined the room. The terracotta brick flooring added to the rustic charm.

Mom, in her late fifties, stood by our old chestnut wood table and chairs. She wore her favorite old purple jacket over a white shirt, a plain skirt that brushed her knees, and a pair of worn black boots. Her expressive midnight blue eyes caught the stark white light from the low ceiling, adding an almost eerie glow to her features. Her disheveled brunette hair, streaked with a bit of dirt on the left side of her jaw, hinted that she had been busy with her usual tasks in the kitchen.

"Take this to your Aunt Helen, will you?" she commanded as I halted in front of her. She reached for something on the table, revealing a white envelope and a delicate white handkerchief. My brow furrowed, especially as she passed them to me.

"What's this for?" I demanded, scrutinizing the items in my hands. The familiar rose emblem stitched into the corner of the handkerchief caught my eye, deepening my confusion. I glanced back at my mother, searching for answers. She locked eyes with me for a heartbeat before swallowing hard and looking away. In the shadowy light, I noticed her hand trembling slightly.

"No questions. Just take them to your Aunt Helen," she dismissed my inquiry, her voice firm but strained. "She knows what they mean," she added, her final words barely more than a whisper.

My eyes were fixed on her, noting every subtle movement she made. She turned away, avoiding my gaze entirely. I sighed, glancing down at the white envelope she had handed me. I turned it over and noticed the seal: a rose emblem identical to the one on the handkerchief. The rose was encircled by thorny vines with a double-edged sword behind it. I had seen this crest many times over the past month, spending time with my mother. It belonged to an old, wealthy family in our town.

I looked back at my mother and caught her watching me, but she quickly looked away when our eyes met, pretending I hadn't noticed her stolen glances. One thing I knew for sure about my mother was her tendency to borrow money from our neighbors, especially from Aunt Helen. She managed all our household expenses—food, school supplies, everything. Though we were always strapped for cash, she found ways to keep us afloat. How she repaid her debts remained a mystery to me.

After lingering in the kitchen for a few minutes, I decided it was time to move on. I headed to my room, intent on finding a jacket to shield me from the biting cold outside. The oak floor groaned under my weight as I entered. Flicking on the light, I scanned my room. Everything was in its place—my small bed, my tidy desk. With a shrug, I grabbed the brown knee-length jacket hanging behind the wooden door and slipped it on. Jogging out, I shut the door behind me and made my way out of the house.

Our farmhouse-styled home wasn’t as grand or modern as others, but it was just right for us. Nestled near the edge of the forest, it was the last house you’d encounter before reaching the next town. I walked a few more yards to leave the property, quickly shutting the waist-high fence gate behind me. With that, I began my journey, trudging along the corner of the muddy road, where the sparse grass struggled to revive after the harsh winter.

As the sun began its descent, it sought refuge behind a distant mountain, casting long shadows from the towering trees that lined my path. The dense canopy above shrouded the trail in a deepening gloom, devoid of any lampposts or flickers of light. Yet, the encroaching darkness didn't intimidate me; I felt a peculiar calm walking alone.

My destination was the old mansion where Aunt Helen worked. She wasn't just a family friend; she was practically kin, our steadfast pillar whenever we faced financial strain. Her position under the town's ancient, wealthy family made her indispensable, yet I knew little about her employers.

Curiosity had gnawed at me since I learned that the old English mansion was still inhabited. Whenever I probed my mother about its mysterious occupants, her answers were always vague. The only hint she ever dropped was the name "Lancaster," a whisper that carried with it an air of old secrets and lingering legacies.

I’ve never been one to pry, but that family has always shrouded itself in an enigmatic fog that piques my curiosity. Just last month, I returned to Red Brooke from the sprawling metropolis, having completed my studies. Our sleepy town has little to offer—a place without a university or even a community college, which is why I ventured out. My parents, supportive yet not wealthy, encouraged my pursuit of higher education at a public institution. Thus, it puzzled me when I found myself enrolled in a private university, the hefty fees mysteriously covered. It was only later that I discovered Aunt Helen’s generous hand in my education. Now, armed with a Psychology degree yet still awaiting my license, I find myself back home.

The path to the Lancaster mansion remains etched in my memory, perhaps because my mother frequently dragged me along on her visits to see Aunt Helen. As I approached the towering gates, illuminated by lamps hanging from each lofty column, Aunt Helen’s warm smile flickered in my mind. There, beneath the canopy of night, the mansion loomed—silent, grand, and steeped in secrets that seemed to whisper through the shadows.

For nearly half a decade, I believed the mansion to be lifeless, its gates shielding a world long forgotten. Each time I found myself near those foreboding barriers, I glimpsed the grand estate at the heart of the grounds, seemingly devoid of any living soul. The mansion appeared abandoned, frozen in time, its doors and windows perpetually shut, even at the height of day.

"Haunted" was the only word that seemed to fit its eerie presence. Its walls, now draped in creeping vines, bore the scars of neglect, their paint faded and peeling with age. The very sight of it whispered tales of desolation and decay.

Yet, the notion of the mansion being haunted dissolved the moment I learned that Aunt Helen was employed there. The idea of spectral inhabitants was replaced by a simpler truth: perhaps the original owners had departed, entrusting Aunt Helen with the care of their forsaken home.

The family crest loomed in the distance, a beacon of ancient power, becoming strikingly clear as I stood before the towering gates of the mansion. The crest, gilded in gold, stood in stark contrast to the black iron gate. Wrought iron roses, twisting vines, and crossed swords were meticulously crafted, split into two halves etched onto each gate door. Above, the name "Lancaster" arched in cold steel.

I knew the storied past of this old family, once rulers of the entire town. After the war, their vast lands were parceled out to those who had suffered most, a gesture of reluctant generosity.

A screech of metal tore through my thoughts as the gate creaked open of its own accord. Beyond lay a paved, well-lit pathway, inviting yet unsettling. A chill ran down my spine as I stepped forward, a growing unease gnawing at me.

The gate was always unguarded, a testament to the Lancasters' ironclad confidence. In our town, no one dared to trespass on their domain.

The mansion loomed ahead, perched on its elevated ground like a proud king surveying his domain. Behind it, the forest sprawled, casting an eerie backdrop that made the mansion appear even more out of place. The exterior lights illuminated the grand structure, revealing its ancient, almost historical aura.

Suddenly, a chill crept down my spine. I felt eyes on me, watching intently. I scanned my surroundings, seeking any sign of movement, but found nothing. Only the persistent chirping of crickets reached my ears.

Panic surged, and I sprinted towards the mansion. My shadow flickered and danced in the light of each lamp I passed. Midway, I froze. There, on the second-floor balcony, stood a figure. I blinked, trying to clear my vision, but with the next blink, the figure vanished!

My heart pounded wildly. What had I just witnessed? Fear wrapped around my chest, tightening with every heartbeat. I desperately recited the alphabet backwards, seeking some semblance of calm. Finally, I exhaled deeply, convincing myself it was just a trick of the light, shadows cast by the pine trees, or perhaps an animal climbing the balcony.

Yet, a part of me couldn’t shake the unsettling feeling that something more sinister lurked in the shadows of that ancient mansion.

As I approached the mansion, shadows lengthening under the moon's watchful eye, I spotted the elderly woman standing sentinel on the porch. Her hands were clasped, weathered yet sturdy, and a smile etched across her face as if she had anticipated my arrival down to the minute.

Stepping onto the brick path leading to the mansion's grand entrance, I beheld a scene transformed by twilight's embrace. The fountain, now a nocturnal centerpiece, whispered softly amidst the symphony of well-trimmed bushes and scattered statues adorned with flickering lamps. Under the moon's benevolent glow, the mansion gleamed anew, its renovated grandeur a testament to time's passage.

Aunt Helen greeted me warmly as I ascended the porch steps. "Welcome, Maria," she said, her smile a constant fixture on her kindly face.

"Good evening, Aunt Helen," I replied, eager to deliver the task my mother had given. “I am here to—”

Before I could finish, she pivoted gracefully and glided towards the mansion's imposing doors. With a strength belied by her age, she effortlessly pushed them open, revealing a world within that beckoned with mysteries and histories written in every shadow and gleam of light. My amusement at her vigor turned to awe as I glimpsed the mansion's resplendent interior.

"Come inside first, darling," Aunt Helen murmured, her voice a low, urgent whisper that echoed through the grand foyer. I shuffled toward her, eyes fixed on the cavernous darkness beyond the doorway. But just before I crossed the threshold, a surge of purpose jolted me.

Fumbling in my jacket, I withdrew the linen-wrapped bundle and the sealed envelope, presenting them to Aunt Helen. She hesitated, her gaze flickering over the items as if weighing their significance. Her brow knit in concern as she looked at me.

"Your mother insists on this?" Her words trembled with uncertainty.

I nodded solemnly. She exhaled a sigh, heavy with unspoken fears.

"I hope Marlene knows what she's doing," she murmured, almost to herself, as she accepted the handkerchief and the envelope.

With a shrug, I released the weight of responsibility that had weighed on me since I arrived. Now that I had fulfilled my mother's task, it was time to leave. My siblings must be wondering where I'd disappeared to by now.

"Sorry, Auntie, I really should head home—" I began, but she cut me off abruptly, her grip firm on my wrist.

“NO! You can’t leave!” Her eyes held an emotion I couldn't place—was it fear? Dread? Her fingers tightened around mine, and I hesitated, unsure.

"What do you mean?" I asked, attempting to free myself.

She released me suddenly, regaining her composure with a forced smile. "I mean, can't you stay a bit longer? How about dinner? I make a mean stew," she cajoled, the smile not quite reaching her eyes.

I studied her carefully. Her gaze faltered under my scrutiny, and I raised an eyebrow. "I'm sorry, Auntie, but I really must decline," I said, suspicion growing.

Her expression twisted with disappointment, and she looked back at me. "Just for tonight, Maria, please?" she pleaded, her tone desperate as she tried another smile, trying to lighten the mood with a weak joke.

I stood there, torn. Auntie had always been my family’s rock, especially during those college years. Maybe one meal wouldn't hurt, despite the eerie vibes surrounding her employer’s home. Yet, the thought of dining in a stranger's house without their knowledge gnawed at my conscience.

Aunt Helen waved her hands before me, eager for my decision, trying to shake me from my thoughts. My instincts screamed at me to decline, to turn back before I regretted it. They usually weren't wrong.

But inexplicably, I found myself nodding to Aunt Helen's invitation, her face brightening with relief. I stepped across the threshold into the mansion, the echo of my muddy shoes on the polished marble floor amplifying the oppressive atmosphere of the place.

"Would you mind waiting in the living area while I fix dinner?" she asked, her eyes gleaming with anticipation. I nodded silently, and she disappeared through a doorway a few paces away. Left alone, I stood, awestruck by the opulence of the house.

After a brief hesitation, I ventured deeper into the mansion, guided by the promise of the living area. It wasn't hard to find; its grandeur made it the mansion's centerpiece. My gaze was drawn immediately to a towering glass window that framed the distant mountains and forests, illuminated by the soft glow of the moon. Halting in my tracks, I noticed a plush carpet underfoot and conscientiously removed my soiled shoes, making a mental note to help Aunt Helen clean up before I left.

Sinking into a sofa positioned before the cathedral-like window, I found solace in the moon's serene presence. Its light always brought me peace, yet as I basked in its glow, a shadow flitted through my mind—the silhouette I'd glimpsed on the mansion's upper floor upon arrival. My certainty that it was a man persisted, dismissing notions of illusion or tree-cast shadows. It was the last thing I wanted to confront tonight.

As I waited for Aunt Helen, I distracted myself by studying the photographs arranged on the tables. Each frame held pictures of three or four individuals, likely the family who owned this house. The Lancasters remained elusive; their family portrait never graced the pages of any publication. It felt intrusive to pry, and I harbored no intention of selling their secrets to the media.

One picture caught my eye—a snapshot of two young children, their smiles infectious as they stood arm in arm. Were they siblings? Twins, perhaps? Their identical features and joyful expressions made it hard to tell apart.

Returning the frame gently, I wandered further, fingers tracing the intricate carvings of rose-themed furniture. Everywhere I looked, the motif of roses prevailed—sculpted delicately into wood, etched subtly into fabric. Was the owner a woman with a passion for roses? Yet, glimpses from the balcony suggested a masculine figure. Perhaps it was his wife who adored roses?

Lost in thought, my gaze settled on a green banner hanging from a pole. Curiosity led me closer. Unfurling it, I discovered a golden crest stitched proudly at its center—a rose emblem. It mirrored the insignia on a handkerchief, the seal of an envelope, even the crest adorning the gate outside.

My brow furrowed as I noticed something odd above me—a word inscribed in a language unfamiliar or ancient.

"Maria."

The voice behind me sent a jolt through my veins, nearly making me leap in fright. Cursing inwardly at my own jumpiness, I turned to find Aunt Helen standing there, a ghost of a smile lingering on her lips, as if she struggled not to chuckle at my reaction. She knew well how easily startled I could be.

"Dinner's ready," she said with that patient smile of hers. "You can go ahead to the dining room."

She turned away, picking something up from the nearby table. When she faced me again, she held a tray of food in her hands.

"I'll join you after I take this upstairs," she gestured towards the second floor of the old mansion. I glanced up, seeing only darkness beyond the edges of the dimly lit hallway.

So, Aunt Helen wasn't alone in this eerie mansion. And perhaps, the figure I glimpsed on the open balcony earlier was indeed the master of this house.

As I was about to inquire about what I had glimpsed before arriving, her eyes met mine, and panic flickered across her face before she quickly averted her gaze. A frown creased my brow in response. She spoke hurriedly, clutching a tray tightly.

"I'll just take this upstairs. He missed lunch earlier," she explained, her tone tense. I caught the tension in her grip, a clear sign she was concealing something, likely about the mansion's owner.

Her footsteps echoed up the staircase, swallowed by the shadows of the upper floor. As she disappeared from view, I settled into a nearby sofa, contemplating the silence that enveloped me.

"He," I mused aloud, recalling the portraits downstairs. There were two gentlemen in the pictures. Which one now occupied this mansion? My mind raced with questions about this mysterious figure. Was he trustworthy? Aunt Helen seemed at ease, but that didn't allay my curiosity.

Minutes stretched into an eternity as I waited, my eyes darting back to the stairs where Aunt Helen finally emerged from the shadows. I rose to meet her at the foot of the staircase, stealing a glance toward the second floor in vain hope of unraveling the enigma hidden there.

“Shall we?” the old woman asked as she stopped before me. I smiled and nodded, allowing her to lead the way. She stepped forward, and for the last time, I glanced up at the second floor of the house before trailing behind Aunt Helen to the dining hall.

We arrived together. My eyes roamed around as I found my seat at the grand 16-seat dining table. The haunting beauty of the hall's interiors captivated me, and I didn't notice Aunt Helen placing a plate of food before me. She settled across from me, her movements quiet and precise.

"Aren’t you going to eat, Auntie?" I asked, but she merely gave me that familiar, enigmatic smile. She often used it when she didn't want to answer my questions. I stared at her for a moment before turning my attention to the food. Perhaps she wanted me to savor one of her special recipes tonight, as she had mentioned when she invited me for dinner.

I couldn't help but praise Aunt Helen's cooking as the flavors spread inside my mouth. It was so delicious I couldn't resist having more until I was full. I let out a burp, embarrassed in front of Aunt Helen. She giggled, and I pouted.

"I really thought you lived here alone, Auntie," I said, a thought that came out of nowhere. Her expression changed, becoming serious. I suddenly felt uneasy.

I looked around. No matter how beautiful this room was, I couldn't shake the feeling that something was off. The mansion seemed to emit an aura beyond my comprehension.

Maybe I should leave. I'd finished my dinner, and perhaps Aunt Helen was satisfied with that. I cleared my throat and stood up, surprising Aunt Helen with my sudden movement.

"Maybe I should go—" I began, but a loud crash interrupted me. I looked up at the ceiling, trying to pinpoint where the noise came from. Another crash followed, and I turned to Aunt Helen, noticing the panic in her eyes. Something was happening upstairs that needed immediate attention.

"Auntie—" I began, but another crash from above cut me off. This one was louder, more frantic, as if the person up there was hurling things against the walls in a fit of rage. The crashing sounds continued, sending chills down my spine.

"Auntie, I think you should see your boss immediately. Maybe I should head home too—"

"NO!" Her sudden shout stopped me cold. I stared at her, taken aback by the force of her interruption.

“W-What?" I stammered, unease creeping into my voice. She seemed just as surprised by her outburst, her eyes darting around as she panicked.

"Ah—I mean…" she trailed off, her voice trembling. "I shall accompany you after this. C-can you wait f-for a while? I need to attend to Lucas first a-and inform him that you are going home. He knows you’re here," she added, her last words barely above a whisper.

I stood there, trying to make sense of it all. After a few moments, I nodded. She seemed relieved and led me out of the dining room, down the hall. She left me alone by the entrance as she rushed upstairs. I glanced at the closed front door, tempted to slip out unnoticed. But it would be disrespectful, given Auntie's invitation and the owner's hospitality. So, I stayed, rooted to the spot, listening to the unsettling noises from above.

Lucas.

The name echoed in my mind, a faint memory of Aunt Helen mentioning it before. I assumed he was the owner of the house. I squinted into the inky darkness upstairs, straining to see, but my efforts were in vain. The silence was shattered by another crash, followed by eerie whispers and low growls, sending a shiver down my spine. What on earth was happening up there?

Drawn by curiosity, I found myself inching closer to the stairs, hoping to catch more of those unsettling murmurs. Slowly, the words became distinguishable.

"Calm down, Lucas... she isn’t going home," Aunt Helen's voice floated down, soothing yet firm. Should I intervene?

Torn by indecision, I hesitated until another crash jolted me. I closed my eyes, exhaling deeply to steady my nerves.

"She's not leaving... Calm down," Aunt Helen’s voice carried a tone of promise. But the only response was a deep, menacing growl.

Another crash. Without thinking, I bolted up the stairs, determined to help Aunt Helen with her volatile boss. Perhaps I could assist in calming him down.

But as I reached the second floor of the house, my sprint halted abruptly. I stood still, paralyzed by the suffocating aura that enveloped the entire level. A chill of fear clawed at my insides, but I pushed it aside, determined to face whatever lay ahead.

I moved cautiously towards the source of the eerie noises that had lured me here. Just as I was about to step into the shadows, Aunt Helen emerged, her face a mask of shock as she spotted me. She hurried towards me, her footsteps echoing ominously.

"Dios Mio! What are you doing here, Maria?" Her voice reverberated through the darkness, amplifying the tension.

"I-I thought I could help—" I began, but she seized my hand, dragging me forcefully towards the staircase before I could finish.

"Auntie—" I tried to protest, but she was relentless, her grip unyielding. Once we were downstairs, she whirled to face me, her eyes wide with a terror that mirrored my own.

"You should have never gone upstairs!" she cried, her voice trembling with panic.

I scrutinized her, noting the way her hands trembled as they clasped together. Her anxiety was palpable, and it spoke of secrets—dark, hidden truths she was desperate to protect. Though I yearned to demand answers, I knew I had no right to intrude. I was an outsider, a mere observer to the shadows that haunted this place.

Maybe Aunt Helen can handle this. She's been working here for countless years, and perhaps this kind of thing happens often. I couldn't shake off the worry gnawing at me about Auntie's situation. But eventually, I decided it was time to go home. This was no longer my concern. The night was growing deeper, and the moon was high in the sky.

"Auntie, maybe I should go home," I said, but her eyes widened in surprise once more.

"W-What?! B-But you can't go home!" she stammered, panic in her voice. Now it was my turn to be taken aback. Why was she so adamant about stopping me?

A cold shiver ran down my spine as she suddenly grabbed my arm, her grip firm and unyielding.

"W-What do y-you mean?" I asked, my voice trembling. She avoided my gaze, her eyes darting to the shadows instead. I swallowed hard, trying to push down the lump forming in my throat.

Maybe she was joking. She knew very well that I needed to get home.

"Really, Auntie. Thank you for the dinner. And please, thank your boss for welcoming me into his home. I appreciate it. But as much as I'd like to stay longer, I need to get home—"

The words died in my throat as the howl of a distant wolf echoed through the night.

"NO ONE IS LEAVING THIS MANSION!!"

The roar reverberated through the ancient walls, making the very foundation shiver like an earthquake’s aftershock. I froze, heart pounding, eyes darting to the shadowy second floor, desperate to glimpse the source of the thunderous command. But there was only emptiness.

Turning to Aunt Helen, I saw terror etched into her pale face. The same dread that gripped my own heart, seeping into my bones.

"W-what does he mean by that?" My voice trembled, each word a struggle against the rising tide of panic. I bit my lip, retreating a few steps, trying to suppress the fear clawing at my insides.

Aunt Helen grasped my hand, her fingers icy and trembling. "Please, forgive Lucas' behavior—" she began, but I cut her off, shaking my head vehemently.

"What does he mean by that, Auntie?" I demanded, a tear escaping down my cheek. Aunt Helen tightened her grip, her eyes filled with regret.

No. This isn’t happening.

A crash echoed from upstairs, and we both looked up, the noise growing louder and more chaotic.

"Maria," Aunt Helen called softly.

I met her gaze, swallowing hard. Why was she looking at me like that? I pulled my hand free, stepping back. I needed to escape. I turned and rushed to the door, my fingers fumbling with the handle. But it wouldn't budge.

Locked.

I stared at Aunt Helen, my heart pounding with a mix of fear and disbelief. "W-What's the meaning of this!" I cried, my voice trembling as tears began to spill down my cheeks.

"There's a reason you must stay, Maria," she replied, her tone as cold and unyielding as a winter night.

My eyes widened in shock. "A-Auntie..."

She let out a deep sigh, her throat tight with emotion, her own eyes glistening with unshed tears. "The deal can't be undone, Maria."

Deal? What deal? A shiver ran down my spine, a sense of dread curling in my stomach. "W-What deal?"

She cleared her throat again, steadying herself before delivering the final blow. "That you'll be the p*****t, Maria, for all of your mother's debt to the Lancasters."

My jaw dropped as the weight of her words crashed down upon me. No... This can't be... This can't be happening...

Tell me... tell me I'm dreaming...