Obsessed With My Alpha

Gema's Regret

Gema's POV

“Damn it, Gema. You blew it.” I curse softly as I turn away, heart pounding with a mix of humiliation and regret. “What were you even thinking, telling him? A girl like you—rankless, wolfless. Of course, he’d never see you that way,” I mumble to myself, trying to walk off the tremble in my hands, the heat crawling up my neck. But before I can get very far, I hear his voice behind me.

“Gema, wait,” Jonah calls out, his voice low, almost rough, like he’s struggling with something.

I stop, frozen, though every instinct screams at me to keep going, to leave before he can see how completely vulnerable I am. I don’t move, my feet glued to the ground, and within seconds, he’s at my side, just close enough that his presence radiates, warm and steady, like he has no idea how much that closeness is undoing me.

“Why did you stop me, Jonah?” I ask, keeping my voice barely above a whisper, a bitter edge I don’t intend creeping in. “Why didn’t you just let me go?” I chance a glance at him, and his face is unreadable, his brow furrowed like he’s grappling with something he doesn’t quite understand.

“Gema,” he says, his voice softer now, and hearing my name on his lips hits me square in the chest. I love the way he says it, warm and familiar, but I hate it too, hate the way it reminds me of everything I’ll never be to him.

His gaze drifts over me, his expression tense, and then he reaches out, lightly placing a hand on my arm, just below my shoulder. The touch is subtle but firm, grounding me even as it sends a bolt of electricity through me. His hand lingers a second too long, as though he’s as unwilling to let go as I am to have him this close. His fingers brush over my skin, an unconscious, maddening caress, and I hate how much my body responds, hate the way I lean into his touch without meaning to. I feel the burn of his warmth, his scent filling the air around us, that woodsy, smoky scent I could recognize anywhere.

He realizes his touch lingers, and he lets his hand drop, taking a small step back. But his eyes stay locked on mine, and the way he’s watching me, searching for something I don’t know if he’ll ever find, makes it impossible to look away.

“Gema…” He pauses, his jaw tight, his voice barely above a whisper. “You’re… you mean so much to me.”

It’s not enough. Those words, the ones I’ve heard a hundred times before, are still everything and nothing, and I feel myself breaking, the last thread of restraint slipping. If he can’t love me the way I need him to, then there’s nothing left to lose.

“Then show me, Jonah,” I say, my voice trembling but resolute. “Let me be more to you, even if it’s just for tonight.” I force myself to hold his gaze, the weight of the words heavy in the air, exposing a vulnerability I can’t take back.

He stiffens, his eyes widening slightly, and for a split second, I see something in his expression—hesitation, maybe, or something deeper, something that almost looks like desire. But just as quickly, it fades, his face closing off as he takes another step back, the air between us turning cold.

“I can’t,” he says finally, his voice barely above a whisper, but the certainty in it cuts deep, sharper than anything he could have said. “I don’t want to hurt you, Gema. Not like that.”

The words hit me like a blow, and I take an involuntary step back, a wave of shame and regret crashing over me. “Right. Of course,” I mutter, hugging myself, feeling hollow and exposed. I force myself to meet his eyes, even though it feels like I’m being torn apart. “I shouldn’t have… I just thought…”

The silence stretches between us, thick and suffocating, and I realize I can’t stand it anymore. I step back, needing the distance to breathe, to gather what’s left of my pride. He’s watching me, his face tense and filled with something I can’t decipher, and I feel a flicker of anger mixed with the ache in my chest. I wish he would just say something—anything—that could make this easier, but he stands there, silent and unreadable.

“If you can’t be what I need, Jonah,” I say, my voice steady but tinged with bitterness I can’t hide, “then let me go. Don’t keep stopping me.” My throat tightens, and I can feel the tears prickling at the edges of my vision, but I blink them back, unwilling to let him see me break.

I turn, unable to look at him any longer, the pain too raw, too overwhelming. I take a step, then another, willing myself to keep moving, but my legs feel heavy, like every step is an act of willpower. I half-expect him to call out, to say something, but the silence hangs in the air, final and unyielding.

As I walk away, I feel his gaze on me, a weight pressing into my back, and it’s like the warmth of him is fading with each step I take. A part of me wants to turn around, to see if he’s watching, but I don’t dare look back. I can’t. Because if I do, I know I won’t be able to keep going.

Tonight, I realize, I’ve lost more than just the hope of something more with Jonah. I’ve lost a piece of myself, a piece I’ll never get back. And as I disappear down the path, swallowed by the darkness, I know this is goodbye—not just to the friendship we had, but to the dream I’d held onto for so long.