Arranged To The Beast Alpha

No, this isn't levity.

LEAH

After having breakfast, I joined Cleo in the sitting room; apparently, it was the only one outsiders were allowed in; the rest were prohibited and only graced by Damien.

“I am so glad I got this opportunity; I won't fail you, Luna Leah.” She said and sprawled out different pictures of event places with beautiful designs.

I picked a few and glanced through them, finding it really hard to pick. My favorite color blue would match perfectly with black designs to compensate for Damien. “How about you make something from my imagination.” Cleo brightened up, fixing the rim of her glasses.

“Tell me all about it.” She opened her notepad and readied her pen.

“What do you know about the Alpha?” I asked. The close look became distant; she was thinking of what to say.

“Oh, I designed the Alpha's room after the death of his father; he loves black.”

I was left in amusement; Cleo looked young, like someone my age, and The death of Damien's father was rumored about five years ago.

“How old are you, if you don't mind me asking.”

“Well of course not, I am 26. I understand. Designing the Alpha's room was my very first job as an intern. What about you? Don't you have a dream job?” She asked, and I gulped, looking away. I hardly finished high school and never made it past high school. I was too scared to leave and Father guaranteed I would never get the opportunity to even leave.

“I paint…sometimes,” I added, forcing a smile.

Cleo gasped as if bitten by something; she reached into her bag and brought out a sketch pad; she took out a pack of pencil crayons and placed them on the desk.

“We have something in common Luna Leah. Go ahead and try it.” She said, “Paint your dream wedding.”

My hands remained frozen as she placed the sketch pad and crayons in my hand, I trembled slightly, remembering what happened the last time I picked up a pencil to draw.

FLASHBACK( THREE YEARS AGO)

The crayons felt heavy in my hands as I rushed up the stairs, my heart thumping with this strange, private thrill. I'd saved up for them and picked each one carefully from the store shelf. They were mine. A small victory, maybe, but I wanted to savor it. I shut the door behind me, dropping everything on my reading table, which was already cluttered with my notebooks and sketches that never seemed good enough. Not until now. Not with these.

I emptied the box on the table, watching the crayons tumble out in a little rainbow heap. Then, I arranged my pencils in an old mug that I’d snagged from the kitchen last month. They were all there, like tiny bursts of color, each one a world I could make.

I reached for my favorites—blue and pink—barely able to contain my excitement. The colors felt warm and solid in my hands as I started to draw. It was just a little line here, a bit of shading there, nothing serious. I didn’t have a plan. I just let myself… go.

And then, something changed.

It started with a tremble in my hand. At first, I thought it was just excitement, like an overload of ideas. But the pencil slipped between my fingers, and before I knew it, my hand was moving—grabbing colors I hadn’t chosen, swiping across the paper in wild, sweeping motions. It was like my body was on autopilot like my fingers weren’t even mine anymore. My hand shot out again, plucking reds and purples and blacks from the cup, sketching shapes I couldn’t recognize.

“Stop!” I whispered, trying to pull my hand back, but it was useless. A chill crept down my spine, the edges of fear building in my chest. It felt like some invisible force had me in its grip, pushing me forward, filling me with a dread I couldn’t explain. I wasn’t creating; I was just… following something, some strange urge that wasn’t mine.

I tried to scream, but the sound was strangled and sharp. I couldn’t stop myself.

My door burst open, and suddenly, I wasn’t alone. Dad was there, eyes wide and dark with anger. My stepbrother and a few maids crowded behind him, all staring. No one moved, watching me like I was some kind of monster. I felt the heat of their stares, the shame crawling up my face.

Then Dad stepped forward. He didn’t even hesitate, his hand raised, and—smack. His palm hit my cheek, hard and fast, snapping me out of whatever spell I’d been under. My hand went limp, the pencils clattering from my grip. I felt the sting where he’d hit me, sharp and biting, but I barely noticed it.

All I could see was the drawing.

Two figures, a man and a woman, twisted together on the page. There was no face on either of them—just shadows where faces should’ve been. But that wasn’t what made my stomach twist with dread. It was the sharp, jagged line piercing through the woman’s chest, something that looked like a sword or a dagger. I couldn’t tell, and I wasn’t sure I wanted to.

Before I could take it in, Dad snatched the sketchbook from the table. I heard the pages rip before I even realized what he was doing. He tore the drawing to pieces, letting them drift to the floor like they were nothing.

“Why?” I whispered, not even sure what I was asking, but he ignored me. He didn’t say a word; he just looked down at me with that same unreadable anger.

My gaze drifted to the doorway, where I spotted Sarah. She stood there, her face pale, her own eyes wide with tears. She just stood there, watching me, like she understood everything that had just happened.

I barely had a moment to breathe before Dad grabbed me by the hair. The sharp tug made my eyes water, but I bit down on my lip, too stunned to make a sound. He dragged me down the hallway, my bare feet scraping against the cold floor. I tried to twist around, to see if Sarah was still there, but the grip on my hair was too tight. I felt every tug, every jolt, as he led me down the winding, dim corridor that seemed to grow darker with every step.

Finally, we reached the dungeon—. He shoved me inside, his hand finally releasing my hair, and I stumbled forward, barely catching myself before I hit the ground. The door clanged shut behind me, the lock clicking into place, and then—silence.

No food, no water, nothing but the cold and the dark.

FLASHBACK ENDS

“Luna Leah.” I jerked, shutting my eyes close, trying to ward off the pain.

“Sorry, I spaced out,” I said and grabbed the glass of water, downing it to relieve the tightness in my chest. My eyes burned with tears, but I fought them back; I would not cry in front of a stranger; I wasn't that weak.

“How about you just take notes of what I want? I wouldn't want to waste your time.” I replied, handing her back her equipment.

“Are you okay, Luna Leah?” she queried, peering into me as if she could see through my facade.

“I am fine, go on. I want you to be ready when I begin.”

She nodded in response.

“um…” I sigh, everything I thought about left my head.

“Surprise me, make something from blue and black.” I stood up and excused myself before she could utter another word.

I returned to my room and grabbed my tablet trying to reach My sister.

There was no change, just the same bullshit pending connection; I tossed the tablet on the bed and broke down, letting out all the tears I was holding back.

I felt scared, weak, tired, helpless, and guilty. Living in all these luxuries while my sister suffered, even after father promised not to hurt her, it was hard to believe him, to trust him, or that monster Adrian. How do I reach Sarah? How do I find out that she's safe?

"Luna Leah." Kai's voice echoed from behind the door, laced with a hint of urgency.

My eyes narrowed, irritation simmering beneath the surface.

Luna? What f****d up Luna, am I?

Instead, I stood up, my movements deliberate, and approached the door. With a steady hand, I turned the handle and swung it open.

Kai stood before me, his expression inscrutable. But it was what he held that made my heart skip a frantic beat – a laptop, its screen glowing with an image that stole my breath.

"Sarah!" I exclaimed, my voice trembling as I snatched the laptop from Kai's grasp.

I rushed to my bed, settling in with the laptop cradled in my lap. Sarah's face filled the screen, her eyes sparkling with warmth.

"Sarah, how are you doing?" I asked, my words tumbling out in relief.

She responded with a series of deft hand signs, her fingers weaving a reassuring message.

"I'm doing fine, sis," she signed.

My anxiety ebbed, replaced by gratitude. "Is everyone treating you okay? Are they feeding you? Is Adrian leaving you alone?" My questions flowed like a pent-up dam.

Sarah's hands danced across the screen, dispelling my fears.

"I'm truly fine, sister. Don't worry about me. Take care of yourself."

A sigh escaped my lips as a smile spread, easing the tension.

"I love you," I whispered, my voice barely audible.

Sarah's fingers replied with an unmistakable message.

"I love you just as much."