Defying The Alpha

Chapter 4 - Unfinished Business

"Are you fucking kidding me?!" I groan, staring at the closet. It's packed with dresses and designer crap—not a single pair of jeans or anything normal in sight.

I used to wear dresses. Not after that day. Since then, I've mostly stuck to oversized, shapeless clothes, trying to blend in like a gray mouse, hiding my curves. They made me believe it was my fault, that dressing provocatively meant I was asking for it.

But now? I know better. That scared little girl is gone. It's time to show them exactly who they're dealing with. And if they want me to play the part, I'll dress for it.

My hair is still damp from the shower, so I quickly dry it and pull it into a high ponytail.

I settle on a red dress, low-cut enough to show off my perky breasts, and hug my ass just right. It ends above my knee—tastefully sexy, as Jen would say. I miss her and wonder when I'll see her again.

At least the shoe selection isn't terrible. I grab a pair of high-top black sneakers because, well, I'm still me.

A knock on the door startles me. I quickly swipe on some blush on my cheeks and cherry lip balm on my lips, then head to open it, fully expecting one of Ashton's lap dogs to be waiting to fetch me.

My jaw drops when I see Ashton standing there, annoyingly hot, in a fitted black shirt that hugs his broad shoulders and chest, with tailored dark pants emphasizing his muscular legs.

His gaze sweeps over me, slow and deliberate, lingering just long enough to make my skin prickle. Then, there it is—that arrogant smirk, as if he knows exactly how good he looks and just how much it affects me.

"Nice," he comments, his eyes finally meeting mine. "What's up with the shoes?"

I raise an eyebrow. "What? Don't like them?"

"Not sure they go well with the dress," Ashton says, his smirk lingering.

"Oh, so you're a fashion critic now, too?" I say with a wide smile, forgetting he's the enemy for a moment, caught up in the banter.

He chuckles, then offers me his arm. "Shall we?"

I hesitate for a second before reluctantly wrapping my arm around his. He leads me down the hall, the sound of music and chatter growing louder. My stomach flips as it hits me—the entire pack must be here.

Oh, fuck.

My vision blurs, panic rising, and I nearly trip over nothing, but Ashton catches me, steadying me before I can fall.

"Come on, don't tell me that the big bad, pyromaniac Amelia is afraid of a bunch of tongue-wagging pack members," he teases, but his arm tightens around mine just a little, as if he knows I'm barely holding it together.

"Nah, I'm good, just clumsy." I force a smile. I can do this.

If Ashton wants me to face my enemy, fine. I've got no problem looking those fuckers dead in the eyes. The real question is, can they handle looking at me?

We reach the top of the stairs and the room falls silent. All eyes focus on us. Their stares feel suffocating. Music still plays, but it seems distant, like background noise.

My heart stops when I spot Daniel's parents in the crowd. His mother's gaze is fixed on me, and her expression is venomous—as if she could rip me apart right here, no questions asked. She glares at me for a moment before turning sharply and grabbing her husband's arm, pulling him with her as they blend into the crowd.

As we walk down the stairs, I am grateful that Ashton is right beside me. At the bottom, a hostess appears with a tray of champagne. Ashton grabs two glasses, handing one to me before raising his own.