Page 7 of The Alpha's Pretend Mate

She gripped the edge of the bar to steady herself. She'd been trying so hard to focus, to keep up with the drink orders and the small talk.

But each new request felt like a countdown to another mistake. Her fingers tightened around the glass she was drying, her mind wandering. The glass slipped from Alysa's hand, shattering against the polished bar top.

"Shit," she muttered, already reaching for the broom. It was her third broken glass this week. Each clink of the shards felt like a judgment, a reflection of her mounting mistakes.

"Everything okay over there, Lysa?" Jake, her fellow bartender, called from the other end of the bar, his voice a mix of concern and mild amusement.

"Just peachy," Alysa replied, forcing a smile. Her cheeks burned as she swept up the mess, and she struggled to maintain her composure.

Great job, klutz. Way to prove you belong here.

Jake came over with a sympathetic grin as Alysa swept the shards into a dustpan.

"You know, if you keep this up, we're going to run out of glasses." He said, chuckling.

"Yeah, well, maybe you should start handing out drinks in plastic cups when I’m on shift," Alysa muttered, trying to mask her embarrassment.

He leaned in slightly, his voice dropping. "Seriously, though. You alright? You’ve seemed a little off lately."

Alysa shrugged, avoiding his gaze. "Just tired. You know how it gets."

Jake gave her a lingering look before straightening up. "If you need to talk, you know I’m here. But hey, no more broken glasses, alright?"

The Howling Moon was the hottest werewolf bar in town, and Alysa had fought tooth and claw for this job. But lately, it felt like she was fighting a losing battle against her own incompetence.

She dumped the glass shards in the trash, wincing as her manager's voice cut through the din of the Saturday night crowd.

"Alysa. My office. Now."

Fuck.

Her heart pounded in her chest, each beat echoing her dread. She followed Sarah into the cramped back office, where the manager's face was grim, her posture rigid.

"Look, Alysa," Sarah began, her voice tight. "You're a sweet girl, but this isn't working out. The broken glasses, the mixed-up orders… we can't afford these mistakes."

The words hit Alysa like a physical blow. "I-I can do better. Please, just give me another chance."

Sarah shook her head, her expression unyielding. "I'm sorry, but we're letting you go. You can collect your final paycheck next week."

Alysa stumbled out of the office in a daze.

Fired. Again.

The reality of her dismissal sank like lead in her stomach. She barely remembered gathering her things and saying goodbye to Jake. The cool night air hit her face as she stepped outside, and she sucked in a shaky breath.

What am I going to do now?

The familiar sense of failure was like a second skin clinging to her every move. She stood outside the bar for a moment, watching as life inside continued without her. Jake was already back at it, laughing and serving drinks as if she had never existed.

The idea that the world moved on so effortlessly, even when she stumbled, made her feel invisible.

But wasn’t that how it always was? Every time she thought she was making progress, life yanked her back, reminding her that maybe she didn’t belong here—or anywhere.

The ride home was a blur, her mind lost in a spiral of anxiety and self-recrimination. She could already hear her brother Aleksander’s voice, the well-intentioned but often overbearing tone that accompanied his solutions to every problem.

The thought of sharing her job loss with him only heightened her sense of dread. Aleksander had always been her rock, but his practical solutions sometimes felt like a harsh spotlight on her shortcomings.

Arriving at her small apartment, Alysa was greeted by the familiar scent of vanilla and cedar, the comforting aroma doing little to soothe her frayed nerves.

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