Page 21 of Bully Alpha's Pregnant Mate

She scoffs, lifting her glass to her lips, but it’s already empty. Her shoulders slump as she sets it back down. I watch her, waiting, but her silence is as heavy as my regret.

The server shows up with the check, glancing between us like he’s stepped onto a minefield. I pay without saying a word. Isadora’s fingers trace the rim of her glass, and the last traces of her usual fire barely flicker now. For a second, I almost ask if she’s okay. But I know the answer already.

I place my napkin on the table and rise to my feet. “It’s late. Let’s get you home.”

She looks like she wants to argue, but after a second, she just nods, and the fight drains from her. I guide her to her feet, slipping my arm around her shoulders when she stumbles. Her steps are slow, unfocused, and she doesn’t shrug me off.

In the car, she’s quiet, her head leaning against the window, her eyes distant. I watch her, that regret still clawing its way through me. I can’t believe I didn’t see this sooner—the impact, how much damage I caused just by turning a blind eye. It was easier back then, yeah, but now… now I don’t know what to do with it, what to say.

By the time we pull up to the house, she’s half-asleep, mumbling something I can’t quite catch as I help her out of the car. Her head falls against my shoulder, and I hold her steady as we walk through the front door and up the stairs. She doesn’t resist, not even when I guide her to her room. The defiance, the fight—it’s all gone. Just me, her, and the quiet.

She reaches for her shoe strap with fumbling fingers, and it’s almost painful to watch her struggle. I kneel down, brushing her hand aside and slipping off her shoes one by one before setting them neatly by the bed. She watches me, her gaze soft, maybe a little surprised, like she can’t quite believe what’s happening.

“You don’t… don’t have to,” she mumbles, voice slurring slightly. “Don’t need… don’t need the show.”

I pause with my hand still on the edge of the bed, close enough to feel her warmth. “This isn’t a show, Isadora,” I say quietly, not sure if she even hears me. “It’s just… it’s just real.”

Her eyes close, and there’s a faint, sad smile pulling at her lips. “Yeah. Maybe for tonight.”

I pull the blanket over her as she lies back, tucking it around her shoulders. For a moment, I just watch her, taking in every small detail, every sign of vulnerability she’d never let me see when she was awake. The way she breathes, slow and even. The lines of her face softened in sleep, all the usual walls gone.She looks smaller somehow, breakable. And it’s my fault she ended up this way.

I murmur, knowing she won’t hear, “I’m sorry, Isadora. For… all of it.”

She shifts and curls further into the blanket, and her breathing settles into the steady rhythm of sleep.

There’s no undoing it—no taking back the hurt I caused. I could stand here all night, and it wouldn’t change a thing.

But as I step back, shutting the door quietly behind me, I know one thing for sure: I’m not giving up, not yet. I’ve made mistakes, more than I can count, but maybe… maybe there’s still a chance to set some of it right.

Chapter 10 - Isadora

I wake up with a headache that feels like a small construction crew is hammering inside my skull. The first blurry thought that crosses my mind is that I should avoid vodka for the rest of my life. Then, like a slow-motion horror reel, memories from last night trickle in—the drinks, the accusations, the way Alec just… listened.

And… oh no, his apology.

I sink further under the covers, as if they’ll somehow shield me from the mortification boiling up in my chest. I don’t remember every detail, but I remember enough to know I basically spilled out years of resentment and anger right in front of him. And if that wasn’t bad enough, he apologized. Genuinely apologized. Just thinking about it has me wrestling between wanting to hide and wanting to face him.

After a few more minutes, I decide on avoidance. I pull myself together, gulp down water with a side of painkillers, and grab my things, making it to the bookstore an hour early, hoping to lose myself in a mountain of books before Alec has a chance to appear.

I’ve just barely started shelving some new arrivals when the door chimes. I glance over, and of course, there he is. Alec, looking annoyingly fresh and well-rested, steps inside, holding two paper cups and a brown paper bag. Just the smell of coffee alone is enough to soothe my nerves a fraction, but I keep my face neutral.

“Good morning,” he says, that half-smile of his tugging at the corner of his mouth. He lifts the bag and one of the coffees. “Thought you might want something for… you know.” He gestures vaguely at me.

“For my shame-hangover?” I grumble, grabbing the coffee he offers and taking a much-needed sip. “Thanks, but caffeine can’t fix a case of regret.”

He lets out a small chuckle and stuffs his hands in his pockets. “I figured. But breakfast might help.” He hands me the bag, and I hesitate before taking it. Inside is a warm croissant sandwich, and if I wasn’t so embarrassed, I’d say he was being thoughtful.

“Thanks,” I say quietly, unwrapping it. But the heaviness in the air lingers, and I clear my throat. “Look, about last night… I’m sorry if I, uh, made a scene. It was… unfair. I know how much we need to keep up appearances, and that didn’t help matters.”

He shakes his head before I can continue. “Don’t apologize, Isadora. You had every right to say what you did. Honestly, I deserved worse after the way I treated you.”

The sincerity in his voice catches me off-guard. It’s clear he means it—like he’s genuinely holding himself accountable. I’m so used to him deflecting that I don’t quite know how to respond.

“Maybe, but I didn’t mean to unload it all on you like that,” I counter, trying to maintain some kind of composure. “It’s not like you’re the same person you were back then. I’m sure you’ve grown up at least a little.”

“Maybe not, but I still caused all of that.” He runs a hand through his hair, looking away for a moment. “It’s a long time coming, Izzy. I’ve never apologized to you for the things I did… or let happen. I know it’s not enough, but I’m trying to make up for it.”

It’s the use of “Izzy” that almost makes me drop my coffee. Hearing him say my name like that, as if we’re still twokids who haven’t hurt each other yet—it brings back a flash of memories, of the summers before everything went sour.

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