Page 9 of Bully Alpha’s Pregnant Mate (Starfire Hollow Alphas #2)

Dinner with my new wife should’ve felt like a step in the right direction. A chance to start fresh, clear the air, build… something.

So far, it’s felt about as friendly as a high-stakes negotiation.

We’re seated at this little Italian place just outside East Hills. Warm lighting, candles on every table, music that’s soft and pleasant but not overly romantic. The place itself is nice—small but cozy, with the kind of ambiance that usually puts people at ease. Not tonight, though. Our table might as well be a battlefield.

I glance across the table, watching Isadora sip her fourth glass of vodka and soda for the night. Her fingers tap against the glass, and her gaze stays fixed on the wall like she’s hoping the night will end if she ignores me long enough.

“So,” I say, leaning back, “are you planning on actually talking tonight? Or is the silent treatment part of the date package?”

She doesn’t even glance my way. “No one asked you to sit there and watch me drink.”

I sigh. “You know, I thought this was supposed to be fun. We could actually talk, relax a little.”

She huffs, stirs the ice in her glass, and gives me a look that’s half amused, half irritated. “Relax. Right. Like this whole marriage was supposed to be fun?”

Alright, so she’s on the defensive. But it’s not like I haven’t tried to meet her halfway.

I take a deep breath, trying to keep my voice even. “Well, we could start by trying.”

She lets out a bitter laugh, shaking her head. “Trying? You’re hilarious, Alec. Do you honestly think one nice dinner will change everything?”

Her tone isn’t exactly friendly, and I feel my patience start to thin. “Maybe it’s a start. Better than you giving me the cold shoulder all night.”

“You’re the one who’s pretending this isn’t all just a show,” she says, eyes dropping to the menu she’s barely looked at. “So maybe don’t act like we’re here for some real date.”

It’s like she’s bracing for me to bite back, to make some snide comment that’ll confirm whatever it is she’s expecting. But I stay silent, watching her. I’m not about to let her ruin tonight with whatever wall she’s trying to build.

“So you’d rather keep up this act?” I ask, trying to meet her gaze. “Pretend that we can’t even talk?”

She finally looks up, and her blue eyes flash a brighter shade. “It’s not an act, Alec. I know exactly what you think of me. So spare me the effort of pretending.”

I crack my knuckles under the table. I didn’t come here to argue, but she’s practically inviting it. “Oh, really?” I lean forward, narrowing my eyes. “Why don’t you go ahead and tell me what I think, Isadora?”

She gives a dry laugh. “I know what this is, Alec. This whole nice-guy routine, pretending you care about me, when really you’re just waiting for the chance to show me what a mistake I am.”

The waitress interrupts, setting down two plates of tiramisu and a bottle of red wine I ordered earlier. I thank her, watching Isadora take a piece of bread and study it like it holds the answers to life’s mysteries.

I pick up my fork, take a bite, and wait, letting the silence settle between us, hoping she’ll be the one to break it.

When she finally speaks, her tone is sharp. “And let’s not pretend you suddenly decided I’m interesting. We both know I’m just here to fulfill some requirement, a formality so you can keep your status as alpha. So, yeah, forgive me if I’m not exactly swooning over dinner.”

My jaw tightens. I take a sip of wine, not breaking eye contact. “You think that’s all this is?”

She lets out another short and bitter laugh before taking a long sip of her drink. “Why else would you bother with any of this? It’s not like you actually care, Alec. And, well, people like Molly? They seem all too happy to remind me of that.”

“Molly?” I frown, genuinely thrown off. “What does Molly have to do with anything?”

She sets her glass down, staring at me with a look that’s almost pitying. “Oh, come on. Don’t act like you don’t know she’s in town. She’s your ex, your old friend, whatever. Apparently, she thought it’d be funny to remind me just how lucky I am to have you. How I’m just… in the way.”

I frown. “And you think that’s what I believe? Isadora, whatever Molly told you, that’s not my problem. She doesn’t know anything about us.”

Isadora gives a half-smile and scoffs. “I know that. But you and I both know that people like her are only saying what everyone’s thinking. You don’t have to say it, Alec. It’s obvious.”

I take a steadying breath, watching her with a mixture of frustration and curiosity. “Why are you so sure you know what I’m thinking, Isadora?”

“Because,” she says, her voice a low hiss, “it’s the same thing you and everyone else thought back when we were kids. That I’m nothing. That I’m not worth the time. And now I’m supposed to believe that just because we’re married, you suddenly see me as your equal?”

I clench my jaw, realizing how deep her insecurities run. “And you’re basing this on what, exactly? Because last I checked, you don’t know me any better than I supposedly know you.”

She scoffs, picking at the bread, looking anywhere but at me. “I know enough, Alec. I know you’re just waiting for me to mess up. To give you a reason to remind me that I don’t belong here.”

The frustration in her voice isn’t new, but hearing it laid out like this hits harder than I expected. I never realized just how much pain she carried, how much she expected to fail. And if I’m honest, maybe I didn’t help back then. But now?

I take a breath. “Maybe you should let me decide what I think of you instead of making assumptions about what you think you know.”

She looks up with a bitter smile on her lips. “Oh, please. Don’t act like you’re some saint, Alec. You think I haven’t noticed the way you look at me? Like you’re doing me some huge favor just by being here?”

“Isadora, I didn’t—”

She cuts me off. “But that’s just it, Alec. You don’t have to say it. It’s written all over your face every time you look at me.”

The tension between us is thick enough to cut with a knife, and I can feel every word she’s throwing at me settle in, sticking like barbs. She’s convinced I see her as some kind of charity case, and I realize now that changing her mind isn’t going to be as easy as I thought.

She takes a slow sip of her drink, setting her glass down with a soft thud. “So, tell me, what exactly were you hoping to accomplish with this little dinner, Alec?”

The sarcasm in her voice is infuriating, but I swallow back my own irritation. She needs reassurance. “I was hoping we could try to start over. Thought maybe we could actually talk.”

She lets out a laugh, shaking her head. “Talk? Sure, because that’s what people like you do, right? You’re all charm and smiles when it’s convenient, but when it comes down to it, you don’t actually care.”

“Do you even hear yourself right now?” I ask, struggling to keep my voice steady. “You’re accusing me of things you can’t possibly know.”

“Oh, I know, Alec. Because I’ve seen it before. You’re doing this out of obligation, not because you really want me here.”

“And maybe if you let yourself believe that I’m not the enemy here, we could actually try to make this work.”

“Make it work? Really?” She smirks and swirls her drink some more. “You can’t even stand me, Alec. I’m the last person you’d ever choose to spend time with if you had an actual choice.”

“And maybe if you’d stop assuming you know everything, we wouldn’t be having this conversation.”

She laughs, a hollow, mocking sound that makes my blood boil. “Right. Because I’m the problem here. Keep telling yourself that, Alec.”

The silence between us stretches on, every word that’s been said still hovering over us, too heavy to ignore. I sit there, trying to wrap my head around what she’s saying. I knew I hurt her in the past, but seeing the way it still affects her? It’s like getting slapped in the face by my own mistakes. She stares down into her empty glass, eyes tired, and for a moment, I wish there was a way to go back and change it all.

I down my glass of wine, preparing myself. I don’t apologize often; it’s one of my many flaws, but she deserves that much.

“Isadora, I know I can’t erase what happened. But I’m sorry, alright? You didn’t deserve any of it.”

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.