Page 3 of The Alpha Under My Bed (The Chosen #1)

Three

MALCOLM

Ellie’s apartment was too fucking small.

I’d known it from the first time I stepped inside. One cramped little room with no real walls—just a half-formed kitchen, a couch shoved into the corner, and a sad excuse for a nest she had to tear down every morning just to make space.

It wasn’t right. Wasn’t fair. Omegas were supposed to have rooms for their nests— real ones, permanent spaces, somewhere safe and untouched, somewhere no one else could go.

Not this.

I tightened the wrench in my grip, forcing my fingers to loosen before I snapped the fucking thing in half.

“This faucet’s a piece of shit,” I muttered, twisting the rusted pipe under her sink.

Ellie glanced up from her phone, frowning. “Mal, you don’t have to?—”

“I got it,” I cut in, not looking at her.

She sighed, but I could feel her watching me—feel the way she hesitated, like she wanted to argue but knew it wouldn’t do any good. Because it wouldn’t. I wasn’t going to sit here and watch her live like this. She deserved more.

I had spent the past three years fixing every fucking thing I could for her—changing her air filters, oiling the squeaky hinges on her doors, replacing burnt-out light bulbs before she even noticed they were out. Anything to make her life easier. Anything to keep her safe. Because if she wasn’t okay, nothing was okay.

I swallowed hard, forcing myself to focus on the task in front of me, but my chest was too tight, my skin too hot. Every time I left, the hollow ache in my ribs got worse. Every time she looked at me like I was just her friend, the sharp edge of it sank in deeper.

She was my everything. And she didn’t even fucking know it.

“Mal.” Her voice was softer this time. I heard the way she shifted, the small sound of her phone being set on the counter.

I didn’t look up. Didn’t want to see whatever expression was on her face—grateful, confused, something else. Instead, I turned the wrench again, felt the pipe finally give, the last bit of rust cracking under my grip.

Fixed.

Just like everything else. Just like what she did to me.

“There,” I said, wiping my hands on the rag beside me before pushing to my feet. “It won’t leak anymore.”

Ellie shook her head, a soft smile playing at her lips. “You’re ridiculous, you know that?”

I hummed, grabbing a beer from her fridge like it was mine. Because it was. Because I stocked it.

She watched me, her phone lighting up where she’d left it on the counter.

I already knew what it was before she even reached for it. I took a slow sip, waiting.

I knew the second she got the notification. She made this little noise, barely a sound, but I caught it—the tiny hitch in her breath, the flicker of excitement that tightened her shoulders before she forced herself to relax.

I rolled the bottle between my fingers as she opened the TCI app.

I hated that fucking thing. Hated the way it gave her hope, like it was anything more than a system designed to set her up for disappointment. As if I’d ever let a match work out because a lab said that my Ellie was compatible with some fucking douchebag.

But I said nothing. I just let my eyes skim over her face, tracking every little change as she read the results.

Her lips parted slightly.

She was excited.

Too excited.

My grip tightened around the bottle, but I forced a smile and leaned back against the counter. “Something good?”

She glanced at me, her fingers hovering over the screen. “A 99% match.”

I hummed, tilting my head. “With a pack?”

She nodded, a small, hopeful smile tugging at the corner of her lips. “It’s one of my highest scores.”

I knew that.

Because I checked.

I always checked. It didn’t matter that she used private settings. Didn’t matter that she thought her results were hers alone.

I knew the second her tests processed. I knew who the system thought was right for her. And I knew exactly how to make sure they never got close enough to prove it.

She turned the screen toward me, showing me their names. Their faces.

Idiots.

I took another sip, rolling the bottle between my fingers.

“You should be careful with these things, sweetheart.” My voice was light, easy, the same steady tone she knew. “Not everyone has good intentions.”

Her brows pulled together slightly, her smile dimming just a little. “I know that.”

“Do you?”

I reached out, tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear, letting my fingers linger for just a second longer than necessary.

I felt the way her breath caught. Felt the way her pulse stuttered against my fingertips.

She dropped her gaze, focusing on the phone again. “They seem nice.”

I smiled. “I’m sure they do.”

They were dead by midnight.

The first one went quick.

The second one put up a fight.

But the third?

The third begged.

I watched him collapse, his body crumpling into the filth of the alleyway. Blood seeped from the gash in his throat, pooling beneath his cheek, dark and glistening against the grime. His lips trembled, shaping words he no longer had the breath to speak. His fingers twitched—a feeble, desperate attempt to press against the wound, as if sheer willpower could keep the life from spilling out of him.

It never worked.

I stood over him, tilting my head, watching. Waiting. My breath remained steady, my fingers flexing against the hilt of the knife.

Then, at last, the light in his eyes flickered... and died.

I exhaled.

The cold night pressed in, thick with the coppery tang of blood and the damp rot of asphalt. Somewhere beyond the alley, the city carried on, its distant hum a muffled backdrop to the slow, rhythmic drip, drip, drip of blood seeping between the cracks in the pavement.

Now for the fun part.

I crouched, yanking at his jacket until his wallet slipped free. A couple of crumpled bills, a half-punched loyalty card for some overpriced café, and a license with his dumb fucking face smiling up at me.

Gone too soon. Tragic.

I let the wallet drop beside him, flipping it open just enough that whoever found him would assume exactly what I wanted them to: a mugging gone wrong. A desperate thief, a knife fight, a scuffle that ended badly .

I tugged the chain from his neck, tucking it into my pocket.

It wasn’t for me.

It was for Ellie.

She’d never recognize it. Never question it. Just another gift, another trinket I’d leave on her counter—something new to catch the light when she walked by, something to keep her surrounded by me.

She’d never know how close he had come.

How close any of them had come.

They were nothing. Just obstacles. Noise. A threat that I had removed before it could ever reach her.

And now?

Now, she was safe.

Where she belonged.

With me.

ELEANOR

The news droned on in the background as I stood at the counter, rinsing out my coffee mug. The low hum of the anchor’s voice barely registered—just another murmured report about another violent crime in Oakhaven.

Another mugging gone wrong. Another body found in the alley behind that shitty dive bar off Fifth.

I frowned, staring down into the sink, watching the last bit of foam swirl down the drain. It was awful, obviously, but it wasn’t like it was shocking . Oakhaven wasn’t dangerous—not really—but it had its shadows like anywhere else. You just had to be smart. Careful.

I reached for a dish towel, drying off my hands as the anchor continued, saying something about an ongoing investigation, a call for witnesses. The victim’s name flashed across the screen in bold white letters, but I barely glanced up.

I didn’t recognize it.

Didn’t recognize him.

Just another face.

Just another headline.

Just another reason to make sure I kept my keys between my fingers when I walked home alone at night.

I exhaled, shaking off the slight weight pressing against my chest. There was no point in dwelling on it. This was the world we lived in—one where bad things happened, one where people you didn’t know could be gone in an instant.

I shut off the TV, the silence settling over my apartment like a heavy quilt. The sudden quiet made the space feel smaller, the emptiness of it creeping in at the edges, making me all too aware that I had no one to fill it.

No one but?—

Something small caught my eye—something I hadn’t noticed before.

A thin silver chain, draped neatly on the counter.

I blinked, stepping closer. The metal glinted under the light, subtle but deliberate. I reached out, fingertips brushing against it. Cool. Light. A little scratched, a little worn. Nothing flashy, nothing expensive—just… there.

I turned it over in my palm, frowning.

I didn’t remember having this.

But I knew the way it had been left out, positioned just so, as if meant to catch my attention.

Mal.

Of course.

A smile tugged at my lips. I shook my head, rolling my eyes. He was always doing things like this—finding little trinkets, claiming he’d just happened across them, insisting they made him think of me. He never said a word, never waited for a thank-you. I’d simply find them, tucked into the corners of my life, quiet gestures left behind like breadcrumbs.

Little reminders of him.

Of us.

It was sweet. Unnecessary, but sweet.

I ran my fingers over the metal once more before fastening it around my neck. The chain settled against my collarbone, light and familiar, like it had always belonged there.

I glanced at the time, sighing as I grabbed my bag.

I’d have to thank him later.