Ep. 2

Harper’s [POV]

It’s like I’ve stepped back in time.

There’s a reception desk in front of me made of dark mahogany wood with a vintage multi-colored glass lamp sitting on the surface. Behind the desk against the wall is a grandfather clock, the pendulum swinging back and forth in a steady rhythm. The walls are cream, matching the outside of the house, and dark red curtains surround the arched windows. In the opposite corner is a lit fireplace, the warmth filling the area? Love seats with cream upholstery and dark wooden trim surround the fire.

It's paradise.

Except for the middle-aged Beta woman that’s staring up at me from the desk, her mouth open in shock.

Just like that, my insecurities bubble to the surface.

She’s looking at the scar.

She’s looking at my scar, the mottled pink line that starts at my eyebrow and drags down my cheek. No one has ever openly gaped at me like this before, but I didn’t have time to put on concealer.

“Hello?” she breathes, her voice more a question than a greeting.

But I won’t let this strange woman make my night any worse.

No, I’m here to take care ofmyself.

“Hi,” I greet her, placing a grin on my face, hiding the despair that threatens to rise to the surface. Stare at me all you want; you won’t ruin this for me. “I have a reservation under Harper Chapman.”

The room I booked, despite it being the cheapest, still cost a fortune.

I can’t wait to see it, though. I’m looking forward to the canopy king bed and reading nook that overlooks the property. I just need to spend the next week in solitude, relaxing in luxury.

“Harper?” the Beta woman repeats, her grey eyebrows scrunched. “Chapman?”

I stare at her for a moment in silence, the only sound the faint swaying of the clock’s pendulum.

Either this woman has the worst social skills in the world, or I’m losing my mind.

“Yes,” I say slowly, opening my purse to take out my wallet. I hand her my identification card and credit card. “Here.”

She takes both and studies them, turning them over incredulously.

I stand there awkwardly as she stares at my cards for far too long and then finally turns to the sleek desktop computer. Electronics look out of place from the rest of the room, breaking the illusion that I’m in the early twentieth century.

As she stares at her screen, her face only grows more anxious.

I shift on my feet, uncomfortable.

“Is something wrong?” I finally blurt out, and she stops to glance at me. Finally, her face evens out and she sighs.

“No, Miss Chapman, there’s not,” she says carefully. “But if you’ll excuse me a moment, I will be right back.”

I’m even more puzzled as she stands and leaves the room, walking towards the fireplace and turning a corner.

She leaves me alone with the clock and crackle of the logs as my only companions.

I try not to panic.

Maybe there’s something wrong with my card. Maybe they don't have a room for me.

Where will I go, then?

A muffled male voice sounds above me, followed by the voice of the Beta woman behind the counter.

Then, the voices are silent.

The clock chimes so loudly I jump.

It’s midnight.

And I’m exhausted.

I want to rest in the canopy bed. I want to bury myself under the covers and not resurface for a week.

Sighing, I walk to the inviting loveseat and sink into the cushions, letting the warmth of the fireplace wash over me.

Please let there be a room.

The woman is gone for a ridiculously long time and as I wait, I focus my gaze out the window, staring into the darkness.

He won’t find me here.

Hecan’t.

I took my laptop with me and he doesn’t have the login to my bank account.

Which is what started our fight in the first place and what put the outline of his handprint on my cheek.

So please, for the love of God, just let there be…

“Miss Chapman?” a low voice asks, and I jolt out of my half-asleep state. I turn my head, following the voice, and…

Oh.

Holy hell.

The woman from earlier is nowhere to be found. Instead, she’s been replaced by a pale, bleach-blonde Alpha, with cheekbones so high and a jawline so sharp it’s ridiculous.

His icy blue eyes are piercing, and he cocks an eyebrow as he stares at me from the front of the room.

Jolting up out of the loveseat, I move my hair out of my eyes and face him. “Yes?” I ask, careful not to let him know how he affects me.

He takes a step closer, and it takes all my willpower not to cower.

He’s massive. He’s easily a foot taller and a hundred pounds heavier than me.

And dressed in a black button-up and fitted black trousers, he looks like the devil.

Every instinct in me screams to run away, but I’m frozen in a mixture of fear and curiosity.

His full lips pull up into a smirk, and a chill runs down my spine.

He’s looking at me like I’m prey which is ridiculous and inappropriate.

I’m a Beta. With my light brown hair and brown eyes, there’s nothing about me physically that stands out, unless you count the pink line that cuts down my face.

It’s not a very attractive feature.

Alphas rarely flirt with Betas. They’re too occupied with their Omegas and are usually part of a pack.

His behavior towards me is not normal at all.

He takes another step forward, his low voice murmuring something, but I’m hypnotized by a rush of pepper and citrus.     His scent.

God, when was the last time I’ve smelled an Alpha?

Even to Betas, their aroma is heavenly, and goosebumps prick at my arms as he floods my senses.

He’s fucking mouthwatering.

Back to reality, Harper, I chide myself.

It’s midnight, I’m exhausted, and I still haven’t even seen my room.

And when he takes another step towards me, the fireplace illuminating the icy hue of his eyes, I flinch back with fear.

His smirk disappears, and his lips form into a thin line as I crane my neck to look up at him.

“We’re upgrading you,” he mutters, and I frown at his sudden mood change. He says “upgrade” like it’s a dirty word, but I’m too tired to question his attitude.

And more than a little frightened.

Weakly, I nod, hoping he’ll leave so the woman can finish helping me.

But I have no such luck.

Instead, he reaches out, motioning towards my suitcase, and I take another step away from him, nearly losing my balance.

I don’t feel safe with this man.

I don’t feel safe with any man right now.

And he must sense it, because he looks at me curiously.

“Something the matter?” he asks quietly. His brow furrows as he stares at my face, at thestupid scar.

Does no one in Aurora know how to be subtle?