The Alpha's Daydream ✔️

Prologue

Her grandmother would always say that violins were the instruments of angels, and when she closed her age weary eyes, she could almost see the spiritual beings making the enchanting music.

Maybe that was why Seneca hated it so much.

While gulping down her second glass of champagne, the music sounded like dying cats in her ears, and her eyes burned into the string quartet that played obliviously in the corner.

After placing her empty glass on a tray, Seneca crossed the ballroom floor, guests moving out of her way and bowing their heads with averted eyes. She came to stand beside her husband, her gown swishing around her ankles and settling an inch above the floor. Her black stilettos peeped out, a show of elegant grace while in reality they were mercilessly killing her thighs. Only a few more minutes, and she promised herself she'd be up in her room, kicking her shoes across the the floor and flinging herself down on her favourite chaise lounge.

A smile remained on her lips as she laid a hand on her husband's arm, but he didn't look to her in acknowledgment. Predictably, he continued taking to the men in front of him, both in suits as expensive as the Persian rugs they walked upon. This wasn't unusual, and only after another boring few minutes did her husband cast her a glance from the corner of his eye and give her a certain look. A tilt of his eyebrows that conveyed a very familiar message. Don't interrupt, Darling, not when you can see I'm busy with very important guests.

Important indeed. Important enough to arrange this elaborate gala dinner, hire the cacophonous philharmonic quartet, bring on twenty more staff to cater to tonight, and ignore his wife for a week while overseeing every little detail.

Her husband, ever the perfectionist. She could scream.

With a thin lipped smile, Seneca leaned closer to his ear and whispered, "I'm heading up to bed. Do carry on without me though." She spoke as if he needed her permission, but knew it was only her attempt at fooling herself. He needed no permissions, especially not from her.

When he only patted her hand before squeezing it tightly in response, she slipped away with one last smile at their guests. Pausing by the grand staircase leading upstairs, she spoke softly to the Beta, "Arthur, when you get the chance, please tell the Alpha I wish to speak to him. Tonight."

"Yes of course, Luna Seneca."

And then she hurried on, leaving the party behind her. Normally she enjoyed such elegant occasions, but not tonight with her stomach churning. Churning with the recently learned news that she needed to share with her husband. But of course, the Alpha has been busy all week with the meetings, newly signed treaty and celebration to accompany it all. He barely had time to smile at her or even greet her in the morning. But tonight she would demand his time, Seneca determined as she removed her ball gown and wrapped herself in a comfortable silk robe. Unclipping her earrings next, she studied her reflection while sitting at her bureau; her long black hair falling in shiny tresses over her shoulder, her lips plump and red, and eyes a rich brown, so opposite to Dennison's dazzling and icy blue irises. His eyes were what she had first fallen in love with, and remained enchanted by. No one had eyes quite like her Alpha Dennison.

After a while, when her nerves remained fluttering dangerously, Seneca opened a side cabinet and withdrew a bottle of strong alcohol. Pouring it into two glasses—one for herself and one for her dear Alpha mate, should he decide to join her—she then reached into a drawer and pulled out a small vial. The glass tube was capped with a golden screw top, and the liquid inside was pure black. The nectar of the Madenolia blossom should only be used as a last resort, her grandmother always said. But then, who had ever listened to the old woman anyway? Certainly not Seneca. Unscrewing the cap, she poured a drop into one of the glasses, and replaced the cap just as the door opened.