Mated by Contract to the Alpha


    <b>Chapter </b><b>54 </b>


    <b>Reba’s </b>POV


    My hope evaporated as I read his message: [I’m busy. Won’t be home for a few days. Don’t worry<b>, </b>I’ll still honor the contract terms.]


    <b>My </b>eyes stung with fresh tears. That’s all I was to him–a contract. An obligation. Nothing more. I felt foolish sitting there in lingerie that no one had seen, waiting like some lovesick teenager.


    I fell back against the pillows<b>, </b>staring at the ceiling as sunlight began to filter through the curtains. The sting of rejection throbbed through me, but beneath it, something else stirred. A determination I hadn’t felt in a long time took root. My jaw set as I made a decision.


    I couldn’t keep depending on Dominic. I couldn’t keep living as an extension of someone else, first William and now him. I needed to stand on my own feet, find my own way. I needed a job–a real one, not just being someone’spanion or assistant.


    By seven, I was showered, dressed, and sitting at the kitchen ind with myptop, my fingers tapping rapidly on the keyboard as I scanned job listings. Retail associate, administrative assistant, receptionist–I applied to everything I was even remotely qualified for, tailoring my resume for each position. I had sales experience from my time at the boutique where I’d worked through college, and I hoped that would count for something.


    Diana arrived at eight, her eyebrows rising in surprise when she found me already up and working.


    ‘Good morning, Miss Brown,” she greeted me, setting down her purse. “You’re up early. Can I make you breakfast?”


    “Good morning, Diana. <b>Just </b>coffee, please,” I replied, not looking up from myptop. My <b>voice </b>sounded steadier than I felt. “<b>Have </b>you heard from Mr. Sterling?”


    Diana hesitated before answering, her eyes darting away from mine. “Mr. Sterling informed me he would be away on business for a few days. <b>He </b>asked me to ensure you have everything you need.”


    I nodded, pressing my lips together to keep them from trembling. “I’m fine, thank you. Just catching up on some


    work.‘


    Diana busied herself in the kitchen, and I continued my job search. By noon, I’d applied to over twenty positions but received no immediate responses. My enthusiasm was beginning to wane, my shoulders slumping with each rejection email, when an email notification popped up.


    (Dear Ms. Brown,


    Thank you for your interest in Silver Collections. After reviewing your application, we would like to invite you for <b>an </b>interview at our boutique in the Sterling za Mall this afternoon at 3:00 PM. Our starting <b>sry </b>is $25 <b>per </b><b>hour </b>plusmission, which we believe ispetitive for the luxury retail sector.


    <b>12:07 </b>Mon, Sep <b>22 </b>


    Please bring your resume and portfolio if applicable.


    Regards,


    Steve Johnson


    Store Manager]


    :


    6)


    I read the email twice, my pulse quickening, a smile spreading across my face for the first time that day. The <b>sry </b>was significantly higher than I’d expected for a retail position, almost double what I’d earned at my previous job. Sterling za Mall was one of the most exclusive shopping centers in the city<b>, </b>catering to the wealthy elite- including, I assumed, many werewolves.


    I replied immediately, confirming the interview, and spent the next hour preparing my portfolio. I had digital copies of most of my designs, and I quickly assembled them into a professional presentation, my confidence growing with each file I added. Then I carefully selected my outfit–a simple ck pencil skirt<b>, </b>a cream silk blouse, and modest heels. Professional, but still stylish enough for a luxury retail environment.


    “I’m going out for an interview,” I told Diana as I gathered my things, smoothing my skirt nervously.


    She looked up from the kitchen counter where she was preparing lunch. “Would you like Raymond to drive you?”


    I shook my head firmly. “No, thank you. I’ll take a rideshare.”


    Thest thing I wanted was to arrive at an interview in Dominic’s car with his driver. This job–if I got it–would be mine, something I achieved on my own merits.


    Sterling za Mall was a massive structure of ss and marble, housing only the most exclusive designer boutiques. I felt distinctly out of ce as I walked through the gleaming corridors, my heels clicking on the polished floor.


    Silver Collections was tucked between a high–end watchmaker and a designer shoe store. The boutique’s fa?ade was elegant–muted silver with the store’s name in flowing script above ss doors. Inside, the lighting was soft, highlighting disy cases of exquisite jewelry and essories.


    1 approached the counter where a perfectly coiffed saleswoman stood. “Hello, I’m Reba Brown. I have an interview with Steve Johnson at three.” My voice came out more confident than I felt.