Escaping My Alpha To The Rival Beta

On what should have been my eight-year anniversary with Felix Jones, the heir to the Silver Moon Pack Alpha, he humiliated me in front of the entire pack. Overwhelmed by alcohol and distress, I stumbled into the wrong room at the pack’s central hall during the gathering. The next day, when he heard I was planning to resign as his assistant, he laughed and hung up on me, assuming it was just a whim and that I’d come crawling back in a few days. But I booked a flight that very night and cut off all ties with Felix and everything connected to the Silver Moon Pack.

Thinking my heart was broken beyond repair, my friend Abigail, an Omega like me, took me out to a local pub to drown my sorrows. My cheeks were flushed from the alcohol as I held onto a stranger, sobbing out my remorse: “I honestly didn’t mean it that night.”

“I only acted that way because I was drunk. Please, forgive me,” I begged. “Saints and angels, I’ve run so far they surely won’t find me, right?”

The room went quiet all of a sudden, except for Abigail, who dared to nudge me. Through tear-filled eyes, I looked up, and there was the familiar face from that night—Ronan Moore, a Beta from the Crimson Fang Pack.

“So, Miss Rivera, are you not planning to take responsibility for your actions?” he asked, his voice low and firm, his Alpha aura pressing down on me even though he wasn’t my Alpha.

---

The click of the closing door jolted my heart before it settled back down. I limped towards the elevator, my legs shaking so violently that I almost collapsed. My entire body was aching, but stopping wasn’t an option. Remembering the fiery look in Ronan’s eyes, I swallowed hard and frantically pressed the elevator button.

The night before, someone had slipped something into my wine at the pack gathering. By the time I realized it, I was already disoriented, wandering into a stranger’s room. Without thinking, I barged in and fell upon a man who had just finished showering and was trying to transfer from his wheelchair to the bed.

Behaving like an overly enthusiastic admirer, I kicked his wheelchair aside and climbed onto his lap, reaching up to kiss his tilted chin.

“It’s so hot... Aren’t you hot? Maybe we should take off our clothes?” I babbled. “Don’t run... just help me out,” I pleaded, “Feeling sorry for me would also work. I need to touch you to cool down,” I continued, clutching him to relieve my feverish state.

Ronan, whose face was only a blur to me at the time, stayed silent and tense, his eyes dark with unreadable emotions. Sensing his weakness in his legs, I straddled his waist without restraint. Once I ran out of energy, panting heavily against his chest, he spoke with a voice cold as ice.

“Do you even know who I am?” he asked.

But I was