Oops! I Crashed the Alpha King’s Wedding. . .

3

Alpha Asher POV

The charity banquet was exactly what I expected: a glittering cage full of fake smiles and sharper ambitions. Crystal chandeliers dripped light over tables covered in white linen and gold-rimmed plates. The air smelled of expensive perfume, aged whiskey, and desperation. Everyone here wanted something from me—money, favors, power, or worse, my attention.

I stood near the back wall, nursing a glass of bourbon, watching the room like a predator sizing up prey. My suit felt too tight, my patience thinner than usual. I hated these events. They were necessary, though. The Royal name had to be seen, the Alpha King had to be feared and admired in equal measure. So I showed up, shook hands, made small talk, and let them think they mattered.

Then she appeared.

Callie Voss glided through the crowd like she owned the damn place. My fiancée—by arrangement, not choice. Her silver gown clung to every curve, diamonds sparkling at her throat. She looked beautiful, I’d give her that. But beauty doesn’t mean anything when the person wearing it is poison.

“Asher, darling,” she purred, sliding up beside me. Her hand brushed my arm like it belonged there. “You’ve been hiding from me all night.”

“I’ve been working,” I said flatly, not bothering to look at her.

She laughed, that high, practiced sound she used when she wanted attention. “Always so serious. You should relax. We’re engaged, remember? People are watching.”

“Let them watch.” I took a slow sip of my drink. “They’ll see what they always see—an Alpha who doesn’t play games.”

Her smile tightened. “You’re in a mood tonight.”

“I’m always in a mood when I’m forced to pretend I enjoy your company.”

Callie’s eyes flashed, but she recovered quickly. She leaned closer, voice dropping to a whisper. “You’ll have to get used to me, Asher. We’re getting married in three months. My father’s pack and yours—our union is the only thing keeping the eastern borders stable.”

I knew the politics. I knew why the elders pushed this match. Callie’s father controlled the timberlands we needed. She was the price. But knowing didn’t make it easier to stomach.

“I don’t need reminding,” I muttered.

She reached for my glass. “Then let me help you unwind.” Her fingers grazed mine as she took a sip from my drink—something she did on purpose, like marking territory.

I pulled the glass back. “Don’t.”

She pouted, dramatic and childish. “You’re no fun anymore. What happened to the Alpha who used to at least pretend he liked me?”

“He grew up,” I said. “And realized pretending is a waste of time.”

Her face hardened for a second before she plastered the smile back on. “Fine. Enjoy your brooding. I’ll go dance with someone who actually wants to talk to me.”

“Good luck finding him,” I replied under my breath as she stormed off.

I watched her disappear into the crowd, relief washing over me. Finally. I set the empty glass on a passing tray and signaled Ronald. “I’m leaving.”

He nodded, already pulling out his phone to alert the driver. “The car’s ready in the garage, sir.”

I didn’t say goodbye to anyone. I didn’t have to. I walked through the side exit, down the service corridor, and into the elevator. The moment the doors closed, the noise of the banquet faded, and the silence felt like breathing again.

But something was wrong.

My head felt heavy, a strange buzz behind my eyes. The bourbon usually warmed me, loosened the tension in my shoulders. Tonight it sat like lead in my stomach. My vision blurred at the edges, and a slow heat crept up my neck. I leaned against the elevator wall, frowning.

What the hell?

I wasn’t drunk. I’d only had three drinks—maybe four. Nothing that should affect me like this. Werewolf metabolism burned alcohol fast. Unless…

I shook my head. No. Paranoia. Just exhaustion. The night had been long, and Callie’s constant needling didn’t help.

The elevator dinged. I stepped into the underground parking lot, the cool air hitting my face like a slap. My four bodyguards fell into formation around me without a word. Ronald walked ahead, opening the back door of the Maybach.

I slid inside, closed my eyes, and let my head fall back against the leather. “Home,” I ordered.

The engine purred to life. We started moving.

Then the car jerked to a stop.

I opened my eyes, irritation flaring. “What now?”

The driver’s voice came through the partition, nervous. “Someone’s blocking the exit, sir.”

I narrowed my eyes and looked forward.

A girl stood right in the middle of the ramp, arms waving like she was trying to stop a damn freight train. Jeans, hoodie, messy dark hair. No makeup, no jewelry. Nothing like the polished wolves upstairs. She looked ordinary. Desperate. And completely insane.

“Get out and deal with it,” I growled.

Two of my guards jumped out. I watched through the tinted glass as they loomed over her. She didn’t back down. I could see her mouth moving, stubborn, refusing to move. My patience, already razor-thin, snapped.

“What’s taking so long?” I barked.

Ronald got out next. I heard muffled voices—something about a “case,” a “brother.” Business? At midnight? In a parking garage?

I rubbed my temple. The strange buzz in my head was getting worse. My skin felt too tight.

“Drive,” I ordered.

The car rolled forward again.

Then she screamed.

“You bastard!”

The word hit me like a slap. Before I could process it, something flew through the open window—a bottle. Water exploded across my face, cold and shocking. It soaked my hair, ran down my neck, dripped into my collar. My suit—custom, thousands of dollars—was ruined in seconds.

The car froze.

Silence.

Absolute, stunned silence.

Water dripped from my lashes. I slowly lifted my head.

She stood there, chest heaving, eyes wide with a mixture of fear and fury. The same girl who’d blocked my path. The same one who’d just assaulted the Alpha King in front of four armed guards.

My blood turned to ice, then fire.

Ronald’s voice trembled. “Mr. Royal… are you all right?”

I didn’t answer. I couldn’t. Rage boiled up so fast it choked me.

My fingers curled into fists. Water still dripped from my chin.

That girl—small, ordinary, reckless—had just crossed a line no one crossed.

I met her eyes through the windshield. She didn’t flinch. Not yet.

But she would.

“Seize that damn woman!”