The Alpha Prisoners Obsession

Chp 1

ZYRA’S POV

The road stretched endlessly before me, a ribbon of asphalt flanked by tall, sterile buildings that seemed to lean over me, whispering threats I couldn’t quite name. My fingers clenched the straps of my bag so tightly my knuckles ached, and I could feel the tremor running through my hands. A nervous habit, yes but also a defense. I could not let anyone see my fear. Not here. Not now.

Every glance I stole in the rearview mirror made me flinch. The city was foreign, brimming with people I didn’t know, scents I didn’t recognize, and the sharp, unfamiliar noise of engines and chatter made my chest tighten. I had spent years hiding, running from those who wanted my bloodline destroyed. The Silver Pack. My parents were gone, my home burned to ash, and now the only thing that marked me, the silver streaks in my hair had been carefully covered with dye. I had spent hours, weeks, months perfecting this disguise. And yet, every time someone’s gaze lingered too long, I could feel the weight of suspicion pressing against me.

I had to be careful. Always.

The academy came into view, its gates massive and cold, framed by grey steel and glass that glinted ominously under the late afternoon sun. My heart stuttered as I stepped out of the taxi, the world suddenly silent in my ears. My palms were clammy, and when I raised a hand to brush a loose strand of dyed hair behind my ear, it trembled visibly.

This was it.

The gates towered above me like silent sentinels, their spires piercing the sky. A cold wind swept across the courtyard as I approached, tugging at my red jacket and making the hem of my skirt flutter. My uniform was crisp: a white shirt that clung just enough to hint at my shape, a skirt cut above my knees, and a red jacket that covered the upper part of my body. It was sharp, it was bold, and yet it did nothing to shield me from the feeling that I did not belong here.

I gripped the straps of my bag, lowering my head so my face would be obscured from passing students. Each step was careful, deliberate. I tried not to draw attention, tried not to let anyone see me not my face, not my past, not the faint aura of silver that might betray me if the dye faltered.

I am Zyra Drovnik, I told myself. Not the cursed daughter of the Silver Pack. Not the girl they whispered about, hated, feared. Just Zyra.

But deep down, I knew the truth. No matter how far I ran, how carefully I concealed myself, the past was stitched into my very being. My hair, my name, my very presence carried the weight of bloodlines long extinguished. And here, in this place, where the children of powerful families mingled and vied for status, it could spell disaster.

I took a shaky breath and pushed the gate open. The cold steel pressed against my palms, seeping through the fabric of my gloves, and for a moment, I shivered not from the wind, but from the awareness that stepping through that arch meant exposure. Every eye, every whisper could find me out. Every student here had their own lineage, their own power, and here I was, fragile and alone, trying to walk unnoticed among predators.

The courtyard was vast, paved in polished stone, the edges lined with meticulously trimmed hedges and benches. Students strolled in groups, chatting and laughing, their voices ringing with confidence and entitlement. I lowered my head further, focusing on the path ahead, willing my heart to slow. My shoes clicked softly against the stone as I made my way toward the main building, where the library waited like a sanctuary.

I have to be careful, I reminded myself again, though the words were starting to feel hollow. One mistake, one glance, one slip of my hair, and I’ll be ruined. Everyone knows what the Silver Pack represents. Everyone knows what I am capable of or what they think I am.

And I hated that I had to fear my own existence.

The main building’s doors were enormous, glass and steel, the kind of imposing architecture designed to make students feel small. I pushed them open, slipping inside as though I were a shadow, careful not to draw attention. The interior smelled of polished wood, leather-bound books, and faint incense, a mix of both calming and intimidating. I could hear the soft hum of conversation, the scratching of pens, the quiet turning of pages. The library was my refuge, my anchor. If I could just reach it, I might find a semblance of safety in the stacks of knowledge, in the quiet discipline of books.

I adjusted the straps of my bag, lowered my chin, and started toward the inner corridors, my skirt swishing softly with each step. The path to the library cut across the school grounds, a large open courtyard surrounded by classroom wings. And then I saw him.

He was leaning against the edge of a fountain, surrounded by a small cluster of boys, all laughing loudly. His jacket was draped casually over one shoulder, his tie loose, his hair perfectly in place despite the breeze. But it was his eyes that froze me in place, red, sharp, cold. They pierced through the crowd, through me, and refused to look away.

I faltered for a heartbeat, gripping my bag straps tighter, my knuckles whitening. He knows, I thought instantly. He sees me. He knows who I am.

And just as suddenly as the intensity struck me, he turned away, smiling faintly at his friends, joking, laughing, blending back into the group. But the knowledge that those eyes had been on me lingered, cold and suffocating.

I swallowed, willing my heart to stop hammering, and took another step. Then I heard a voice, a girl’s, calm, measured, with a slight edge of warning.

“Don’t go near them,” she said, glasses catching the light as she leaned against the wall, a thick book held in her hands. “They’re the alphas. The most dangerous ones. You have no idea what you’re walking into.”

I hesitated, glancing in her direction, then back at the boy I had just noticed. He wasn’t like anyone else here, there was a presence about him that set him apart. Dangerous, commanding, something that made my skin prickle.

“I… I’m just passing through,” I murmured, more to myself than to her, lowering my head further.

She raised an eyebrow, eyes sharp. “Passing through doesn’t help if they see you. You need to be careful. That pack… that side of the school… they don’t forgive mistakes. They don’t forget bloodlines. Trust me.”

Her words struck a chord I couldn’t ignore. I forced myself to continue walking, though my steps were measured, hesitant. I didn’t want to draw attention, and yet every instinct told me that it was too late. Somehow, he had already seen me. Somehow, he knew.

The library doors were ahead, and with every step, I felt a mixture of relief and dread. Inside, I could disappear, melt into the stacks, bury myself in books and knowledge where no one could touch me. Outside, the world was unpredictable, dangerous, filled with people who would judge me the moment they discovered the truth.

As I pushed open the library doors and stepped into the warm, quiet light, I allowed myself a slow exhale. My bag felt heavier on my shoulders, my heart slower, but the tension in my body remained. I found a secluded corner, pulling a book from the nearest shelf, something about criminal psychology, something to sharpen my mind and distract me from the swirling storm outside.

And yet, even as I opened the pages and immersed myself in theory, profiles, and case studies, I couldn’t stop thinking about the boy with the red eyes. He had stared at me like he knew everything about me, like he could see past the layers I had spent years carefully constructing.

I have to be careful, I repeated silently, as if saying it enough times could make it true. I can’t let anyone discover who I really am. Not here. Not yet.

But the truth was clear, no matter how much I denied it. My life had changed the moment I stepped through the academy gates. And the moment our eyes met across the courtyard, I understood that this place, these students… were not going to let me survive unnoticed.