HEATHCLIFF: The Forbidden Alpha

ROCHELLE

“I'm so sorry, Ms. Rochelle, but you have just three weeks to live.”

The doctor’s words echoed in my head as I walked into the parking lot. My legs felt unbearably heavy, each step requiring more effort than the last. The hospital report was clutched tightly in my right hand, the paper slightly crumpled from my grip. I didn’t want to admit it, but I already knew there was nothing I could do.

My pancreatic cancer was in its final stage. Even the best doctor in the world couldn’t help me now.

In my left hand was a list of things I wanted to do before I died. The kind nurses, who looked at me with pity, had encouraged me to write it. They said it would help. I wasn’t sure it did, but I tried anyway.

The first item on the list stared back at me, mocking me because of the little time I had left.

Get a boyfriend. Experience love and sex.

“I’m twenty-four,” I murmured under my breath. “Am I really going to die without ever knowing what it feels like to be loved… or touched? Will I return to heaven as a virgin?”

The parking lot was crowded, rows of cars stretching endlessly. My mind was foggy and because of that distraction, I mistook another black car for mine and pulled the door open.

It wasn’t locked, so I easily slid into the driver’s seat and tried to start the engine, only to realize my keys didn’t fit. My hands froze midair. My heart skipped, then began to pound violently against my chest.

“What…?” I whispered, a cold chill crawling up my spine.

“Am I hallucinating already?” I asked rhetorically, gripping the steering wheel. My hands hit the steering harder than I intended, and the car horn blared loudly through the parking lot.

“You’re a very bad thief,” a hoarse voice said from behind me.

I froze. My breath caught in my throat as I slowly lifted my eyes to the rearview mirror.

A man was sitting in the back seat. I couldn’t see his face clearly because he wore a cap pulled low over his eyes, but he was dressed in a black suit that fit him almost too perfectly. He had broad shoulders and a solid frame. The kind of presence that filled the car with fear.

“W-who are you?” I stammered. “What the hell are you doing in my car?”

My pulse roared in my ears. I tried to clench my fist, though I knew it was pointless. If he wanted to hurt me, I wouldn’t stand a chance.

I’d watched enough crime documentaries to know how this ends. The victim can only make it out alive if she's brave and manages to talk her way out.

I wasn’t brave. Cancer had already stripped me of that illusion. If this was really how I was going to die, then all I could think about was how unfair it felt. I had spent my entire life being careful—eating healthy meals, going to the gym, studying hard, abstaining from sex, obeying the law—and yet here I was, running out of time with so many things left undone.

“Please, don’t kill me,” I stammered, my gaze fixed ahead, my hands trembling until my keys slipped from my fingers. “How much do you want?” I asked, tossing my purse toward the backseat.

From the corner of my eye, I noticed the man looked shocked. He stared at my purse, too stunned to respond immediately.

“Scram,” he finally said, his voice husky and filled with threat. I didn’t need him to repeat himself before I bolted out of the car.

Unfortunately, in my rush, I’d left my hospital report and my wish list on the center console. My keys were on the car floor, and my purse remained with him. The only thing I had was my phone, and as small as that seemed, I felt a flicker of relief.

I had put some distance between us when I realized my real car was parked in another corner. A new problem quickly struck me: I needed my car key to drive home and break the news to my foster family. They'd be expecting me.

Reluctantly, I tiptoed back, keeping low behind a trunk. Two hefty men dressed as security officers stood by the car. One opened the passenger door, and the mysterious man stepped out. He removed his cap, and I froze as I immediately recognized him.

“Mr. Heathcliff? The five-time Oscar nominee?” My jaw dropped. My wish list and hospital report were in his hand, and he studied them too carefully, like they mattered more than they should.

After a moment, he extracted my ID from my purse, and that’s when I noticed it. In a blink, his eyes glowed golden yellow, and he looked unnatural. I gasped. That was definitely not ordinary.

The glow faded as quickly as it appeared, his eyes returning to their familiar black. Unfortunately, I'd tipped him off, and his gaze was fixed on my hiding spot. I tried to run, but his security men moved with unnerving speed, cutting me off before I could take a second step.

I knelt instinctively when I was brought back before him, bowing my head as tears slipped down my cheeks. I wasn’t an actress, but after escaping a near-death situation once, I had learned fear made the body obey before the mind.

“Who sent you?” His eyes locked on me, cold enough to make my stomach twist.

“I… I’m your biggest fan,” I said immediately. Of course, I wasn’t, everyone knew he was a wealthy playboy, but I needed a quick escape. It's better to lie than say nothing. I also couldn’t deny a small part of me that sometimes drools over his muscular body.

“I'm dying, sir, and my last wish,” I added, my voice shaking, hoping he wouldn’t notice how terrified I was, “is to hire you…as a fake boyfriend.”