All too late when the alpha crawled back to me

“Years ago, your father set up a marriage for you. Now that you’re healthy… will you go ahead with it?”

I didn’t hesitate.

“Yes,” I said, voice level and detached. “Have Father prepare the documents. And make sure the wedding doesn’t look tacky. I’m not interested in romance — I’m here to win.”

My mother didn’t flinch at my tone. She nodded, added a few practical suggestions, and I rattled off a brief list of instructions of my own before hanging up.

The weekend was meant to celebrate Celestine’s birthday: a glittering affair aboard Rafael’s yacht. Champagne, smiles that didn’t reach the eyes, forced merriment. That was the plan.

Instead, I watched her press her lips to my boyfriend’s. Rafael.

Up on the upper deck — cake frosting smudged on her cheek, his hands roaming her waist. Victor, his brother — once like a protective older brother to me — handed Celestine a towel with the casualness of someone helping a damsel, as if the scene unfolding before me wasn’t a betrayal on full display.

Celestine. My best friend since we were nine. The girl who used to braid my hair and promise she’d never touch what was mine. Now she was licking chocolate from Rafael’s fingers like it was flirtation — like it was a prelude.

And Rafael? The man who had bled for me, who had called me his future without shame — he didn’t so much as flinch when I passed them. Not even a blink.

I didn’t break down. I didn’t scream.

I climbed downstairs with the sea air heavy and sharp in my lungs, my heart unnervingly quiet. I sat on the velvet sofa tucked into the yacht’s lower-deck lounge and called my mother. Because if I wanted revenge, I needed leverage. Power doesn’t come from tears.

Minutes later, the sound of designer heels clicked down the staircase. A soft knock sounded on my cabin door.

“Aurelia?” a saccharine voice called.

I didn’t answer. She shoved the door open anyway.

Celestine flowed in like she owned every inch of Rafael’s boat, brandishing a Black Forest cake with a solitary candle stuck dead center. Her makeup was immaculate — glossy lips, long lashes — yet there were a couple of deliberate smears of whipped cream on her cheek. Always performative. Always deliberate.

“Aurelia, will you come upstairs? Everyone keeps asking where you are.” Her voice was sweet, her eyes wide and doe-like, the exact expression she used to disarm people. I’d seen the real thing behind that gaze too many times to be fooled.

“No,” I said, flat, without turning. “I have work.”

Something flickered across her face — not surprise, not hurt, but calculation.

“You don’t like me,” she said softly. “That’s why you keep avoiding me.”

I arched an eyebrow. “Are we doing this again?”

She blinked quickly, the practiced watery look that always fell so conveniently into place. I’d watched her use that same act on Rafael a thousand times.

“I’m not in the mood, Celestine. Save the theatrics for your audience,” I told her.

I made for the door. She stepped back — then suddenly stumbled. The cake flew from her hands and splattered across her chest, dark sponge and whipped cream exploding like some melodramatic tableau.

As if scripted, Rafael and Victor materialized at the top of the stairs, rushing forward with a choreographed urgency, shoving past me as though I didn’t exist.

“Celes! Oh my God — what happened?” Rafael’s voice tensed; his eyes were fixed on the wrecked cake and Celestine’s ruined dress.

“She shoved me,” Celestine whimpered, clutching the ruined dessert as though it were a grievous injury. “I just wanted to bring her something nice. For old times. She — she shoved it into me.”

I stared at her, stunned into silence for a beat. “What?” I said.

“She what?” Victor’s gaze was fierce. “Aurelia, what the hell is wrong with you?”

“I didn’t touch her,” I snapped. “She dropped it herself. You all saw— but you’re ready to believe her instead.”

Rafael didn’t so much as glance at me. He was busy dabbing whipped cream from Celestine’s shoulder like she was fragile glass.

“Celes, does it hurt?” he murmured. She sniffled and leaned into him, trembling on cue. “Just a little. It’s okay… I shouldn’t have bothered her. She hates me now.”

“You were her best friend,” Victor said, scowling at me. “You were like sisters. She always said you were her only true friend. And you treat her like this? Are you jealous?”

Jealous.

A short, bitter laugh escaped me. “You two are a soap-opera waiting to happen. All that’s missing is an amnesia plot and a fake baby.”

Rafael pivoted, jaw clenched. “You’re going to apologize.”

I blinked. “Pardon?”

“You heard me,” he said, low and dangerous. “Apologize to Celestine. Now.”

I folded my arms and met his stare. “No.”

His expression hardened. “Then forget the wedding we planned. If you don’t apologize by tomorrow, I won’t propose next month. Consider it off the table.”

Silence snapped taut between us.

Victor snorted behind him. “You really still wanna marry her, bro? Look at her — this is who she is. Waste of a future. If it were me, I’d think twice about marrying someone like her.”

I tilted my head, my gaze cold and steady. “That’s why no one ever would.” My voice was satin over steel.

Victor flushed; Rafael’s jaw twitched. Celestine shone with cruel delight, savoring the chaos she’d engineered.

I turned toward the side railing, intending to retreat back inside — and Rafael clamped his hand around my wrist. Before I could react, he shoved me. Hard.

Over the rail I went. Into the sea.

The splash stole the air from my lungs. Cold slammed into me like knives. Darkness rushed in. I couldn’t breathe. I couldn’t cry out.

My hands thrashed above the surface; my mouth tried to force in air but only seawater filled it. The water pulled at my limbs like a cruel tether. I didn’t know how to swim — they did. They had known that from the start.

“Aurelia?!” Celestine’s voice rang out theatrically from the deck, loud and immaculate. “Someone help — Aurelia doesn’t know how to swim!”

It wasn’t alarm. It was performance.

“Leave her,” Rafael said from above, voice cool and uncaring, like a god pronouncing sentence. “That’s for bothering you. She’s a pain — maybe this will teach her a lesson.”

I sank further, the world narrowing to the taste of salt and the muffled roar in my ears. Then, when breath felt impossible and darkness threatened to take me, something forceful broke through the water. Strong arms grabbed my waist and hauled me upward. The pull toward the surface came back.

A stranger’s voice — low, steady, steadying — said, “I’ve got you.”

I coughed violently as my head burst above the waves, gasping for air like someone given life back.