Alpha Alec's Redemption - Chapter 135: Chapter 135

I exhaled deeply, like I’d been holding that breath for days. Then I turned back to my research, steeling myself to return to the books. I was just starting to get into the right headspace when the door creaked open behind me.
My entire body tensed as Piper stepped inside, her expression distracted, almost hesitant.
Of all the times…
The memory of our last encounter slammed into me like a train. My instincts screamed at me to bolt—just get up and leave—but my legs didn’t move.
Why now?
She hadn’t taken more than a few steps before her head snapped to the right—straight toward me. Our eyes locked. For a heartbeat, she froze, stunned. Then she took a step back, like she might bolt too.
But she didn’t.
Instead, she squared her shoulders and disappeared among the bookshelves.
I let out a breath I didn’t realize I’d been holding, my body sagging with relief. I considered leaving—again—but something kept me rooted. I couldn’t keep running. Not from her. Not from this.
So, I stayed.
I reached for another book, trying to focus, but I felt her return before I even saw her. She sat a few tables away, with her own stack of books. I tried to concentrate, but her presence was like static in my mind—disruptive and impossible to ignore. Her scent carried memories I didn’t want to face. Memories of a time when we were inseparable. Before everything fell apart.
Before the goddess decided to ruin everything.
Bitterness threatened to rise, but I forced it down. The past was what it was. No amount of resentment could change it.
Still, the minutes crawled by. I kept losing my place in the text, my thoughts drifting to her. We didn’t speak, but I could feel her watching me, her eyes flickering toward me every so often like she wanted to say something—but didn’t.
I was just about to give up and walk out when I heard the sound of a chair scraping. I glanced up.
Piper was standing right in front of me.
I raised my head slowly until our eyes met.
She looked... different.
Still beautiful—with that runway model frame, long black hair, forest green eyes, and full pink lips—but the light in her had dimmed. She looked tired. Fragile. She’d lost weight. Her usual effortless glow had been replaced by something dimmer, like a candle on the verge of burning out.
Once, she turned heads everywhere we went. But I never envied her. The only person I ever wanted to impress was her brother.
Our friendship had been everything. She was born into privilege—Alpha's daughter, Alpha's sister, second only to her mother in power. But she never acted like she was above anyone. She loved fiercely. Protected me like a sister. I still remember when she beat up a boy who shoved me into a pond because I wouldn’t give him my lollipop. We were ten.
That was the Piper I knew.
The Piper I loved.
And yet, somehow, that same girl turned her back on me with barely a blink.
I studied her as she stood there, saying nothing, just… waiting.
Finally, she spoke. “I’m sorry.”
Her voice was low, broken. Her shoulders sagged like the weight of it had finally crushed her.
“I was wrong, Sadie. So wrong. You have no idea how guilty I felt when we thought you were dead. I knew you. You were my best friend. I knew your heart. I should’ve trusted you. But I didn’t. I realized too late what I’d done.”
Something flickered in me. Familiar. Dangerous. A longing I’d tried to bury years ago.
Could a decade of friendship be undone by one betrayal?
“I know I hurt you,” she whispered, tears welling in her eyes. “And that’s on me. I was a terrible friend. You have every right to hate me…”
Her voice broke again. The words got caught in her throat.
I could feel it now—her remorse. Her guilt. Her self-loathing. I’d been too blinded by pain before to see it. But now, calmer, quieter... I saw it all.
“I’m not trying to win you back because of Calvin,” she said, her voice steadier now. “I’m here because I miss you, Sadie. I miss my best friend.”
And then, just like that, she turned and walked away—rushing out of the library before I could even respond.
She hadn’t waited for forgiveness.
Just like she hadn’t expected it.
I stared at the door long after Piper had left, my mind spinning, my chest tight with something I didn’t want to name.
She said she was sorry.
The words echoed in my head over and over, like they were trying to find a place to settle—but there was no space left inside me that didn’t already ache.
I wasn’t expecting that. Not today. Not like that. No defenses, no excuses, no clever manipulation. Just… guilt. Pain. Raw and real and pouring out of her like she’d been carrying it for as long as I’d carried my anger.
And that was what scared me most.
Because it wasn’t just that she apologized.
It was that I believed her.
That pang in my chest hadn’t been pity—it was recognition. A memory of who we used to be. Of sleepovers and secrets whispered in the dark. Of laughing until we cried and making stupid promises to never let anything come between us.
We were a team. The kind of bond that was supposed to last forever. But forever had shattered the moment she believed I could betray her.
And that betrayal—that abandonment—cut deeper than anything else that happened after.
She didn’t even try to fight for me.
That was the part I couldn’t let go of. Not the choice she made… but that she didn’t hesitate to make it. That she didn’t stand beside me when I needed her most.
And yet… today, she did.
Not with words trying to rewrite history, but with truth. A truth I wasn’t sure I was ready for.
She’d looked so broken.
She’d always been the strong one—the protector. Even though I used to be fragile, she was the one who kept me steady. She was the one who made me feel safe. And seeing her like that? Fragile. Ashamed. Regretful.
It stirred something in me I didn’t want to feel.
Forgiveness.
Not full. Not yet. But the seed of it.
And it scared the hell out of me.
Because forgiving her meant loosening the armor I’d built around my heart. Forgiving her meant that I had missed her
And I did. Goddess, I did.
But I’d spent three years turning that love into rage. I’d poured gasoline on every good memory until all I had left was ash. I convinced myself it was safer that way.
So, what the hell was I supposed to do now?
Because the moment she said she missed me… some part of me wanted to let go.
But I didn’t.
I just sat there, my hands clenched in my lap, shaking with the weight of everything I hadn’t allowed myself to feel in those three years.
I sat there in silence, staring at nothing in particular and heard a voice inside me whisper, louder than before:
How long are you going to hold on to the pain, the anger, the bitterness?
I had no answer.
Is it worth it?
You’ve carried this for three years. What has it given you, besides a version of yourself you barely recognize? Is this who you want to be? A woman defined by resentment?
The questions echoed, each one cutting deeper.
Why can’t you let go?
Isn’t it time?
My chest tightened. Panic bubbled up. The idea of letting go was terrifying. These emotions had been my armor. My protection. Letting them go meant being vulnerable again—exposed.
I tried to reason with myself, tried to justify the anger… but the voice persisted.
Isn’t it time to let go?