Married To The Billionaire Alpha King-Chapter 16 - not good enough

16

~Elara’s POV

I slammed the door behind me and let out a frustrated sigh. My shoulders were tense and my chest felt heavy, like I was carrying a storm inside me. "Damn it, Damon," I muttered under my breath. "Still apologizing for kissing me... I knew it. I knew it. He didn’t like me."

I sank onto the edge of the bed, burying my face in my hands. The anger and sadness collided inside me, leaving me restless. My fingers trembled as I hugged my knees to my chest. I felt small, exposed, and... annoyed with myself for letting any of this get to me.

Just then, my phone rang, piercing the quiet of the room. I frowned when I saw the name. Lira.

I ignored the call at first, letting it ring over and over. I tried to steady my breathing, telling myself that I didn’t need this right now. I wrapped the blanket tighter around my shoulders and pressed my back against the headboard, willing my heart to stop racing. Maybe if I just pretended it wasn’t happening, it would go away.

But the phone kept vibrating, insistent and urgent, like it knew it had to be answered. My fingers itched with irritation and fear at the same time. I bit my lip, staring at the screen, and finally gave in. I picked up the phone, pressing it to my ear with a trembling hand.

"What?" I said, my voice barely above a whisper. It trembled a little, no matter how hard I tried to steady it. I didn’t want her to hear the fear hiding under it, but my chest felt tight, and my palms were already damp. I was so nervous. Like if I said the wrong thing, she’d bite.

"Ha! So this is the pompous little thing now!" Lira’s voice spat through the line, sharp and venomous enough to make my ears hurt. "Alpha Darlon’s Luna, huh? You really think you’re something now? You think marriage makes you better than me?"

My stomach dropped. My chest felt like it had been punched. "Lira..." I started cautiously, hoping maybe, just maybe, she’d stop.

But she didn’t. She rattled on with a hiss that made my skin crawl. "You don’t get it, do you? You don’t even belong there! That position is mine! Mine! How dare you just... take it? You ugly, fat bitch...."

Her words flew at me so fast that I could barely catch them. Each insult stabbed like icy knives, piercing every fragile thought I had about myself. My hands started trembling. My breathing grew shallow. My chest ached from the force of it.

And just like that, before I could respond, she hung up.

I stared at the phone in disbelief, my fingers frozen on the edge of the bed. My chest tightened painfully, and a wave of shock and helplessness washed over me. My hands trembled as I gripped the blanket, and I wanted, more than anything, to throw the phone, to scream at the top of my lungs, to cry until my throat ached.

Instead, I did nothing. I just sat there, frozen, my mind spinning.

Before I could process anything, there was a knock at the door.

"Lady Elara?" a gentle voice asked. "Alpha Darlon sent me. He says... he wants you to get ready for the evening at the lounge."

I blinked, and then I nodded slowly. "Yes... Thank you," I whispered.

The knock came again, this time three maids entered with a large hanger of clothes, shoes, and a few bags. They bowed deeply.

"These are gifts from Alpha Darlon, your majesty," the head maid said, her voice soft but respectful. "He asked us to deliver them to you."

I forced a smile, my throat tight. "Thank you," I murmured, trying to sound polite as my hands hovered over the clothes.

After the maids left, I finally let myself examine the gifts. My hands trembled slightly as I ran my fingers over the clothes, over the soft, luxurious fabric that shimmered slightly under the sunlight filtering through the curtains. The colors were beautiful, rich, elegant, and exactly the kind of shades I might have chosen if I were braver. The bags were large and perfectly structured, gleaming as if they had been made for someone far more refined than me. And the shoes... oh, the shoes. They gleamed like jewels, polished and pristine, their delicate straps and pointed tips practically daring me to try them on.

I hesitated, my stomach twisting with a mix of curiosity and anxiety. I wanted to feel beautiful. I wanted to feel like I belonged in this life. But a small, nagging part of me whispered, Maybe he’s laughing at you behind it all. I pushed the thought aside and decided to try the first dress.

The moment I tugged it over my shoulders, I knew something was wrong. It didn’t fit. Not even close. It hugged my curves so tightly that I couldn’t move my arms freely. I gasped, trying to pull it over my chest and hips, feeling the seams strain against my body. I stopped, holding it in place for a moment, trying to catch my breath. My heart thudded painfully in my chest. Was this meant for someone else? I wondered bitterly.

I tried the next dress, hoping for better luck, but it was worse. It felt like it had been stitched for a mannequin, not a real woman with real curves. The fabric pinched at all the wrong places, digging into my skin and leaving marks almost instantly. My hands flew to my face, and I let out a shaky laugh mixed with frustration and hurt.

Then came the shoes. I slid my feet into the first pair and almost screamed as the straps dug into my toes and my arches burned. I tried another, praying it would be softer, more forgiving, but it pinched just as badly. I kicked them off in frustration, feeling my eyes sting.

I flopped back onto the bed, exasperated. My chest rose and fell quickly as I tried to calm down. "What the hell is this?" I muttered, my voice trembling. "Is he mocking me? Is this some kind of joke?" I stared at the clothes, at the shoes, at the bags, and suddenly the luxury and elegance of it all felt like an accusation. It was as if the gifts were telling me, You’re too fat. You’re not worthy to be with me.

I paced the room, tugging at the fabric, checking the shoes, trying to figure out if I was imagining it. My heart pounded, my cheeks burned, and I felt tears well up.

"He... he must be laughing at me," I whispered bitterly, my voice shaking. "He knows I’m not slim. He knows I’m fat.....maybe this is his way of saying I don’t belong, that I’m not good enough."

I sank onto the edge of the bed again, staring at the clothes in disbelief. The thought stung more than I expected. I wanted to throw the hangers across the room. I wanted to scream and stomp and shout. But I didn’t.

Instead, I sat there, feeling small, angry, and humiliated, wondering if I’d made a mistake ever thinking I could even exist in his world.

"Why... why would he do this?" I whispered, my voice breaking. "Why would he make me feel like this?"