Bound To The Broken Alpha (Amy and Daniel) novel Chapter 7

**When Dawn Breaks Slowly Hope Finds Space To Grow by Jin Rowan Vale**
**Chapter 7: Shoulders High**

**AMY**

With each deliberate step I took down the runway, I felt the solidness of the ground beneath my feet. My posture was unwavering, shoulders back, chin raised defiantly toward the sky. I refused to let my gaze drift toward the audience, choosing instead to walk with the confidence of someone who truly belonged in that moment. I was no longer the girl who had faced humiliation at The Silverfang Lounge, nor was I the one whose foster sister had taken everything from her. Tonight, I was more than the discarded remnants of their disdain.

As I reached the end of the runway, I paused, allowing the moment to linger before I turned around and strode back with the same unwavering confidence. I could hear the murmurs from the crowd behind me, a blend of approval and intrigue that tickled my ears. Inside me, my wolf stirred softly, not in protest but in a deep, resonant agreement with the strides I was making toward reclaiming my identity.

The parade of outfits continued, each one more extravagant than the last. There were five in total, each heavier and more ornate, weighing down my body but not my spirit. By the time I reached the fourth ensemble, my feet throbbed with fatigue, but I pushed through, refusing to let the pain betray my resolve. The fifth outfit—a breathtaking silver gown that sparkled like the night sky—shifted the energy in the room. I could feel the intensity of the audience’s gaze, their eyes lingering on me longer than before. Whispers trailed behind me as I made my way back to the sanctuary of backstage.

Clara followed closely behind, her own gowns equally lavish but her demeanor different. She was pushing herself too hard, striving to prove something that was clearly slipping away from her grasp. The judges, however, remained impassive, their expressions betraying nothing.

The final walk was the most daunting of all. All of us models stood side by side, a line of tension and anticipation. The air was thick, almost electric, as nerves danced around us. I clasped my hands tightly in front of me, focusing on keeping my breathing steady, trying to quell the storm of emotions brewing within.

The host took the microphone, his voice booming across the room. “Tonight, we’ve witnessed incredible talent,” he announced, his tone full of gravitas. “But one individual stood out beyond the rest. The star of this season’s fashion show, the face of our campaign, is—”

My heart raced, tightening in my chest.

“Amy Smith.”

For a fleeting moment, the world around me faded into a hushed silence. It felt surreal, almost like a dream, until the eruption of applause shattered the stillness. Cameras flashed like a meteor shower, capturing the moment. My name echoed through the hall, a sweet melody that filled me with disbelief and elation.

I turned my head slightly, catching a glimpse of Clara. Her expression was frozen in shock. The confident smile she had worn all night shattered like glass, and her lips parted in a silent gasp, words failing her. In that moment, she looked utterly powerless, a sight I had never witnessed before.

With a deep breath, I stepped forward as the declared winner, the spotlight bathing me in its golden glow, brighter than I had ever experienced. I accepted the bouquet they handed me, nodding graciously to the host, and bowed deeply to the audience, feeling the weight of their collective gaze. I could sense Clara’s glare searing into me from the sidelines, but I chose not to acknowledge her until it was time to leave.

As I walked away, I finally turned to face her. I offered a smile—not one of mockery or cruelty, but a calm, mature expression that conveyed everything without uttering a single word. She blinked, stunned into silence, as if grappling with the reality of the moment. For once, she had no weapons to wield against me.

That was more than enough.

I walked past her, the sound of applause still ringing in my ears, a symphony of triumph. I thought the night had reached its zenith. I thought I could exit with my head held high, my goal achieved.

Then, I caught sight of Mark. He stood near the exit, half-concealed by the crowd, but unmistakably present. His posture was rigid, eyes sharp and cold, fixated on me with an intensity that sent a shiver down my spine.

My stomach twisted into knots. The victory I had savored moments before felt suddenly fragile. He remained motionless, his silence louder than any applause, as if he was waiting for me to approach him.

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