The Alpha's Chubby Obsession. novel Chapter 10

Chapter 9

Osborne

I dressed sharply in a tailored suit, the crest of my family displayed proudly on my chest. Alex walked in looking just as dignified, ready to accompany me to the party.

“I still don’t get why you wouldn’t let me bring Miranda along,” he said from behind me,

“I just don’t want too big of a crowd,” I replied casually.

“So… are you finally going to tell me where you rushed off yesterday-and again today?” he pressed.

I didn’t feel like answering. For some reason, I didn’t want to talk about the girl he’d rejected, not to him. But knowing Alex, he’d keep pushing until I gave him something.

So I turned to him with a faint smile. “Well, it turns out your friend has found his mate.”

His face lit up, and he patted my arm. “Oh? Well, congratulations! Who’s the lucky beauty? And why

didn’t you tell me sooner, you psycho?”

I chuckled. “You’ll see.”

“Oh, so we’re playing that game, huh?” he said with a smirk. “Anyway, just so you know-Miranda

and I will be holding our mating ceremony this weekend. You’re invited.”

“Of course I’ll be there, Alex. And I’ll be bringing my mate along,” I assured him.

A maid appeared at the doorway. “Alpha Osborne, it’s time.”

The party was like every other high-class gathering-rich, elegant, and filled with wealthy Alphas, Lunas, and their entourages. Everyone wore those polite, fake smiles, mingling and chatting about

things that didn’t interest me in the slightest.

I sat with a drink in hand, watching their expressions, unmoved by any of their conversations.

“Hey, look,” Alex said, nudging me. “Seems Bella’s headed your way.”

Sure enough, she was.

Bella Maxwell, the daughter of Alpha Hamilton Maxwell-the very woman my father had once

hinted I should claim, all because of his kinship with her father.

“I was quite disappointed when I was told you wouldn’t be escorting me to this event,” she says, her voice dripping with a mixture of charm and mild accusation. She slid into the seat beside me with effortless grace, crossing her legs in a way that was clearly meant to draw attention.

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I turned my head lazily to look at her, letting my gaze travel over the perfect image she presented:

Everything about her screamed polished elegance-the flawless skin, the shimmering blonde hair that caught the light just so, the striking blue eyes that seemed to expect the world to bend for her.

She is, in truth, the epitome of beauty. The kind of woman others envy and try to imitate. The “ideal

“by society’s shallow standards-blonde, blue-eyed, poised, and blessed with an aura of

untouchable confidence.

But beauty is only skin deep.

I don’t usually have an issue with people who fit that stereotype; I’ve met plenty who carry it well.

But with Bella… it was different. Worse. To her, every other woman was beneath her-a shadow, a

lesser being unworthy of her time or acknowledgment.

When I first met her, I’ll admit I was drawn in. That confidence of hers had seemed magnetic, a quality I respected. I even called it admirable back then. But it didn’t take long for the shine to wear

off.

I saw the way she treated people. Waiters. Assistants. Even her so-called friends. She would smile to their faces, then cut them down with a single sentence, her tone laced with superiority. If she thought you didn’t matter, she wouldn’t hesitate to treat you like trash.

That was when I realized-this wasn’t confidence. Confidence inspired others, lifted people up.

What she had was something else entirely. A sharp, poisonous arrogance.

There’s confidence, and then there’s being downright vicious. Those two things are not the same…

and Bella Maxwell had made a sport out of crossing that line.

And here she was, sitting beside me as though she belonged, her perfume filling the air between

us, waiting for me to respond.

I chuckled dryly, my voice low but edged. “How would it feel if a woman found out her mate went

to a party with another?”

Her perfect smile faltered for a heartbeat before she let out a short laugh, the kind meant to brush

off discomfort. “Oh, please don’t jest, Osborne. You’ve started again.” Her confidence returned in

her tone, but I could see the faint twitch in her jaw.

I tilted my head, meeting her gaze without blinking. “And who said I’m joking?”

Her posture stiffened. She leaned in slightly, lowering her voice. “The last I checked, you weren’t

mated. Are you saying now you are?”

I leaned closer too, matching her tone. “Yes. To a wonderful, cute woman.”

That was the moment the confidence drained from her face. The sharp sparkle in her eyes

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“If you’re telling me this just to stop me from pursuing you, then stop-it’s crossing the line,” she

said with a faint chuckle, but it was brittle, almost fragile.

I didn’t bother to respond. My silence spoke for me.

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