Ruthless Alpha, and his Curvy Saint-Chapter 43

Angel’s POV

"This way, ladies," the servant said cheerfully, leading us up a grand staircase.

The stairs were marble. with an intricately carved banister. Tapestries lined the walls, depicting scenes of hunts and battles and celebrations.

Everything screamed wealth and power.

"Did you see the way he looked at me?" Lyra whispered excitedly beside me. "Lord Merrick, I mean. Angel, he definitely noticed me."

I shot her a skeptical look. "He was looking at everyone. He’s a lord. It’s his job to acknowledge his guests."

"No, no, this was different." Lyra’s eyes were bright with possibility. "There was a spark. I felt it. And did you see? No wife. No lady of the house. He’s available."

"Lyra..."

"I just need a plan," she continued, more to herself than to me. "Something subtle but effective. Maybe I could ’accidentally’ run into him in the gardens? Or spill wine on myself at dinner so he notices me? No, wait - I could pretend to get lost and wander into his private chambers..."

"That sounds like a terrible idea."

"Or a brilliant one." She grinned. "The storm is going to last for days, according to the servants. Days, Angel. That’s plenty of time to work my magic."

I had to admire her confidence, even if I didn’t understand it.

How did she do it? How did she look at a man - a lord, no less - and think yes, I can have him instead of he’d never look twice at me?

"You should try it sometime," Lyra said, as if reading my thoughts.

"Try what?"

"Going after what you want. Shooting your shot, as they say." She nudged me with her elbow. "Uriel, for instance. The way he looks at you..."

"He doesn’t look at me any particular way," I said quickly, my face heating.

"He absolutely does. Like you’re the only person in the room. Like he’d burn down the world to keep you safe." Lyra sighed dramatically. "It’s disgustingly romantic, honestly. I’m almost jealous."

"You’re imagining things. Besides, I’m his Alpha’s fated mate."

She gave me a knowing look but let it drop.

The servant stopped in front of an ornate door. "This is your room, Lady Angel."

Lady. The title felt wrong, but I didn’t correct her.

"Thank you," I said instead.

"And I’ll show you to yours next, Lady Lyra," the servant said, gesturing down the hall.

Lyra squeezed my arm. "I’ll see you at dinner. Try not to pine too obviously for Uriel."

"I don’t..."

But she was already following the servant away, her laughter echoing down the corridor.

I pushed open the door to my room and stopped short.

It was beautiful.

A massive four-poster bed dominated the space, draped in rich fabrics. A writing desk sat near the window, which overlooked gardens that were currently being battered by rain. A wardrobe stood against one wall, and a door in the corner presumably led to a private bathing room.

It was the nicest room I’d ever been in.

Nicer than anything at the convent. Certainly nicer than the cell at Hawkins’ castle.

I was still taking it all in when the servant returned, her arms laden with clothing.

"From Lord Merrick," she announced, laying the garments carefully on the bed. "He thought you might appreciate clean clothes after your journey."

"That’s... that’s very kind." I approached the bed, reaching out to touch the fabric.

They were beautiful. Real dresses, not rags. Made from quality material in rich colors - deep blues, forest greens, burgundy.

And they were all...

"They’re my size," I breathed.

Not slim cuts meant for slender girls. Not dresses I’d have to squeeze into or that would barely fit.

These were made for someone with my body. With curves and softness and all the things I’d spent my life being ashamed of.

"Why are they all... big?" I asked, the question coming out more blunt than intended.

The servant smiled. "Lord Merrick prefers women of your build, my lady. He says there’s nothing more beautiful than a woman with curves. So he keeps dresses like these on hand for when his... companions visit."

The slight pause before "companions" told me exactly what kind of companions she meant.

Mistresses.

Lord Merrick kept dresses for his mistresses.

And he preferred women who looked like me.

Something warm unfurled in my chest - a feeling I couldn’t quite name but that felt dangerously close to hope.

A man like Lord Merrick - handsome, wealthy, powerful - actually preferred women with bodies like mine? 𝙛𝓻𝒆𝓮𝒘𝙚𝙗𝒏𝙤𝙫𝓮𝒍.𝓬𝒐𝙢

It seemed impossible.

"Are you certain?" I asked. "About his preferences, I mean?"

The servant’s smile widened. "Oh yes, my lady. Very certain. I’ve worked here for five years, and every woman Lord Merrick has shown interest in has been..." She gestured vaguely at my figure. "Blessed with abundance, shall we say. He’s quite vocal about it, actually. Says slim women feel like hugging sticks."

A laugh escaped me - surprised and slightly hysterical.

"He really said that?"

"Word for word, my lady." The servant began organizing the dresses in the wardrobe. "There’s a bathing room through that door if you’d like to freshen up before dinner. I’ll return in an hour to help you dress, if you’d like."

"Thank you. That would be wonderful."

She curtsied and left, closing the door softly behind her.

I stood alone in the beautiful room, surrounded by beautiful clothes, my mind spinning.

Lord Merrick preferred women like me.

The thought kept circling back, refusing to be dismissed.

Not just tolerated them. Not just accepted them.

Preferred them.

I walked to the full length mirror and looked at myself.

The ruined dress hung off my frame, still damp and filthy from days of travel. My hair was a mess. My face was dirty.

But underneath all that...

I tried to see what Lord Merrick might see. Tried to look at my curves as something desirable instead of shameful.

It was hard.

Years of mockery didn’t disappear just because one nobleman happened to like soft women.

But still.

The seed of hope and possibility had been planted.

And I found myself smiling at my reflection.

Just a little.

Just enough.

I had beautiful dresses to wear.

A handsome lord who apparently found my body type attractive.

And for the first time in years, I felt almost...

Pretty.

The feeling wouldn’t last. I knew that. Reality would crash back in soon enough.

But for now, standing in this beautiful room with rain pattering against the windows, I let myself feel it.

Let myself imagine what it might be like to be wanted.