99 Times for Alpha’s Bestie novel Chapter 174

The marketplace entrance buzzed with the energy of the midday crowd. Lucien and I walked side by side, instantly drawing stares.

Like most Alphas, Lucien was born with tall, incredible physiques. He looked utterly out of place in his tailored dark suit, like a god from the underworld coming to earth and slumming it with us mere mortals.

There were murmurs around him, commenting that he looked like we had stepped out of a film, which caused passersby to do double takes. Even the hawking vendors forgot their chants, and some shoppers craned their necks, half expecting to spot hidden cameras.

“See, Lucien. I told you so,” I teased under my breath. “You do not belong here. Why did you not just wait in the car?”

Without missing a beat, he took the shopping basket from me, his tone leaving no room for argument.

“Absolutely not! It is too busy for you to be here alone, Claire.”

His words sent a wave of warmth through me. I yielded, and we moved together toward the butcher’s stall.

Lucien’s commanding aura alone made the crowd instinctively part for us.

When his sharp gaze swept over the burly butcher, the man visibly stiffened, rubbing his palms together nervously. “What can I get for you, Sir, missus?”

The term “missus” made my ears burn, but I had long since stopped correcting strangers and their perception of me and Lucien when we were together. Instead, I was playing it cool and pointed at the cuts of meat.

“Two pounds each of pork belly and tenderloin. Make sure it is fresh, none of that injected meat.”

“Guaranteed fresh, ma’am! It was just delivered today!” the butcher said with practiced ease as he grabbed a cut.

Looking up, I watched as Lucien’s eagle–eyed glance locked onto the display. “This tenderloin’s fascia is

not trimmed,” he stated, tapping the piece of meat. “Use the top sirloin beside it. It will be more tender.”

His pronouncement left both me and the butcher speechless. My pulse skipped a beat. Lucien actually

knew his cuts. His claim about working in markets and being a butcher in the past was real?

“Damn!” The butcher squinted, clearly impressed. “You really know your meat!” Under Lucien’s steady gaze, he hurried to weigh the premium cuts. “That will be eighteen bucks, sir!”

I barely had my phone out to pay when Lucien swooped in, paying the bill before my fingers could move. His actions were fluid and natural, as if he were thoroughly familiar with the process.

“Lucien,” I gaped, unable to mask my shock, “you seem incredibly familiar with the hustle of these types of markets. ”

He gave me that trademark inscrutable side eye. “Like I said. I used to be a butcher in a market or two.”

“I still find it hard to believe that the dark and brutish Lucien Thorne would do something like this. How old were you?”

“It was my second year after I ran away from my kidnappers. I escaped the jungle and had to hustle and make money to survive. I was around fourteen when I started. I had nowhere to go, so I worked under a butcher for a year.”

Fourteen.

The image of a teenage Lucien spending a year surrounded by blood and carcasses made my chest tighten unexpectedly. Was this why he was as comfortable with blood, death, and torture as he was? Tears pricked at the corners of my eyes.

“Lucien, I am-” my hand found his of its own accord, the apology escaping before I could stop it. I was not even sure why I said it, only that the ache in my heart demanded words.

“The hell?!” someone shouted.

“Dressed fancy but rotten inside! Disgusting!”

“Police! Now!”

“Teach this sicko a lesson!”

Vendors and shoppers swarmed around me like angry hornets. A few older men were already rolling up their sleeves. I stood paralyzed, facing a level of public humiliation I had never experienced in my thirty years of privileged existence.

“No! It is not what you think! I was not-!” I stammered. I wanted to shout that I knew her, but the words withered under the mob’s collective glare.

“Was not?!” The woman’s voice climbed an octave as she brandished a wilted cucumber, jabbing it toward my nose. “I saw you clear as day, creeping behind those cabbages!”

“Your eyes were glued to that girl like some kind of stalker! Your phone is right there in your hand! Caught red–handed and still lying?!” Her case seemed airtight, her evidence damning.

The crowd’s glares intensified, all focusing on the phone in my hand.

“This is a misunderstanding! You have got it all wrong! I am–I am her,” I sputtered, his face cycling from pale to scarlet before settling into a deep beet red.

My perfectly styled hair was now a mess, and behind my glasses, my eyes darted with a mixture of humiliation, fury, and raw panic. Even my wolf pulled away from me in utter embarrassment at my behaviour.

I shoved weakly against the mob, but the wall of furious onlookers was impenetrable.