Chapter Text
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Dreams Come True
┕──━──━─┑◆┍─━──━──┙
Agatha couldn’t believe it when she finally clicked “confirm purchase” on the airline website, sitting between Jen and Wanda, the three of them squeezed onto the small couch in the apartment, sharing a cheap bottle of sparkling wine as if they were already celebrating in Ibiza.
It had been two years saving money, refusing invitations, counting coins and installments. Two years repeating to herself that one day she would step onto that island where summer seemed to never end.
She also didn’t believe it when she boarded the plane crowded with people who definitely looked richer than them. People who probably didn’t have to split their tickets into twelve payments or say “no” to small luxuries for so long. Agatha discreetly observed the designer luggage, the expensive watches, and the striking perfumes. For a moment, she felt small, but the excitement was bigger than any insecurity.
At the airport in Madrid, waiting for the connecting flight to the island, reality still seemed suspended. Even while buying tickets to the most famous parties and raves in the world, even with the confirmation email blinking on her phone screen, it felt like everything was a collective delirium shared by the three of them.
It only truly sank in when the plane landed and they stepped onto the hot runway, feeling the dense, salty air touch their skin. The Mediterranean heat wrapped around Agatha like an embrace. The sky was absurdly blue, and there was an energy vibrating in the air—promises, excess, freedom.
Ibiza.
They managed to get a hotel for a price miraculously below the island’s standard. Still expensive enough to burden their credit cards for the rest of the year. The room was simple but clean, with a small balcony and a partial sea view. For them, it was perfect.
“I can’t believe we actually made it,” Wanda said, throwing herself onto the bed with a dramatic sigh, arms spread as if embracing the ceiling.
“I just want to get a tan and never go back home,” Jen added, dropping her suitcase on the floor and collapsing beside her.
Agatha laughed, leaving her own suitcase on the other bed. She walked to the balcony and opened the glass doors. The distant sound of electronic music seemed constant, as if the whole island breathed to the same rhythm.
“Girls, we can go to the beach now, rest a little…” she turned around, eyes shining. “After all, we have tickets to Ushuaïa. I want to party until the next day.”
“Sounds perfect,” Wanda cheered, already searching for her bikini in her suitcase.
Agatha leaned against the balcony door for a moment, letting the sun warm her face. She was in her twenties, with no immediate responsibilities and an entire week ahead of her.
Dreams come true, she thought.
They didn’t take long to change clothes. The room quickly filled with the sweet smell of sunscreen, laughter, and the sound of zippers opening. Agatha put on a simple black bikini, one that hugged her curves in an almost insolent way. She tied her hair into a casual bun and put on sunglasses as if that instantly transformed her into someone who belonged there.
The walk to the beach was a spectacle on its own. Narrow streets, white façades reflecting the sun, bougainvillea exploding in shades of pink from the balconies. Convertible cars passed slowly, loud music escaping from open windows. There were laughs, different languages, golden confident bodies walking as if the entire world were their personal runway.
When they finally stepped onto the sand, Agatha had to close her eyes for a second.
The sea was an almost unreal shade of blue, crystal clear, reflecting the light in a hypnotic way. Yachts anchored in the distance sparkled like jewels on the water. The sand was warm, fine, almost white.
“This isn’t real,” Jen murmured, already spreading out her beach wrap.
Wanda didn’t answer. She was already removing her cover-up, revealing a vibrant red bikini that immediately attracted attention.
Agatha felt her own heart quicken—there was something in the air. An electric, dense energy. As if every person there lived in a constant state of anticipation.
They settled near the sea. The sound of the waves mixed with the distant bass of a nearby beach club. The wind carried the scent of salt, coconut, and expensive perfume.
Agatha lay on her stomach to sunbathe, feeling the heat slowly sink into her skin. She closed her eyes. For a few minutes, everything was simple. The sound of the water. The laughter of her friends. The occasional touch of wind moving loose strands of hair.
A few minutes later she got up, unable to stay still for long. The island’s energy seemed to run under her skin like a soft electric current.
“I’m going in,” she announced, already walking toward the sea.
“Take my dignity if you find some rich European alpha!” Wanda shouted, making Jen laugh.
The water was warm, more than she expected. When the first wave touched her feet, Agatha let out an involuntary sigh. The contrast between the sun’s heat and the salty freshness made her skin shiver with simple, almost childish pleasure. She walked until the water reached her waist, then dove in all at once.
For a few seconds, everything was silent.
Only the muffled sound of the submerged world, her own heart beating steadily, her hair spreading like a dark cloud around her face. When she emerged, she pushed her hair back and laughed to herself.
Around her, groups toasted with champagne glasses even though it was early afternoon. A couple danced in the water as if the music came from inside them. Farther away, a beach club began raising the volume—the electronic beat blending with the natural sound of the waves.
Agatha returned to the sand with her skin shining under the sun. Jen was almost asleep, while Wanda was animatedly talking to two French tourists who had settled beside them.
“I already love this place,” Wanda declared, gesturing too much. “Here nobody seems worried about anything.”
Agatha sat on the beach wrap, hugging her knees for a moment. She watched the horizon. It was true. There, no one seemed to carry bills, family expectations, or the constant pressure to prove something to the world.
There, they were just three young omegas living their own summer.
“Today we rest,” Agatha said, putting her sunglasses back on. “But tonight…”
“Tonight we become legends,” Jen finished without opening her eyes.
They spent hours there. Alternating between long swims, naps under the sun, and strategic photos to immortalize the moment. Their skin began to gain color, their hair turned salty, and their whole bodies felt looser, more alive.
When the sun slowly began to set, painting the sky in golden and pink tones, Agatha felt a different anticipation growing inside her.
◆
The days in Ibiza quickly began to lose their edges.
The first night at Ushuaïa was only the beginning. They spent hours getting ready in the hotel room, trying on clothes as if choosing versions of themselves. Glitter on their shoulders, eyeliner sharper than usual, dresses shorter than anything they would wear in their hometown—but absolutely perfect there.
When they arrived at the club, the impact was physical.
Lights cutting through the sky, jets of smoke rising with the electronic beat, sweaty bodies dancing as if tomorrow didn’t exist. The bass vibrated in their chests. The floor trembled. The air smelled like expensive perfume, alcohol, and freedom.
Agatha danced until her legs hurt. Wanda climbed onto a stranger’s shoulders at some point in the middle of the night. Jen disappeared for twenty minutes and returned laughing, glitter spread across her neck and a new drink in her hand.
They returned to the hotel with burning feet, smudged makeup, and hamburgers bought at four in the morning.
The next day, the hangover was collective.
Curtains closed. Dramatic groans. Wanda swearing she would never drink again—a promise that lasted less than 48 hours. Agatha woke up with a dry mouth and fragmented memories of flashing lights and hands holding her waist while she danced.
The week continued at that almost irresponsible rhythm.
Beach in the morning—even with dark circles hidden behind oversized sunglasses. Naps in the afternoon. And at night, different clubs.
Pacha. Hï. Amnesia.
Each place had its own vibe. At Pacha, the sensuality was slower, more enveloping. At Hï, everything felt modern, almost futuristic. At Amnesia, it seemed like the entire world fit inside a single dance floor.
Agatha began to let go in a way she had never allowed herself before. She danced with strangers without asking names. Accepted drinks that appeared in her hands. Laughed loudly without measuring the volume. She felt desired—and she liked it.
Jen was the first to truly get involved with someone.
Alice appeared on the third night, at Hï. Tall, relaxed posture, confident smile. She was an alpha—you could tell without effort. Not because of aggression, but because of calm confidence. She approached Jen at the bar, leaned close to say something in her ear because of the loud music, and the rest happened naturally.
Jen returned to the hotel at sunrise that day.
“She’s ridiculously beautiful,” she murmured, throwing herself on the bed while Wanda and Agatha stared at her like investigators. “And she smells expensive.”
“Is that important?” Wanda laughed.
“Very.”
Alice began appearing on the following nights. Sometimes she stayed briefly. Sometimes she danced with Jen for hours, hands firm on her waist, guiding her confidently. Nothing explicit happened, but the tension between them was visible, almost tangible.
By the middle of the week, the three of them were sunburned, with small mysterious bruises on their legs from bumping into people on crowded dance floors, and an absurd collection of disconnected stories.
One afternoon, Agatha woke up alone in the room while the others still slept. She sat on the balcony watching the sea. Her skin was more golden. Her body looser. A strange feeling was growing inside her—as if something were approaching, even though she didn’t know what.
On Friday, Jen entered the room holding her phone and wearing a smile that meant trouble.
“Alice got invitations.”
Wanda lifted her head from the pillow.
“Invitations to where?”
Jen bit her lower lip, almost theatrically.
“A private party. Last night of the season. Entry only with a name on the list. Closed villa. International DJs. Businesswomen. Big people.”
Agatha felt her stomach tighten—not from fear. From anticipation.
“And why did she get that?”
“Because she knows the right people,” Jen answered simply. “And because I asked.”
The last night started differently.
It wasn’t just another club. They spent even more time getting ready. Agatha chose a black dress that hugged her body with minimalist elegance. Nothing too flashy—but impossible to ignore. Her hair loose, natural waves falling down her back. The makeup more precise, less exaggerated.
When they arrived at the villa, they understood.
Luxury cars lined up discreetly. Security at the entrance. Music echoing from inside, deep and sophisticated. The pool illuminated in deep blue. People talking in small groups, crystal glasses in their hands.
The entrance to the villa was almost cinematic.
A security guard checked the names on the digital list. Alice appeared behind them with the confident smile of someone who already belonged to that environment. After a discreet greeting, an elegant employee placed thin black fabric wristbands on the three of them—the kind of simple detail that screamed exclusivity.
As soon as they crossed the illuminated garden, the impact came.
The pool reflected golden lights. Bottles Agatha had only seen in display windows were open on marble tables. French champagne, rare vodka labels, aged whisky in wooden boxes displayed like trophies. People dressed in light tailoring, silk dresses, discreet and absurdly expensive jewelry.
“This place pays our rent for a year,” Wanda murmured, picking up a glass that seemed too delicate for her still slightly trembling hands from excitement.
At first, they tried to maintain some composure.
They talked. Walked around. Pretended to be natural.
But the first glass became two. Two became four. Someone brought shots with pink salt. Then a citrus drink served in a crystal glass too heavy to ignore.
Agatha laughed too loudly at something she no longer remembered. Her face felt warm, her body light, the music penetrating her skin like an electric current. The beat there wasn’t as aggressive as in the clubs—it was enveloping, hypnotic, almost sensual.
The world began to blur slightly at the edges.
Wanda danced with a group near the pool. Jen sat on the edge with her feet in the water, talking to Alice who held her glass as if she had been born with it in her hand.
Agatha went to the improvised dance floor near the DJ.
She didn’t know how many drinks she had already had. She only knew her body felt loose, warm, pulsing to the rhythm of the music. The dress clung lightly to her sweaty skin. Her movements became slower, more fluid.
That was when she felt it. A strong smell. Unmistakable, Alpha. Not soft. Not distant. Extremely present.
Agatha swallowed, even with her mind clouded by alcohol. Her body reacted before she could organize any thought.
A presence approached from behind. Warm. Too close.
“What’s your name?” the voice came low, hoarse, equally intoxicated, carrying a slight accent Agatha couldn’t identify.
She partially turned her face, trying to focus.
“Aggie,” she answered, the nickname slipping easily from her lips.
The scent grew stronger as the person stepped even closer. Agatha felt firm—but not invasive—hands rest on her waist.
“May I stay here with this beautiful lady?” the voice said in her ear.
“I wouldn’t want to be anywhere else,” Agatha replied, pushing her hips slightly back against the Alpha’s center, feeling her member harden.
She lifted her gaze. Brown eyes, deep. Too beautiful.
But the face… the face was blurred. She didn’t know if it was the golden light of the party or the alcohol running through her veins, but the features refused to settle. Only the eyes remained clear.
“Do you want to dance, Aggie?” the alpha asked, leaning slightly so her voice could cut through the music.
Agatha should have thought, should have stepped away. But the world was no longer a place for rational decisions.
“I do,” she replied, smiling carelessly.
The hand on her waist tightened slightly. The other slid to her lower back. They began moving together. First to the rhythm of the music. Then to the rhythm of each other.
Their bodies fit naturally, as if that closeness had been rehearsed. The alpha’s breath brushed against Agatha’s neck. Her scent mixed with sweat, alcohol, and expensive perfume.
Agatha placed her hands on the woman’s shoulders to keep her balance—or maybe to shorten the distance even more.
The world around them disappeared, leaving only the bass of the music. The heat. The touch. And those brown eyes that, even blurred, seemed far too fixed on her.
The distance between them slowly ceased to exist.
First it was only the synchronized sway of their bodies. Then the alpha’s hand moved a few centimeters up along the side of Agatha’s dress, firm enough to keep her close. Warm breath touching her skin.
Aggie.
The name sounded different in her mouth. Slower. Heavier.
Agatha felt her heart beat unevenly, amplified by the alcohol. The world spun too slowly and too fast at the same time. Her fingers lightly gripped the fabric of the other woman’s shirt, searching for balance—or courage.
The alpha tilted her head.
“You’re beautiful, Aggie,” she murmured, her lips so close they almost touched.
Agatha should have answered with something witty. She should have teased. But the woman’s scent was too strong. Enveloping. Dominant in a way that wasn’t aggressive, only inevitable.
“You are too,” she managed to say, her voice lower than she intended.
The music changed. The bass deepened, and then it happened. The alpha rested her forehead against hers for a second before sliding a hand to the back of her neck.
The kiss started slowly, a light brush of lips.
Agatha responded immediately.
It tasted like expensive champagne and something warmer. Her hand rose to the alpha’s face, holding her there as if afraid she would disappear if she let go. The kiss deepened naturally, unhurried but with a growing intensity that made Agatha’s entire body tremble.
The world around them dissolved into blurred lights. There was only the warmth, and the perfect fit of their mouths. The sensation of the firm hand on her waist, pulling her closer.
Agatha felt the air leave her lungs when they pulled apart for a second, just to breathe. Her eyes tried to focus again on that face, but the features remained imprecise. Only the brown eyes stayed clear, fixed on her with something that went beyond drunkenness.
“Stay with me tonight,” the alpha whispered, her thumb tracing a slow path along the side of Agatha’s neck.
Agatha was too drunk to analyze consequences. Too drunk to realize that this decision would change everything. She simply smiled, still slightly breathless.
“I will.”
◆
The first thing Agatha felt was silence.
Not the ordinary silence of a hotel room at dawn, but a silence too wide. Too strange.
She moved slowly in the enormous bed, the absurdly soft sheets sliding across her skin. The mattress was firmer than the one in the hotel where she was staying with the girls. The smell on the pillow was different too—more sophisticated, woody, far from the sweet perfume she usually wore.
She slowly opened her eyes.
The room wasn’t hers.
High ceiling. Heavy linen curtains. A wide balcony letting in the golden morning light. Minimalist furniture, far too elegant for the budget she had paid in twelve installments.
The double bed was completely empty.
Agatha stayed still for a few seconds, trying to organize her thoughts. Her body stretched almost instinctively, muscles still relaxed and skin sensitive. As she moved, fragmented memories came like flashes: firm hands on her waist, the heat of another body pressed against hers, a kiss that seemed endless.
But the face… a blur.
She sighed deeply and immediately regretted it. The headache pulsed hard, throbbing behind her eyes. Hangover. She slowly stretched her arm toward the nightstand. Her phone was there. Beside it, a small folded note written in elegant handwriting.
“I loved our night, Aggie.
With affection, R*
By the way, everything is already paid. Don’t worry.”
She took the pills beside it into her mouth without hesitation, drinking the water right after. She needed that pain to fade before trying to reconstruct any memory.
And she picked up the phone, the screen black.
“Fuck…” she murmured, running a hand over her face.
No battery, of course. She breathed deeply, feeling the slight discomfort in her body that wasn’t pain—it was physical memory. A lingering sensation of having been touched with care and intensity. An involuntary shiver ran down her spine as she remembered lips far too close.
But nothing concrete, only the brown eyes.
Agatha got up carefully. The room spun lightly for a second before stabilizing. She walked to the spacious bathroom, covered in pale marble. The mirror revealed smudged makeup, messy hair, and a different kind of glow in her eyes.
She turned on the shower and stepped under the cold water, letting it run over her shoulders, trying to wash away the excess of the previous night. While the water flowed, she tried to force the memory.
The name, the voice. The face. Nothing. Only warmth. Music. And that unmistakable alpha scent.
When she left the shower, she put on the same dress from the night before. She had no other option. She slipped on her heels, put on sunglasses to hide the dark circles and her undefined emotional state, and took a deep breath before leaving the room.
The hallway was silent and far too luxurious.
In the elevator, she briefly watched herself in the mirror. She looked like someone who had lived something big but couldn’t prove it. When she reached the reception desk, she approached the counter trying to keep her posture steady.
“I was in room 1003,” she said, her voice slightly hoarse.
The receptionist smiled with impeccable professionalism.
“Yes, miss. Everything is fine. Everything has already been paid.”
Agatha’s heart gave a slightly stronger beat.
Paid.
“Thank you,” she replied, trying to sound natural. She left the hotel feeling the sun hit her face strongly. She called a taxi with a hand still slightly trembling.
As the car drove away, she looked one last time at the elegant building disappearing behind her. Something there had been important. Even if her memory insisted on keeping her in the dark.
The taxi stopped in front of their hotel shortly after ten in the morning.
Agatha paid the ride with the last scraps of dignity she still possessed and got out of the car adjusting her sunglasses. Her head still throbbed lightly, but the pills were beginning to work. The dress from the night before revealed exactly the kind of night she had had.
She took a deep breath.
And walked in.
As soon as she crossed the glass door of the simple lobby—much simpler than the hotel of room 1003—the scene made her stop mid-step. Jen was standing there, hair messy, makeup smeared from the night before, gesturing dramatically. Wanda stood beside her, visibly distressed.
And there were two police officers.
“…she just DISAPPEARED!” Jen was saying, her voice far too loud for the hour.
“We woke up and she wasn’t there! Her phone off! This is Ibiza!”
Wanda held her friend’s arm, trying to maintain some composure.
“We just want to know if something happened…” she explained to the officers.
That was when Jen saw Agatha standing at the entrance. Her eyes widened.
“YOU DISGUSTING LITTLE BITCH!”
The entire lobby went silent.
Agatha raised an eyebrow behind her sunglasses. Wanda immediately turned around, and the relief on her face was so visible it almost hurt.
“Thank God,” she sighed, placing a hand over her chest before turning to the officers.
“Thank you very much, gentlemen. I think… we’ve already found the missing person.”
The officers looked Agatha up and down: party dress, heels in her hand, hair still damp from the shower, an expression of hangover and mystery.
“Miss, are you alright?” one of them asked.
Agatha slowly lifted her sunglasses, revealing eyes still slightly swollen but very much alive.
“I woke up in an expensive hotel,” she said, her voice hoarse and completely serious. “In an expensive bed. With a good morning note. And the room paid for.”
The officers exchanged glances. Jen’s mouth fell open. Wanda blinked twice.
“Excuse me?” Wanda murmured.
Agatha shrugged as if reporting something trivial.
“There were even headache pills next to the bed. Five-star service.”
One of the officers cleared his throat, clearly concluding that this was no longer a matter of public safety but of questionable life choices.
“Alright… well, if everything is fine, ladies, we’ll take our leave.”
“Everything is great,” Agatha assured, putting her sunglasses back on.
As soon as the officers walked out the door, the silence lasted exactly three seconds. Jen moved first.
“YOU DISAPPEAR THE WHOLE NIGHT, AGATHA HARKNESS!”
“I thought you had been kidnapped!” Wanda added, still pale.
“I was kidnapped,” Agatha replied, already starting up the stairs.
“But apparently with French champagne and Egyptian sheets.”
“You’re joking.”
Once in the room, Agatha dropped her heels on the floor and threw herself onto the bed, exhausted.
Jen crossed her arms.
“Who was it?”
Agatha closed her eyes for a moment. Brown eyes. Alpha scent. Firm hands. A kiss that still felt imprinted on her lips. She slowly opened her eyes.
“I… don’t know.”
“HOW DO YOU NOT KNOW?” Jen almost shouted.
“I was very drunk.”
Wanda sat on the edge of the other bed.
“Do you at least remember the name?”
Agatha hesitated.
“Just the initial. R.”
The three of them stayed silent for a moment. Outside, the distant sound of the sea remained the same. As if nothing had changed.
But it had.
The rest of the day passed in a lazy haze. They ordered food to the room, laughed too much remembering disconnected parts of the week, reviewed compromising photos, and promised again that next time they would be more responsible. An empty promise. All of them knew it.
At sunset, they walked along the beach one last time. The sky was painted in shades of orange and violet, and Agatha let the water touch her feet like a silent farewell. Ibiza still pulsed, as if the island did not recognize endings. Only pauses.
She unconsciously brought a hand to her neck, shivering as she remembered a touch she could not fully reconstruct.
R.
The letter felt too small for the size of what she felt.
The next morning, the airport was a collective portrait of what that weekend had been.
Giant sunglasses. People leaning on each other. Smudged makeup. Wrinkled clothes from the night before. Hoarse laughter mixed with expressions of pure physical regret. It was as if the entire island was recovering at the same time.
“Ibiza should issue medical certificates,” Wanda murmured, leaning against her suitcase.
Jen sat on the floor with her head resting on her backpack.
“I’m never drinking again.”
Agatha laughed softly.
“You said that on Tuesday.”
The flight was too quiet. Each of them lost in their own thoughts while the island disappeared behind the airplane window. The blue sea became small, distant, almost unreal. When they landed, the air felt heavier. More ordinary. Routine waited for them. Travel installments. Jobs. Responsibilities. Agatha turned on her phone as soon as the plane landed. Messages began appearing—family, bills, trivial notifications from real life.
Nothing from R.
No unknown number. No clue. She took a deep breath, trying to convince herself it had been just that: a night in Ibiza. An excess. A blurred memory that tasted like champagne.
Dreams come true, she thought again.