Rejected by the Alpha’s Son, Desired by the Alpha’s Brother

: Stella

​They say your life flashes before your eyes when you’re about to die. Mine didn’t. All I could see was the freezing mud staining my bare knees and the iron chains binding my wrists.

​I knelt in the center of the Mirroway Pack square, the rough stone scarring my skin through my torn jeans. Around me, hundreds of werewolves formed a judgemental ring. Their eyes glowed with a sick anticipation in the evening light and it was obvious they were waiting for blood. My blood. In less than ten minutes, I was scheduled to be executed and my remains tossed into the outer woods for the barbaric rogues to scavenge.

​And the wildest part? I had walked right into this trap myself.

​I surrendered. I gave up my hiding spot in the Blinded Pack territory and handed myself over to the very monsters who wanted me dead. Why? Because they took Ashley. My best friend, the only person in this godforsaken world who actually gave a d*mn about me, had been dragged out of her bed in the middle of the night by Mirroway guards. I wasn’t going to let an innocent soul die for my hundred-million-dollar mistake.

​Except, it wasn’t a mistake. I destroyed those Moontree bark distribution contracts on purpose. Every single page, every billion-dollar signature I had personally negotiated and secured for the pack. I burned them to ash.

​"Look at you," a voice echoed through the  open-air square.

​I slowly lifted my chin. High above me, standing on the execution podium, was Roger Trent.

​He looked exactly like the arrogant, self-serving prick he was. Dressed in a grey suit that cost more than most pack members made in a year, the only son of the reigning Alpha stared down at me with  zero remorse. This was the man I had practically run an empire for. This was the man who called me his unofficial assistant CEO, the man who put a diamond on my finger and promised me a future.

​This was the man I had caught naked with my sister in our private getaway cabin a month ago.

​It hadn't been the first time he cheated. I’d swallowed my pride and forgiven him five times before, blinded by some desperate, pathetic hope that I could fix him. But crossing that specific line, in that specific cabin? That was the end. My grief had morphed into destructive anger, and I hit him where it actually hurt; his wealth.

​"The brilliant Stella Fishington," Roger mocked, his voice amplified so the entire square could hear his gloating. "Reduced to mud and chains. You thought you could commit high treason against the Mirroway Pack and just… hide?"

​I didn't answer him. I kept my face blank, locking my jaw so tight my teeth ached. I wasn't going to give him the satisfaction of my tears. Not today.

​But then, my eyes shifted slightly to the left, and the last remaining shred of warmth in my chest turned to hardened ice.

​Standing right beside him, her arm looped casually through his, was Wimber.

​My biological younger sister.

​She looked stunning, of course. Wimber always did. She was a natural blonde, tall and effortlessly fitting the pack’s rigid standard of beauty, wearing a wine dress that showed off her impeccable physique. She looked down at me, her shorter, brunette, supposedly inferior older sister, with a smile so victorious it made my stomach turn.

​I was used to Wimber hating me. Our relationship had been poisoned years ago when a gas explosion took our parents—a tragedy she always subtly blamed me for. I was used to her intense, irrational jealousy whenever something good happened to me. But this? Standing shoulder-to-shoulder with the man who had destroyed my life, watching me get ready for the slaughterblock?

​"Don't look so pathetic, big sister," Wimber called out with fake sympathy. She leaned her head against Roger’s shoulder. "It totally ruins the aesthetic of your execution."

​You vile, empty shell of a woman, I thought, my nails digging into my palms until they bled. But outwardly, I just stared right through her.

​"Let’s get this over with," Roger announced loudly. He puffed out his chest, playing the role of the strong future Alpha for the crowd. "Stella Fishington. By destroying the pack's primary survival resource, you owe a debt of one hundred million dollars. A debt payable only by death under ancient law."

​The crowd murmured, and the ugly sound rattled  my chest.

​"But before the executioner takes your head," Roger continued as his eyes narrowing into cruel slits. "I have to clean up a mess."

​He stepped up to the edge of the podium. The air around him shifted as his Alpha aura seemed to press down on the square.

​"I, Roger Trent, future Alpha of the Mirroway Pack," he declared. "Formally reject you, Stella Fishington, as my mate and future Luna."

​Snap.

​It didn’t happen in my head. It happened in my bones. The mate bond, the invisible, magical thingy that had tied my soul to his, ruptured.

​The physical pain was indescribable. It felt like someone had reached into my ribcage with bare hands, wrapped their fingers around my lungs, and ripped them straight out of my chest. A harsh gasp ripped from my throat. My vision blacked out. Fire poured through my veins, and I violently pitched forward, my forehead hanging just an inch above the muddy stones.

​Don't scream, my brain chanted. Do not let them hear you scream.

​I bit down on the inside of my cheek so hard blood flooded my mouth. I stayed on my hands and knees, my body violently trembling as the supernatural shockwave of the rejection settled into an ache in my chest.

​"And to ensure the stability of my company and this pack," Roger’s voice drifted back in, completely unaffected by the bond breaking. He didn't feel a fraction of what I felt. He never truly cared. "I am officially appointing Wimber Fishington as my new executive assistant and personal partner. She will take over all operations effective immediately."

​He pulled Wimber in by the waist and kissed her. Right there. On the podium. While I bled out my emotional trauma on the dirt below them.

​The crowd broke into cheers. They didn't care about loyalty. They cared about power, and Roger had just demonstrated his.

​I forced myself up. It took every ounce of strength I had left, but I pushed myself back onto my knees. I straightened my spine. I lifted my chin. I stared directly at Roger, letting the blood from my bitten cheek drip down my chin.

​I saw the brief flicker of annoyance in his eyes. He wanted me broken. He wanted me begging.

​"Executioner," Roger barked, turning away from me as if I was already a ghost. "Take her."

​A beast of a werewolf stepped out from under the podium with a rusted, double-bladed sword dragging against the stone sparks flying in his steps. At that moment, I knew exactly what it meant when they say one's heart was hammering against their ribs like a trapped bird. This is it, I thought. I'm sorry, Zaccheus. I'm so sorry I couldn't buy you that carpentry shop.

​"STOP!"

​The command was so shrill and authoritative that the executioner froze in his steps. The wide wooden double doors of the Alpha’s palace had been thrown open.

​A woman stood at the top of the grand staircase. She was covered in heavy robes of midnight blue, her face sharp, royal, and wrinkled with age and probably wickedness.

​The crowd instantly dropped to one knee. Even Roger stiffened.

​The High Priestess. The Luna of the Mirroway Pack. Roger’s mother.

​I stared at her as a bitter, self-deprecating laugh was bubbling up in the back of my throat. I had been engaged to her son for a whole year. I had doubled their family’s wealth. And yet, I was looking at this woman’s face for the very first time in my life. Roger had never bothered to introduce us. He kept me isolated, slaving away for his empire, while he paraded his bachelor status to the world.

​God, I was so stupid to ever believe he actually wanted to marry me.

​"Mother?" Roger asked, his voice losing its booming confidence. He suddenly sounded like a scolded child. "What are you doing? The execution is underway."

As the High Priestess walked down the stairs, her dark eyes remained locked on me. She didn't look at her son or at Wimber. She looked at me like I was a rare and very valuable insect pinned to a board.

​"She cannot die," the High Priestess announced  into the silent square.

​Roger’s jaw dropped. "What? She committed treason! She destroyed the bark contracts!"

​"The Moon Goddess has sent me a vision," the older woman declared, throwing her arms wide to the superstitious crowd. "The Moontree of Old... the ancient peculiarity that has slept for a century... it has finally produced a bud!"

​Gasps suddenly echoed through the hundreds of kneeling wolves.

​I frowned, my brows pulling together. A Moontree? I had negotiated the distribution of its bark for a year, but I had always thought the "sentient tree" stories were just royal superstitions. A myth they used to drive up the market prices.

​"And the Goddess has revealed," the High Priestess continued, finally reaching the bottom of the stairs and pointing a ring-banded finger right at my face. "That this girl is the stimulant. Her proximity, her energy... it is what the tree needs to fully bloom. If Stella Fishington dies tonight, the Moontree dies with her!"

: Stella

​The square fell into a stunned silence.

​"That is insane!" Roger exploded, and I watched his face turn a furious, ugly shade of red. He stepped to the edge of the podium, holding the  railing tightly. "She is a traitor! A criminal! I don't care about some obscure prophecy, she humiliated me and destroyed billions in assets! Throw her in the dungeons! Let her rot in the dark until we figure this out!"

​"Are you questioning the will of the Goddess, my son?" The Luna's voice dropped into a threat-coated question.

​"I am the future Alpha, and she is MY prisoner!" Roger roared, completely losing his temper. "Guards! Drag her to the lowest cell!"

​The guards stepped forward, their hands reaching for my chains, but before anyone could lay a single finger on me, the temperature in the square abruptly plummeted.

It plummeted so fast my breath plumed into white clouds in front of my face.

​A suffocating pressure began