My Alpha Left Me At The Altar—So I Rejected Him

Rosalina's POV

The air in the cathedral is thick, smelling of expensive lilies and the stifling heat of too many bodies. I stand at the altar, the lace of my veil feeling like a shroud against my skin. I look out at the crowd, and for a moment, I feel like a specimen under a microscope. The pews are overflowing; guests are packed against the stone walls like sardines in a tin can.

The silence of the room is deceptive. Underneath the organ’s soft hum, the whispers crawl toward me like insects.

"Is the Alpha really not going to show up?"

"Did he finally realize he can have far better prospects than a lowly orphan?"

"Maybe his senses finally returned. It's not too late to call the whole thing off."

Each word is like a needle prick. My fingers tremble against my bouquet, the stems digging into my palms. My heart is fluttering like a frantic bird trapped in my ribs.

I’ve waited five years for this. From college sweethearts to this moment, I know him very well… so well that–

”Pssst. Rose…!”

I turn my head slightly. Tracy, my best friend and maid of honor, is leaning in. She has a standard poker-face on, but her eyes are darting toward the clock on the wall.

"I don't mean to give you more stress," she whispers, her voice urgent. "But maybe it's time to call Jordan and ask where he is."

"I know he'll come," I say, though my voice sounds brittle, even to my own ears.

"Of course," Tracy says, hesitating before she adds further.

"But Rose, it’s an hour past the designated start time. The guests, the journalists, the entire pack—everyone is waiting for their Alpha. I’m not saying you shouldn't trust him, but at least ask for an update. What if he’s stuck in an emergency? What if he’s hurt?"

The word hurt sends a jolt of pure ice through my veins. My mind conjures images of a car wreck, a rogue attack, Jordan lying bleeding somewhere while I stand here worrying about my pride.

"Okay," I breathe, my chest heaving. "Give me my phone."

Tracy slips it into my hand. My fingers are shaking so violently I can barely swipe the screen. In my blind panic, my thumb slips. I don't hit the voice call; I hit the icon for a video call.

I gasp and try to fumble for the red button to cancel it, but before I can, the line clicks open.

The image that fills the screen freezes the blood in my heart.

Jordan is lying against a navy blue velvet headboard, his chest bare and glowing faintly in the dim light of a hotel room. His hair, usually so meticulously styled, is a bird’s nest of tangles. My breath hitches as I see the dark, purplish love bites blooming across his neck like bruises.

His grey eyes are half-lidded, heavy with a lazy, post-coital haze. But the true dagger is the crown of platinum blonde hair resting familiarly on his chest.

I am frozen. The cathedral, the hundreds of people, the cameras—everything vanishes. There is only the glowing rectangle in my hand. A soft, weak yelp escapes my lips, more of a dying sigh than a sound.

"Jo... Jordan..." I whisper, my voice cracking. "What the hell? Where are you?"

He doesn't even startle. He just sighs, an irritated, guttural sound. "I'm busy, Rena. Why do you keep calling?"

I feel like I've been slapped. "What do you mean? Jordan, the mating ceremony... it's today. I’m at the altar. Everyone is here."

"And so what?" he snaps, his tone dripping with a callousness I’ve never heard before. "We can do that some other day. Why do you have to make such a fuss about it? It’s just a five-minute job."

A five-minute job. My life’s dream. Our union as Alpha and Luna. A five-minute job.

Before I can find the breath to scream, the blonde head on his chest stirs. A woman lifts her face, blinking slowly as if waking from a beautiful dream.

"Mmm... Jordy..." she murmurs, her voice a sweet, honeyed trill. "Who is it? Why did you pick up? It was such a sweet sleep... I didn't want to wake up yet."

My world turns to ash. It's not a stranger… it's Minerva, the Beta's daughter whom Jordan’s family has unofficially adopted.

The girl who moved abroad years ago and was staying there until she was summoned by the Alpha— or at least, was supposed to be, according to what I knew till yesterday.

Jordan’s irritation vanishes, replaced by a warm affection.

He looks down at her, stroking her hair tenderly. "I’m sorry, Minnie. I won't disturb you anymore. Go back to sleep, you must be so tired."

I am shaking so hard the phone is a blur. The wrenching pain in my chest feels like my soul is being physically torn out of my body.

Suddenly, the world rushes back in. Tracy grabs my shoulder, shaking me hard. "Rose! Rose, listen to me!"

The whispers in the cathedral have turned into a roar of snickers and gasps. I realize with a sickening jolt that because this ceremony was being broadcast live to the pack and neighboring territories, the audio—and the image—just went out over the speakers.

"Cut the call!" Tracy hisses. "Or put me on with that bastard!"

"No... Tracy, you don't understand..." I stammer, my mind fracturing.

Tracy looks at me, her eyes full of a pity that hurts worse than the insults. She snatches the phone from my hand and ends the call. "Rose, there is nothing left to understand. He left you at the altar for her. And the whole world just saw it."

The insults are no longer whispers. They are shouts.

"Was that the Beta’s daughter? Even the back of her head is prettier than this 'bride'."

"Who’s even calling her a bride? What’s a bride without a groom?"

"Look at her standing there... pathetic."

Ronan, Jordan’s Beta, rushes toward the altar, his face pale. "Luna, please. Don't misunderstand. Let me go look for the Alpha. It's a mistake... a misunderstanding..."

"There is nothing to misunderstand, Ronan," I say. My voice is suddenly calm. The panic has reached its peak and shattered into a cold, hard diamond of clarity. "Everything is crystal clear."

"Luna, actually, Miss. Minerva has just returned–”

I hear a guest nearby whispering loudly to another. "I saw the screen on the projector before she turned. That's the Royal Oak Hotel suite. I recognize that navy headboard."

The Royal Oak.

The humiliation is a physical weight, but it fuels the fire in my marrow. I turn to the sea of faces, the journalists with their flashing cameras, the pack members who always looked down on me.

"Everyone," I say, my voice carrying through the cathedral. "Thank you for showing up. But as you have seen for yourselves, this wedding is called off."

"Luna, you can't make an announcement without the Alpha's approval—"

I turn on him, and the icy glare I give him makes him take a step back. I turn and begin to walk down the aisle, my white train trailing behind me like a dead weight.

Tracy catches my arm, her eyes wide. "Wait! Rose, where are you going?"

I look at her, my gaze numb. "I'm going to the Royal Oak."

Rosalina's POV

The cold air outside the cathedral hits me like a slap, but it doesn't wake me up from my daze.

It's only when people’s stares burn into me that I realise my custom-made silk wedding gown is swishing against the pavement, the lace hem dragging through the dirt and grime.

But I don’t have enough senses left to feel the shame of the spectacle I've become.

"Rose! Rosalina, stop!"

Tracy’s voice screams from behind, and I quickly thrust my hand out. A yellow cab screeches to a halt.

"Royal Oak Hotel," I rasp as I climb into the back. "Fast."

The driver looks at me through the rearview mirror. "Runaway bride?"

I stare out the window, ignoring his amusement.

I march into the lobby, and the receptionist blinks, looking puzzled by the sight of a full bridal ensemble in the middle of a Tuesday afternoon.

"I want to know which room Mr. Jordan Harrington has booked," I say, using his human surname.

The hotel is located just outside the pack limits, within the neutral ground of human luxury.

The receptionist pauses. "And you are...?"

I raise my hand, the diamond engagement ring catching the light. "I’m his fiancée."

Her face softens into a professional smile. "Of course, ma'am. Just a moment."

"Mr. Harrington has reserved the top floor lobby for a private party, as well as the Presidential Suite. Would you like me to arrange for someone to escort you up?"

The words private party feel like a blade to my heart. He was throwing a party, while I was standing at the altar, counting the seconds of my own humiliation.

"No need," I say, my smile brittle. "I'll find my way."

I'm shaking on the entire elevator ride to the 50th floor, and the doors open onto a scene that stops my heart.

A beautiful festoon arches overhead. Banners hang from the ceiling, gold letters sparkling under soft lights: WELCOME HOME, MINNIE!

My heartbeat is echoing louder than the upbeat music blasting from the speakers. His priority was a "Welcome Home" party for someone who's been gone for years. All this time, he couldn't even bother to send a text to the woman waiting to bind her soul to his.

I didn't expect him to go against his heart's wishes and marry me under compulsion. But he didn't even give me the decency of a cancellation!

I linger on the balcony, hidden by a large floral arrangement. I can hear the voices of our friends— or rather, Jordan's close circle.

I thought they respected me, but the conversations I overhear leave me reeling.

"They really are the perfect couple, aren't they?"

“I always knew Rosalina was just a pathetic placeholder–”

“Don't insult Minnie like that! The placeholder is not even half as good as the original."

"She’s really an embarrassment. The only reason she clung to Jordan this long is because of some magic spell she cast on his grandfather.”

“Who knows! Maybe she’s doing 'favors' for the old man to keep her spot. You know what I mean…”

I want to throw up; it's absolutely disgusting and vile…

But the man who is supposed to defend me against these remarks, is busy cutting a three-tier celebration cake with his so-called sister. He reaches for the knife, his hand wrapping over hers. Together, they push it through the layers of fondant and cream.

Their friends cheer.

He pops a bottle of champagne and hands her the first glass, fingers brushing against each other. She smiles up at him, and he looks at her like she is the moon of his night sky.

She's wearing a knot-style baby pink dress, so pale it’s almost white. I want to laugh at the irony— here I am, standing in a white bridal gown and still finding myself on the outskirts of his life.

They look like a real couple, so much like the dream I thought I was living.

Suddenly, the music changes and the bright overheads dim until the room is almost pitch dark, lit only by soft blue floor lights. A waiter almost barges into me, and I instinctively whirl behind a white screen, pressing myself against it to stay hidden.

I realize, too late, that I am standing inches away from the edge of the dance floor.

Jordan drags Minerva into the center and twirls her twice before they begin to sway, their bodies pressed together, foreheads almost touching.

The music is loud, but because I am right behind the screen, their voices carry directly.

"You got a call earlier…” Minerva murmurs. "Was it your girlfriend?"

"She’s nobody important.”

Jordan says as he nudges her with his cheek, and I feel tears dripping down my cheeks again.

"Come on, Jordy! Weren't you going to claim her today, with the Moon Goddess as your witness?"

"She is nothing in front of you, Minnie…”

He whispers, pulling her closer until there is no space left between them. "You are my only passion, if only you accept the true feelings in your heart.”

“Jordy, you know I can't–”

The music comes to an end, and the crowd erupts into cheers, cutting their conversation short.

The lights snap back to full brightness, blinding me for a second. The hoots and whistles die down instantly as they see the slim, slender figure in a white silk gown, red hair pinned into a twisted bun, standing like a ghost at the feast.

Everything from my clothes, my jewellery, and hairstyle is still in perfect condition, like I had prepared. It's just my heart and soul that is in tatters.

Jordan freezes, his hand still on Minerva’s waist. She rushes toward me, her arms wide open.

"Sister-in-law! I didn't expect to see you here! How are you? I've heard so much about you!"

I sidestep her with a coldness that surprises even me. "So have I.”

Jordan acts like I haven't just avoided her hug, rather pushed her to the ground. He lunges forward, cramping into my space. "How did you find me here? Why are you following me?"

"Why? Am I not allowed to attend your celebration?"

Minerva interrupts nervously, wringing her hands. "It's not like that! Of course you're welcome. I just… I wanted to surprise him by coming for the wedding, but he surprised me instead by picking me up at the airport and throwing a get-together with our friends. That's all. Please, we'll be very happy if you join us—"

"No need to go so far to accommodate her, Minnie," Jordan cuts in, glaring at me. "And you absolutely don't need to explain yourself. Those who have filth in their mind see filth everywhere."

I smirk. "So then, you admit you are filthy?”

Jordan’s face turns a deep shade of red. He lunges forward and grabs my wrist, his grip forceful enough to bruise.

"Rosalina, behave yourself! Why did you come here in this ridiculous dress? Just for drama? I told you, it’s a five-minute job. We can complete the mating ceremony whenever we want. Stop making a fuss."

I look down at his hand on my wrist, then up into the grey eyes of the man I thought I loved.

”Good! I’m here to tell you that we're never having that ceremony. I don't want your five minutes of charity."

"What are you talking about!? We agreed to postpone—"

"We never agreed," I interrupt, ripping my arm out of his grasp. "You just announced you weren't coming, and humiliated me in front of the world. You just told her I was 'nobody important,' right? So, I’m breaking off this forced engagement."

Rosalina's POV

Jordan’s eyes darken, a storm brewing in the grey depths that used to make my heart flutter.. He takes a step toward me, his presence looming and suffocating.

"Say that again," he commands, his voice dropping to a dangerous rattle. "Why are you putting Minnie on the spot like this? Why are you dragging her name through the mud to cover up your own insecurities?"

I let out a sharp scoff. "I never once mentioned her name, Jordan. I am talking about you. I am talking about the man who left his bride at the altar to stay in a hotel suite instead."

I tilt my head, "But if you’re feeling so defensive over your precious puppy, then by all means—marry her! Here."

I reach for my left hand. I pull at the diamond ring on my finger, and toss it at his feet. It hits the floor with a hollow clink and rolls toward his polished shoes.

"Consider it my wedding gift to the two of you.”

The silence that follows is broken by a loud laugh from the back of the room. One of Jordan’s friends sneers, leaning against the bar. "Finally! Good riddance. She’s finally doing what Jordan couldn't do because he’s too loyal to his grandfather. The shadow is finally leaving our lives."

"Don't hold your breath," another whispers loudly. "It's all an act. She’s a gold digger through and through. There’s no way she’s breaking this off.”

“He’s the Alpha, and she’s worked way too hard to claw her way into this position. She'll be begging for his forgiveness by tonight."

Minerva rushes forward, her eyes swimming with tears. She reaches for my hand, but I pull back.

"Rosalina, please! Don't misunderstand us."

Her voice cracks. "He is just like a brother to me! We grew up in the same house. We are just close, that’s all. But trust me, I would never come between you!"

Brother!

I have heard that pathetic excuse countless times, yet I have never known a brother who would skip the sacred mating ceremony just to pick up his "sister" from the airport and spend time in a hotel suite with her.

A cold, razor-sharp smile tugs at my lips. "Really, Minerva? Then you are truly lucky to have such a devoted lover. He worships the ground you walk on. He’d let his whole pack witness his treason just to make sure you had a nice welcome."

I gasp mockingly, pressing a hand to my chest. "Oh, did I spill the truth? I am so sorry. I didn't mean lover. I meant brother."

A vein throbs violently at Jordan’s temple. The air in the room begins to vibrate with his Alpha aura, a heavy pressure meant to force me to my knees.

"Enough!" he roars. "Rosalina, apologize to Minerva. Now. We all know you’re just creating drama. You have no intention of following through with this tantrum."

I look at him, realising that somewhere along the lines, the love I felt for him is replaced by a vast, echoing emptiness.

I straighten my spine, standing tall. He thinks this is a tantrum?

I raise my eyes toward the ceiling, speaking loud and clear. "I swear on the Moon Goddess that I, Rosalina Alfred, reject you, Alpha Jordan Harrington, as my mate!"

Gasps ripple through the crowd. Jordan's face goes slack. A rejection is rare; a public one is social suicide.

"And if I ever go back on my soul's oath, then may both of us be struck by lightning for disrespecting our goddess. We are done, Alpha Jordan."

I turn on my heel, my white train whipping around me, and walk out of the room without looking back.

Minerva’s POV

The silence Rosalina leaves behind is thick and suffocating, but it doesn't last. One of the guys lets out an uneasy, bubbling laugh.

"Well, she’s definitely got a flair for the dramatic, hasn't she?"

"Don't let it get to you, Jordan! Just buy her a shiny new trinket tomorrow. Once she realizes she's lost her meal ticket, she'll be back on her knees.”

“Robert is right! She’ll even do the penance and beg the Moon Goddess to take that rejection back. We all know how sellable her soul is."

Jordan’s face is a mask of frigid fury.

"Enough!"

He snaps, his voice echoing. He turns to me, his gaze softening just a fraction, though his jaw remains tight. "Minnie, I’m sorry. You shouldn't have had to deal with that on your first day back. She’s out of line."

I feel a tightening in my chest. Since when does Jordan care if I’m bothered by her? While I was away, did that orphan actually start to take up space in his mind? I can't have that.

I press my lips together, looking at him with wide, concerned eyes before a playful idea strikes me.

"Oh, lighten up, Jordy!" I chirp.

I reach out and poke him right in the waist, tickling the spot I know he can't stand.

He flinches, the dark cloud over his face flickering. It takes me back instantly. When we were kids, he was always so serious, buried in his books and pack history, obsessed with being the perfect Alpha-in-waiting.

I was the opposite.

I spent my afternoons trailing after his mother, the Luna. She always brushed my hair and told me I was the most beautiful girl in the pack.

"You'll surely be the next Luna, Minerva…”

I believed her, of course— after all, I have spent my life as the Luna's shadow, learning how to rule.

Back then, Jordan would get so angry when I skipped my homework to try on his mother's jewelry. He would scold me with that same brooding look he has now, and I’d just tickle him until he laughed.

It worked every single time.

"Don't be so grumpy," I tease, smiling up at him. "You’re scaring everyone, and this is my party, remember?"

The tension in his brows finally eases. He catches my hand, his thumb brushing my knuckles. "I'm not angry with you, Minnie. I’d never take my temper out on you because of her stupidity. She’s just being irrational."

"I know," I whisper, dropping my gaze and letting a soft blush creep onto my cheeks. "I feel the same way about you, Jordan. Nothing she says could change that."

The group immediately catches the look between us and erupts into cheers and whistles. "See? That’s more like it!" someone yells.

The heavy, suffocating atmosphere Rosalina left behind vanishes as if it were never there. The music cranks back up, the champagne flows, and I settle back into my rightful place by his side.

The placeholder is gone, and the real bride has finally come home.

Rosalina's POV

I step out of the cab and stare at the villa. This was supposed to be our sanctuary, a wedding gift from Old Mr. Harrisford, but now it feels like a hollow monument to a lie. Every stone and shutter mock me. I still wear the silk gown, the hem heavy with the grime of the city, as I push through the front doors.

The housekeeper freezes, her eyes widening as she takes in my disheveled state. "Mrs. Harrisford? You're back so soon?!"

I flinch at the title. "Don't call me that," I say, my voice cold and final.

I go straight upstairs, my wedding gown heavy and mocking with every step. This house feels like a hollow museum dedicated to a life that was never truly mine.

I haven't lived here long, but as I enter my room, I realize how little of "me" there actually is in this space. I never truly settled in; I was always waiting for Jordan to make me feel welcome, to tell me which drawers were mine or where I should hang my coats. As it turns out, all my belongings fit neatly into a single suitcase. It’s a pathetic realization. Five years of love packed into one piece of luggage.

As I pass Jordan’s study, my feet drag to a halt. The door is slightly ajar. On his desk, his tablet rests, its dark screen reflecting the dim afternoon light.

A memory hits me, sharp and bitter. A few months ago, I had reached for that tablet to look up a recipe. Jordan had snapped at me with a ferocity that left me reeling for days. At the time, I told myself he was just stressed, that he was a private person who valued his space. But today, I saw Minerva. I saw her casually scrolling through his phone as if she owned his digital soul.

The hypocrisy is a physical weight in my chest.

I step into the study. The air smells like him—sandalwood and expensive leather. I tap the screen. A password prompt appears. My heart hammers against my ribs.

I type in his birthday. Incorrect. I take a shaky breath and type in my own birthday. Incorrect. I should feel relieved, but I don't. I feel a growing sense of dread. I recall a detail I once heard about Minerva. She was born in the deep autumn, her name a tribute to the changing season. I pull out my phone with trembling fingers and check her social media. September 23rd.

I type in 0923.

The screen unlocks instantly, the home screen flickering to life.

My stomach turns. The tablet is nearly empty—no social media apps, no work files, no games. It’s a dedicated storage device. I follow a sickening instinct and tap the photo gallery icon.

The warmth drains from my limbs, leaving me cold and hollowed out.

There are 3,344 photos. I scroll, and scroll, and scroll. Every single image features Minerva. There are candid shots of her sleeping in a sunlit chair; pictures of her laughing with a glass of wine in her hand; selfies of the two of them where his face is pressed against hers.

In five years, Jordan always claimed he hated being photographed. He told me it was "distracting" and "unbecoming of an Alpha." Our only photo together is the stiff, formal portrait the pack required for the engagement announcement. We look like strangers standing in the same room.

But here? In these thousands of pictures, his smile is open and radiant. He looks truly alive. He looks like a man who is deeply, desperately in love.

I shut the tablet with a sharp click. The silence of the room feels like it’s screaming at me. I leave the study exactly as I found it, though the world I thought I knew has been leveled to the ground.

Downstairs, I drag my suitcase across the marble foyer. The housekeeper, Lucy, looks up from her dusting, her eyes wide with confusion as she takes in my disheveled bridal gown and my luggage.

"Mrs. Harrisford? You just arrived! Are you heading out on another trip already?"

She knows I’m a lawyer, that I often travel for cases. She’s looking for a logical explanation for why a bride is fleeing her home on her wedding day.

I pause at the door, the weight of the suitcase heavy in my hand. "Yeah," I say, my voice sounding like it belongs to someone else. "A long one."

I walk out, the heavy oak doors clicking shut behind me.

Jordan’s POV

I don't return to the villa until the following afternoon. The party for Minerva ran late into the night, and I ended up staying at the hotel to ensure she was settled and comfortable. It was the least I could do after the scene Rosalina caused.

Walking through the front door, I check my phone. Still nothing. A whole day and night have passed, and she hasn't sent a single message. No apology, no explanation, not even a petulant "where are you?"

She’s really getting bold. She thinks that by playing the victim and throwing a tantrum at the hotel, she can make me chase her.

"Did Rosalina come back yesterday?" I ask Lucy as I toss my keys onto the side table.

Lucy looks up, her expression a mix of hesitation and worry. "Sir, I believe she went away on a trip. She packed a bag and left shortly after she arrived. She didn't mention when she’d return."

A trip. I feel a flicker of annoyance, but I push it down. She’s sulking. She’s gone to some spa or a friend's house to wait for me to beg her to come home. It’s a tired routine. She doesn't realize that we are already bound by the pack’s eyes and the Moon Goddess's approval. The ceremony was just a formality to appease the elders.

As for her dramatic declaration about breaking the engagement—I haven't taken it seriously for a second. Where would she go? What would she do without the protection of the Harrisford name? She’s an orphan who worked her way up, but she knows her place. She won't actually leave.

"Alright," I mutter.

I head upstairs to change. I don't go into the master bedroom. We had decided to wait until after the wedding night to move in there, so I continue using my guest suite. If I had bothered to look inside that room, I might have noticed the stark, empty space on the wall where our engagement portrait used to hang. I might have noticed that every trace of her presence had been scrubbed clean.

I’ve barely sat down at my desk when my phone vibrates. It’s my grandfather, Bryce.

"Jordan," his voice booms, sharp and demanding. "Did you and Rena get your marriage certificate? I haven't seen any updates in the family group, and the pack council is asking questions about the delay."

I rub the bridge of my nose, feeling a headache begin to throb. "Grandpa, something came up that day. We didn't manage to go, and I forgot to update you. We’ll take care of it after your birthday banquet."

There’s a long pause on the other end. "The sooner, the better, Jordan. It will put my mind at ease to see you two finalized. Also... I heard Minerva is back."

I stiffen. I never knew the full story of why Minerva left five years ago. I only knew that Grandpa had tried to arrange a marriage for her that she hated, and then she was gone. My relationship with my family was strained for a long time after that. It only smoothed over when I agreed to get engaged to Rosalina—the stable, "appropriate" choice.

"So it seems," I reply, my tone carefully neutral.

"Good," Bryce says, seemingly reassured by my lack of emotion. "Since she’s returned, she should come home. But Jordan, regardless of who comes back, I want you and Rosalina to finalize your marriage soon. Do you understand me?"

His voice carries the weight of an Alpha's command.

"I understand," I say, my gaze turning cold.

After I end the call, I stare at the screen. Tomorrow is Bryce’s birthday banquet—the biggest event of the season for our pack. It’s a requirement that the Alpha and his future Luna appear together, united and strong.

I open my chat with Rosalina. The last message is still the one from yesterday—the one I sent when I was standing her up at the city hall. I tap out a quick, commanding text:

[Are you back from your trip? Grandpa's birthday banquet is tomorrow. Make sure you’re ready by six.]

Jordan’s POV

I stare at the screen of my phone, the blue light reflecting the mounting irritation in my eyes. It has been an hour since I sent the command for her to return. Finally, the three dots dance, and a message arrives.

It is nothing but a single question mark.

My grip tightens on the device. She is playing with fire, testing the boundaries of my patience at the worst possible moment. "Rosalina, stop this," I type, my thumbs striking the screen with unnecessary force. "You know how important Grandpa’s banquet is. This isn't just about us; it's about the pack's image."

I’ve just stepped out of the shower, the steam still clinging to the bathroom mirror, when her reply pings back.

Mr. Harrisford, we already broke up. I won’t be attending the banquet. Take whoever you like.

A cold, mocking laugh catches in my throat. Take whoever you like? She’s trying to goad me into bringing Minerva, knowing full well the scandal that would ignite among the elders. My patience snaps like a dry twig.

"Are you playing games again?" I growl into the voice-to-text. "I didn't agree to break up. A mating bond isn't a contract you can just tear up because you’re having a bad day. I’m picking you up at seven tomorrow. Grandpa has treated you better than your own blood ever did. If you have any conscience at all, don't ruin his birthday."

I send it as both a warning and a threat. I know her weakness—her loyalty to the old man. She wouldn't dare humiliate the one person who gave her a seat at the Harrisford table.

A minute passes. Then, a notification pops up that catches me completely off guard.

Fine. I’ll go. Send my appearance fee first.

Below the text is a QR code for a mobile payment.

Label it as labor compensation, she adds.

I stare at the code, a flicker of genuine confusion crossing my face. A million? She wants a million for a single night? I don't have time to argue or decipher whatever new psychological tactic she’s employing. The banquet is the priority. I scan the code and transfer the million without a second thought.

Almost instantly, the confirmation pings: Received with thanks.

The transaction is clinical. Cold. It’s the kind of message a stranger sends after a business deal. It galls me more than her yelling ever could.

The next evening, I pull the car into the courtyard precisely at seven. I expect to see her in something modest and forgettable, her usual style. But when the front door opens, the air leaves my lungs.

Rosalina is wearing a delicate lavender gown that seems to glow in the twilight. Her long, soft waves are tied back with a simple white ribbon, falling effortlessly down her back. Her skin is flawless, her eyes sparking with a vitality I haven't seen in years. There is a warmth to her smile, yet she carries an air of serene, unapproachable elegance that makes her look like a goddess of the moon itself.

The form-fitting silk hugs every curve of her figure, and for a moment, I can't look away. A dangerous allure radiates from her, sending a sharp, unwelcome thrill racing through my veins.

Then, the possessiveness kicks in, sharp and biting. "Go upstairs and change immediately," I command, my voice tight with a tension I can't fully hide.

She chuckles, a soft, melodic sound that doesn't reach her icy eyes. "And who, may I ask, gave you that order?"

"Tonight is Grandpa’s banquet," I say, stepping closer, my scent trying to dominate the space between us. "Wearing that... you’ll draw far too much unwanted attention."

She glides toward the rear door of the car, ignoring my outstretched hand. "Exactly. I want every eye on me. I’ll save the boring look for your funeral, Jordan."

"Rosalina!" I grind her name out through clenched teeth.

She slips gracefully into the back seat, clicking the door shut. I climb into the driver’s seat, my knuckles white on the steering wheel. "Sit in the front. I’m not your chauffeur."

Her gaze flick flickers to the passenger seat. There, glinting in the cracks of the leather, is a pearl earring. Minerva’s earring. I hadn't even noticed it.

Rosalina’s expression darkens into something truly terrifying. "No thanks. It’s filthy. I’m not risking ruining my gown by sitting in your trash."

I have no idea why she’s being so obstinate. I check the calendar in my head—her period isn't due until the end of the month. Is she really this upset over a missed appointment and a few photos? Time is pressing; as the eldest grandson, I cannot be late. I put the car in gear and roar out of the driveway, the silence between us vibrating with a lethal energy.

Rosalina’s POV

The ride to the venue is a study in suppressed rage. I sit in the back, staring out the window at the passing city lights, feeling the "labor compensation" sitting comfortably in my bank account. If he wants a show, he’s going to pay for every second of it.

When we pull up to the grand ballroom of the Denton Estate, Jordan steps out and walks around to my door. He opens it and offers his arm, his expression a mask of Alpha authority. I shoot him a sharp, irritated glance, my hand hovering mid-air.

I don't want to touch him. The very idea of his scent clinging to my skin makes me feel nauseous. But tonight is about Devon. The Old Alpha has backed our engagement more than anyone; he was the one who saw potential in a "lowly orphan" and gave me the resources to become the lawyer I am today. I won't humiliate him on his special night.

I reach into my clutch and pull out a small bottle of high-end perfume. I spray it liberally on my wrists—the pulse points where my mating pheromones are released. Then, with a practiced motion, I wrap a silk handkerchief around my wrist, trapping the fragrance inside. I am building a barrier. I will not allow his scent to mark me, nor will I let my pheromones call out to a man who belongs to someone else.

I lift my gaze, cool and composed. "Fine. Let's go."

I place my silk-wrapped hand on his arm. I see the vein in Jordan’s temple pulse violently. He knows exactly what the perfume and the scarf mean. I am physically present, but I am chemically closed off to him.

"Rosalina, don't push your luck," he hisses, his voice a low vibration intended only for my ears. "Do you honestly think I’m that filthy?"

My lips curl into a mischievous, razor-sharp smile. I shrug elegantly as we approach the entrance. "Hmm. I’ll try to be more discreet next time, but you really should learn to accept the truth, Jordan. Some stains don't wash off."

The second we step into the banquet hall, the atmosphere shifts. Every head in the room turns. Jordan looks like he’s stepped straight off the cover of a magazine—tall, lean, and poised. He commands the room effortlessly, his eyes glinting like starlight under the chandeliers. He wears a faint, cool smile that hides the monster I know lives underneath.

As the heir to Denton’s most powerful family, he is a natural magnet for admirers. I can feel the jealous glares of the younger she-wolves and the calculating looks of the elders.

His warm hand rests over mine, pressing through the silk scarf. The heat of him is stifling. "Stay here," he says, his voice returning to that professional, distant tone. "I need to go greet Mr. Wright of Starhill Corporation. It's a vital merger for the pack. Keep yourself occupied for a moment."

My lips twitch in a faint smirk. I slip my hand free with effortless grace, the silk sliding against his sleeve. My wrist has grown damp beneath the scarf anyway, the heat of my own skin trapped by the barrier I built.

"Go," I say, not looking at him. "I’m sure I can find something far more interesting than a merger to occupy my time."

Jordan’s expression darkens faintly, a flash of the temper he’s trying to hide, but he can't ignore Mr. Wright. He turns and strides off, his shoulders broad and imposing.

I stand alone in the center of the room, the lavender silk of my dress shimmering under the lights. I take a deep breath, the scent of my own perfume shielding me. It's time to show him what he's lost.