His uncle's sweetheart

I should’ve known something was wrong.

My wolf had been restless for weeks, growling whenever my boyfriend touched me. I blamed stress and work. But now, standing outside Alan’s apartment, clutching his favorite wine and still flushed from a courtroom win, the truth hit like a punch.

This wasn’t anxiety. My wolf had been trying to warn me. And I ignored her.

I froze.

Alan was on his knees between another woman’s legs.

The wine slipped from my hand and shattered across the tiled floor. My pulse thundered in my ears.

Alan's lover's eyes met mine.

Genevieve.

My best friend.

She scrambled for her dress like modesty could undo anything. Alan didn’t even flinch. His lips were still wet from her.

He looked up, mildly surprised—as if I were the one in the wrong.

“Marissa? Why are you here? You should’ve called first.”

Was he fucking serious?

My vision blurred. I didn't know whether to laugh, scream, or cry.

Genevieve rose and smoothed her dress over her petite frame. “Riss,” she said softly, like I was a child, “I know this is messy. But maybe it’s for the best. You needed to know.”

I staggered back. “Know what? That you’re a traitorous whore?”

Her eyes flashed, but her voice stayed cool. “I’m not going to apologize for choosing my happiness.”

I couldn't believe my ears.

“My boyfriend makes you happy?”

“Genevieve, are you insane?”

She shrugged. “Maybe if you weren’t so obsessed with being ‘perfect,’ he wouldn’t have looked elsewhere.”

The blood in my veins turned to fire.

It all made sense now. Her sour moods when teachers praised me. That tight smile when boys looked my way. This wasn’t a mistake. This was envy and hate. And I never saw it coming.

Rage eclipsed my shock. I slapped her. The sound cracked through the room.

She didn’t hesitate. Her return slap burned across my cheek.

Alan grabbed my arm. Their eyes locked on me, full of outrage.

I couldn't breathe.

“Why?” I choked, yanking my hand away and locking my gaze on Genevieve. “What did I do to deserve this level of hatred? Why would you do this to me?”

Alan’s voice was ice. “Gen understands me. She doesn’t make everything about herself.”

Genevieve smiled smugly. “Also… I’m ten weeks pregnant.”

My heart stopped. “You’re what?”

She placed a protective hand over her stomach.

These weren’t the people I loved. Alan was a coward, and Genevieve had never been my friend.

“You’ll understand when someone finally tolerates you,” Alan said smugly.

My tears spilled freely as I rushed to the door. I couldn't take it anymore.

“Good riddance,” I trembled. “You’ll need it when karma comes for you.”

The last words I heard were Alan's. “Karma? That’s what losers say to feel better about being replaced. Get over it, Riss. It’s over.”

He said it with so much sickening confidence that I pinched myself, wondering how the two people I trusted the most had been my enemies all along.

---

Six months later

I was barely alive.

Some days I didn’t get out of bed. On others, I trained until my muscles tore.

Tonight, I wore my pain like armor.

Alan and Genevieve glided into my father’s ballroom, glowing. Music swelled around us at the Southern Werewolf and Lycan Unity Festival, hosted by my father, Alpha Marcus of the Blackthorn Pack.

The room sparkled with status: Alphas, Betas, and political powerhouses.

I hadn’t seen Alan and Genevieve since that day. They got married, and judging by Genevieve's swollen belly, the baby was almost here.

After the betrayal, the rumors began. Alan claimed we’d broken up months before. Said I was stalking him. Our mutual friends stayed away, like heartbreak was contagious.

I fought back with screenshots, receipts, and proof. It didn’t matter. My father refused to stand by me. He claimed that I was tarnishing his reputation, and an alpha's daughter shouldn't 'fight dirty.'

When I threatened to leave the pack, he made it clear: I’d be branded rogue, and my law license revoked.

So I stayed.

Now, drink in hand, I watched the two of them approach. Genevieve’s emerald dress shimmered over her belly. She looked radiant.

The idea that I was just collateral damage in her happy ending made me sick.

“Marissa!” Alan grinned. He pulled Genevieve close with a possessive hand on her waist. “We missed you at the wedding.”

I smiled tightly. “Must’ve misplaced the invitation.”

Genevieve leaned in. “Oh, but we did send one. Alan thinks you’d make the perfect godmother. Isn’t that just… fitting?”

I stared at her belly. The audacity. I had to laugh—because the only other option was to scream.

“How sweet,” I said. “Two trash cans finally found each other.”

Genevieve’s smile twitched. Behind me, Lilith, my father's wife, placed a manicured hand on my back, her rings grazing my spine.

“Be nice. We have important guests.”

I didn’t turn. “Of course you’d say that. You always protect your kind.”

Lilith gasped, offended.

“Oh no, Luna Lilith,” Genevieve said, slipping into her usual role as the polished peacemaker. “I didn’t mean to stir anything up. I just didn’t realize Marissa was still... bitter.”

Still bitter? She was baiting me. But I’d bled enough.

I sipped my drink. “It takes real talent to steal a man and still look like the consolation prize. At least I dodged the STD you probably share.”

Her eyes narrowed, but before she could snap back, the room fell silent.

The Lycans had arrived.

Heads lowered. Even I, despite everything, bowed my head. Lycans were stronger than werewolves in every way.

The King and Queen entered, draped in black and royal purple. Then came their son—Justin. The future King. His name alone sent whispers through the hall.

I never fantasized about strangers. But the moment I saw him, I understood the obsession.

He was tall, broad-shouldered, with dark hair and an arresting face. Every step radiated dominance. Even Alphas shrank beside him. My eyes flicked to the woman on his arm—his fiancée, the royal beauty everyone envied.

Without warning, an overwhelming wave of heat surged through my body. The air thickened with the scent of pine, cedar, and rain-soaked earth. It wasn’t cologne. It was elemental.

My breath caught.

My wolf woke. Fully and violently.

Mate.

The word struck like lightning, setting every nerve ablaze.

Justin.

The future Lycan King.

Gorgeous. Powerful.

Mine.

I wasn’t broken. The universe hadn’t forgotten me. I had a mate.

But tradition dictated that the male must speak the bond first. If a woman claimed it and was rejected, the shame would follow her forever.

So I waited for him to feel it. To see me.

Each second dragged like a lifetime.

I stepped closer, locking onto his eyes, begging silently for recognition. Inches separated us. I could see the stubble on his jaw and imagined reaching out, kissing him, letting the bond snap into place.

He walked right past me.

No glance. No hesitation. Nothing.

My wolf whimpered, the joy snuffed out in an instant. The warmth vanished, replaced by a hollow chill.

What just happened?

Had I been wrong?

Was fate mocking me again, dangling hope only to rip it away?

I hesitated.

But then I stepped forward.

Because if the universe gave me even a sliver of a chance to be seen, I wasn’t going to let fear take it from me.