After My Alpha Killed Our Pup, I Stole His Fortune

My knees ached against the cold marble floor of the Pack House ballroom. I'd been scrubbing for hours, the bristles of the brush wearing my palms raw until they burned with every stroke. The full moon hung fat and silver outside the tall windows, casting long shadows across the polished floor I'd cleaned three times already.

Tonight was Bryce's eighteenth birthday. His Alpha ceremony.

I pushed a strand of dark hair from my face with the back of my wrist, careful not to touch my skin with my wet, reddened hands. The ballroom had to be perfect. Alpha Marcus had made that clear this morning when he'd found me in the kitchen helping Mom with breakfast.

"The Omega girl will prepare the ballroom," he'd said, not even looking at me. "Alone."

I was Hazel Mitchell, the orphan the Bloodmoon Pack had taken in out of charity. The girl with no wolf, no status, no future. Just an Omega who owed everything to the Knights.

The sound of heels clicking against marble made me freeze.

"Still scrubbing, little mouse?" Sloane Chapman's voice dripped with false sweetness. She stood in the doorway, her crimson dress hugging curves I'd never have, her auburn hair cascading in perfect waves. Everything about her screamed power, breeding, strength.

Everything I wasn't.

I kept my eyes down. "Almost finished, Miss Chapman."

"Sloane," she corrected, stepping closer. "Soon to be Luna Sloane. You should practice saying it."

My chest tightened, but I nodded. Sloane had arrived at the pack six months ago, and everything had changed. Bryce had changed. The boy who'd once nearly died protecting me from Rogues in the mountains now barely looked at me. When he did, his gray eyes were cold.

"What's this?" Sloane's foot connected with the bucket beside me. Dirty water exploded across the floor, soaking into my only clean dress—the pale blue one Mom had scrubbed by hand last night.

I gasped, scrambling back as the cold water spread.

"Oh, how clumsy of me." Sloane's laugh was light, musical. "But then again, what does it matter? It's not like anyone will see you tonight anyway. Omegas belong in the kitchen, not at ceremonies."

"I'll clean it up," I whispered, my throat tight.

"Hazel."

Bryce's voice cut through the room like a blade. I looked up to find him standing in the archway, dressed in the formal black suit that made him look every inch the Alpha he was about to become. Tall, broad-shouldered, devastating. His dark hair was swept back, and those gray eyes—the ones that used to look at me with warmth—were flat.

"Bryce," Sloane purred, gliding to his side. "I was just checking on the preparations."

His gaze moved from her to me, kneeling in the spreading puddle, my dress ruined. For a heartbeat, something flickered across his face. Then it was gone.

"Clean this mess," he said, his voice empty. "And stay out of sight during the ceremony. The visiting Alphas don't need to see... this."

This. Like I was something shameful.

"Yes, Alpha," I managed, the title bitter on my tongue. He wasn't Alpha yet, but he would be in an hour.

Sloane's smile was triumphant as she looped her arm through his. They left without another word, her laughter echoing down the hallway.

I cleaned the mess. Changed into my old gray dress that had been patched so many times it was more thread than fabric. Then I hid in the shadows of the kitchen doorway as the ceremony began.

The ballroom filled with wolves from neighboring packs, all dressed in their finest. Alpha Marcus stood at the center beneath the skylight, the full moon's light pouring down like a spotlight. And Bryce—Bryce stood beside him, his jaw set, his shoulders squared.

The shift happened fast.

One moment Bryce was human. The next, bones cracked and reformed, fur rippling across skin like black water. His wolf was massive, midnight-dark with eyes that burned gold instead of gray. The crowd gasped, murmuring approval. A strong Alpha wolf. A worthy heir.

Then those golden eyes found me.

The world stopped.

A scent hit me like a physical force—pine and leather and something wild that made my heart slam against my ribs. It wrapped around me, through me, pulling at something deep in my chest that had always been empty.

Vanilla and wildflowers. That's what I smelled like to him, I realized with sudden, terrible clarity.

Mate.

The word whispered through the bond I'd never known existed, and I saw the recognition in his wolf's eyes. The pull. The inevitability.

The ballroom had gone silent. Everyone felt it—the snap of a Fated Mate bond locking into place.

Bryce shifted back, his chest heaving, his eyes still locked on mine. For three heartbeats, hope flared in my chest like a desperate flame.

Then his father's hand landed on his shoulder. Sloane stepped closer, her expression sharp.

Bryce's jaw clenched. He looked away.

"I, Bryce Knight," his voice rang out clear and cold, "reject Hazel Mitchell as my mate."

The words hit like a fist to the gut.

"A weak, wolfless Omega cannot carry the Knight bloodline."

Pain exploded through my chest—not physical, but worse. Soul-deep. Like something vital was being ripped out of me, shredding as it went.

I couldn't breathe. Couldn't think.

Bryce pulled Sloane against his side, his arm around her waist. "Sloane Chapman will be my Luna."

The pain intensified, white-hot and consuming. My legs gave out. I hit the floor hard, my vision blurring as the severed bond screamed inside me.

Through the haze, I saw Bryce watching me. His expression was carefully blank, but his hands were fists at his sides.

Then Sloane kissed him, and the last thread of hope inside me died.