From Rejected Omega to the Supreme Alpha's Queen

Ivy POV:

I walked away, my heels clicking rhythmically on the paved path. I didn't run. Predators don't run from prey.

"Stop!" Clayton yelled.

I paused but didn't turn.

"You can't just walk away!" he shouted. I heard him scrambling to catch up. "Faking your death? That is treason against the pack! You are a deserter!"

I turned slowly, raising an eyebrow. "Treason? Against the Silver Lake Pack? I am not a member of your pack, Clayton."

He stopped a few feet from me, panting. "You were born a Dillard. You belong to us."

"You rejected me," I reminded him calmly. "Five years ago. In the snow. Do you remember what you said?"

He flinched. Of course he remembered.

"I said it was for the best," he said, his voice taking on that manipulative tone I used to mistake for wisdom. Classic gaslighting. "You were weak, Ivy. You would have died from the pressure of being an Alpha's mate. I rejected you to save you."

"You rejected me to mate with Ainsley," I corrected him. "Because she looked the part and I didn't."

"It was eugenics!" he argued, desperate to regain control. "The pack needed strong bloodlines!"

"And how is that working out for you?" I asked, glancing at his frayed cuffs. "Silver Lake looks... tired."

His eyes narrowed. His Alpha ego couldn't handle the insult. He straightened his spine, puffing out his chest. He was going to try it. I knew he was.

"I am the Alpha Heir of the Silver Lake Pack," he boomed, his voice deepening as he channeled his wolf. "And I command you, Omega! Kneel!"

The Alpha's Command.

It's supposed to be crushing. A psychological hammer that bypasses the ears and forces the body to submit.

I felt the wave of his power hit me. It washed over my skin like a weak breeze.

My inner wolf didn't even blink. She just yawned.

I stood perfectly still. I didn't kneel. I didn't bow. I didn't even flinch.

Clayton's eyes bulged. He waited for me to collapse, but I just looked at him with pity.

"Is that it?" I asked.

"How..." he stammered. "How are you standing? I gave you a Command!"

"Your command is weak, Clayton," I said, stepping into his personal space. "It wouldn't even scare a rabbit."

In the hierarchy of wolves, a Command only works downwards. An Alpha can command a Beta or an Omega. But a lower-ranking Alpha cannot command a superior wolf. And definitely not a Luna of a Supreme Pack.

He didn't understand. His brain couldn't process that the "useless Omega" now outranked him by miles.

"You... you are coming with me," he snarled, abandoning the mystical for the physical. "I'm taking you to your father. He'll straighten this out."

He reached out, his hand grabbing for my arm. He wanted to drag me. He wanted to establish physical dominance.

Bad move.

Before his fingers could touch my coat, I moved.

My speed was a blur. I snatched his wrist out of the air.

I squeezed.

Crack.

"Argh!" Clayton screamed, dropping to his knees.

I didn't let go. I torqued his arm behind his back, driving his face into the dirt with zero effort. It was like handling a toddler.

"Don't," I whispered, leaning down so my lips were close to his ear. "Don't ever touch me with your dirty hands."

He whimpered, the pain in his wrist blinding him.

"I am not your mate," I hissed. "I am not your pack member. And I am certainly not your victim anymore."

I released him, shoving him forward. He face-planted into the grass.

I wiped my gloved hand on my coat, as if I had touched something filthy.

"Go home to your fake mate, Clayton," I said. "Tell my father I'm in town. Tell him the 'ghost' is coming for dinner."

I turned and walked to the waiting black limousine at the cemetery gates. I didn't look back at the man groveling in the dirt.