My Dream Mate Hates Me

Sage’s POV

Whispers.

The entire hall was buzzing with them.

I could feel the weight of a hundred eyes boring into me, shock and speculation thick in the air.

My father was staring at me, confusion flickering across his face, but I ignored him. I couldn’t look at him—not when my entire world was unraveling before me.

Ronan was my mate.

The man I had dreamed of, the man I had trusted, the man who had promised me things in the quiet of my subconscious—

And he was standing before me, staring at me like I was nothing.

Nothing.

He didn’t even look surprised anymore.

No, now his expression was something else entirely.

Cold. Calculated. Ruthless.

He took a step forward, his towering presence somehow even more suffocating than before.

The whispers in the room died.

When he spoke, his voice was lethal.

“You expect me to believe that?” he said, slow and deliberate, as if he were mocking me.

I swallowed hard, but I didn’t back down. I wouldn’t.

“I don’t expect anything,” I shot back, forcing my voice to remain steady, even as my chest tightened painfully. “I’m simply stating the truth.”

Ronan’s lips curled in a smirk—not the kind I was used to. Not the warm, teasing kind he had given me in my dreams.

No. This was cruel.

“The truth?” he repeated, his voice dripping with disdain. “The truth is that you are either delusional—or you’re lying. Either way, you’re an embarrassment.”

A sharp sting tore through my chest, the mate bond twisting violently inside me.

I knew what he was doing.

I felt what he was doing.

He was tearing into me on purpose. Destroying me.

And still, I refused to look away.

“Say whatever you want,” I said, lifting my chin. “It won’t change anything. You felt it. You know what we are.”

A flicker of something flashed through his eyes—something so quick, so fleeting, I almost missed it.

Then, he scoffed.

“Pathetic,” he muttered under his breath, shaking his head as if I disgusted him.

The whispers in the hall swelled.

Some Alphas shifted uncomfortably. Others smirked, entertained by my humiliation.

And Ronan?

He smirked right along with them.

I lifted my chin, even as my lungs screamed for air.

Even as my heart shattered.

Ronan studied me for a moment, his golden eyes gleaming with something almost like… disappointment.

“Still standing, little wolf?” His voice was quiet, a private mockery only I could hear.

Little wolf. It stung. I said nothing.

A muscle in his jaw twitched. Then his smirk returned, sharper than before.

And then—

He laughed.

A cold, sharp laugh, designed to cut through me like a blade.

The room echoed with it, other Alphas chuckling along, feeding off his display.

“She actually believes it,” he mused, shaking his head as if this was nothing more than an amusing inconvenience. “You’ve spent too much time in your dreams, little wolf. You must have confused fantasy with reality.”

My fingers trembled at my sides, my nails digging into my palms so hard they might draw blood.

Ronan leaned in slightly, lowering his voice, his smirk widening.

“Did you really think I would want you?”

I swallowed, but my throat was dry, my heart hammering in my chest.

“Did you think I’d take one look at you and throw myself at your feet?” he continued, his voice a whisper only I could hear. “Did you think I’d be grateful?”

A slow shake of his head.

“You are nothing to me.”

The bond recoiled violently, screaming in protest, but I forced myself to stay still. To hold my ground.

I would not break.

Not here.

Ronan straightened, raising his voice again.

“I don’t need a mate,” he said, loud enough for everyone to hear.

My breath caught in my throat.

The bond tightened, like a noose wrapping around my heart.

“I don’t want a mate,” he continued, each word slicing through me like a dagger. “Least of all one as foolish and weak as you.”

Foolish. Weak.

The words felt like a slap.

I clenched my fists so tightly my nails bit into my palms, but I refused to let the tears building behind my eyes fall.

Not here. Not in front of them.

Ronan took another step toward me, towering, suffocating, merciless.

“Do you understand?” he said, tilting his head slightly.

My throat burned. I wanted to scream, to demand why.

Why are you doing this?

Why are you pretending I don’t matter?

But I couldn’t.

Because it didn’t matter.

Because no matter how much I ached, no matter how much I wanted to believe that this was all some kind of horrible mistake—

Ronan was about to reject me.

The realization settled over me like ice, numbing, freezing, choking.

My wolf whimpered, struggling against the pain, against the impending loss.

A rejection was not just words.

It was agony.

The severing of a bond so deep, so intrinsic to my soul, that it could leave wolves broken, ruined, empty.

And yet, despite the horror of it—despite everything—

I refused to beg.

I lifted my chin, even as my lungs screamed for air.

Even as my heart shattered.

Ronan’s eyes narrowed. “I, Ronan St—”

“Enough.”

The deep, commanding voice cut through the room like a blade.

I jerked my head to the side—my father.

His face was stony, unreadable, but I knew him well enough to recognize the tightness in his jaw.

He was furious.

Not at me—no, never at me.

At Ronan.

But he couldn’t show it.

So instead, he bowed his head ever so slightly, his voice measured, respectful.

“I apologize for my daughter’s… lack of decorum, Your Majesty,” he said carefully. “I ask that we all ignore her slip-up and return to the matter at hand.”

A tense silence followed.

Ronan’s gaze flicked between me and my father, his expression unreadable.

Then, after what felt like an eternity—

“Hmph.”

Ronan turned away.

Just like that.

Like I was nothing.

Like I hadn’t just upended my entire existence for him.

Like I didn’t matter.

The bond twisted violently, screaming in protest at being left open, unfulfilled.

I sucked in a sharp breath, my fingers trembling beneath the table.

He was going to reject me.

He was going to destroy me.

But my father had just saved me.

Because if Ronan had gone through with it right then and there, in front of all these people—

I might not have survived it.

My father knew that.

And so, despite the anger burning beneath my skin, despite the overwhelming humiliation curling around my spine, I stayed silent.

I said nothing.

Because he was right.

I wasn’t ready for this.

Not yet.

The meeting slowly resumed, the heavy tension in the room shifting back to the war discussion.

I barely heard any of it.

I barely processed the words, the arguments, the strategic plans.

I just sat there, numb, trying to breathe, trying to think, trying to understand how everything had gone so wrong.

And then—

Ronan spoke.

His voice was smooth, controlled, as if nothing had just happened.

“As of now, every pack present will be mandated to leave one of their own behind,” he said evenly.

The room stirred with unease.

“This is non-negotiable,” he continued, his tone firm. “Until we uncover the truth behind the rebellion, every pack will leave behind a representative to be trained and observed.”

A pause.

“Starting immediately.”

A heavy silence followed.

I swallowed hard, something cold settling in my stomach.

Something wrong.

Because I already knew.

I already knew what was coming next.

And when Ronan’s gaze flickered to mine—just for a fraction of a second, just long enough to send a silent message—

I knew I was right.

But I hoped I wasn’t