My Fated Mate, My Coldest Enemy.

Emery POV

The silence in my temporary apartment was louder than any scream. I lay curled on the stiff mattress, my knees pulled to my chest, shivering despite the heavy duvet. The pain of the rejection wasn't just emotional; it was physical, a relentless grinding in my bones, as if my body was trying to reject its own marrow.

I needed an anchor. I needed my father.

Closing my eyes, I reached out across the vast distance, pushing through the static of my pain to find the familiar mental signature of Clint Travis, the Elder of the Silvermoon Pack and the man who had raised me.

Dad? My mental voice was thin, trembling like a broken violin string.

The connection snapped into place instantly. Emery? Thank the Goddess. I've been trying to reach you.

A sob caught in my throat. It hurts, Dad. He... he rejected me.

I waited for the wave of comfort, for his righteous anger on my behalf. Instead, there was a heavy pause. When Clint's voice returned, it was laced with a hesitation that chilled me more than the fever.

I know, Em. Lucia Madden called me. She was frantic. His tone shifted, becoming guarded. She said Aiden reacted to something he saw. She mentioned a warrior... that you were intimate with another male in public. Emery, please tell me you didn't jeopardize the alliance by being reckless.

The air left my lungs.

Reckless? I sat up, ignoring the way my head spun. I was with Jonah! My cousin! We were having dinner!

Lucia said Aiden was convinced...

I don't care what that monster is convinced of! I screamed down the link, my inner wolf bristling with betrayal. I was humiliated in front of a restaurant full of people, my soul was ripped in half, and your first question is whether I behaved myself?

Emery, I have to consider the Pack—

Consider this, I snarled, slamming my mental walls up. I am alone.

I severed the link, gasping for air as the solitude crashed back down on me, heavier than before.

The next morning, I dragged myself to the Madden Enterprises tower. My body felt like it was made of lead, and my eyes were gritty from a sleepless night, but I refused to hide. If I stayed in bed, the pain would win.

When I walked into the top-floor office, the air was thick enough to choke on. It smelled of ozone, rain, and something else—burnt sugar and distress.

Mr. Madden was behind his desk. He didn't look up. He was staring at his computer screen with a rigidity that suggested he might shatter if he moved.

"Mr. Madden," I said, my voice raspy. "I have the updated files on the Alpha Marcus situation."

"That matter is closed," he cut in. His voice was a low rumble, devoid of any warmth. It scraped against my raw nerves. "Your involvement ends here. Leave the file."

He still hadn't looked at me. It was as if I were a ghost he was trying to exorcise by ignoring.

I swallowed the lump in my throat and walked toward his massive mahogany desk. My legs were shaking, the proximity to him making my wolf whine in confusion and agony. Mate, she whispered weakly, why does he hate us?

I reached out to place the folder on the corner of his desk. As I did, my gaze snagged on a document lying open near his hand.

It was printed on heavy, cream-colored paper, the font archaic and severe.

FORMAL PETITION OF REJECTION

My heart stopped. The world narrowed down to the two names printed in bold black ink at the bottom of the page.

Petitioner: Alpha Aiden Madden

Recipient: Emery Travis

The air left the room.

The man at the airport who stood me up. The man at the restaurant who called me a whore. My boss.

They were all the same person.

I stared at the paper, horror dawning on me like a cold sunrise. I had been working for my mate. I had been trying to impress the very man who had decided I wasn't worth knowing before he'd even met me.

Aiden's head snapped up. He saw where my eyes were fixed. For a second, the mask of the cold CEO slipped, revealing the wild, tormented eyes of a wolf who had been caught in a trap of his own making.

"Get. Out." The growl vibrated through the desk, through the floor, through me.

I stumbled back, clutching my chest, and fled the office before I could vomit.

By noon, I was sitting at my desk, staring blankly at my computer screen, my hands trembling. I should have quit. I should have run. But my contract... the clause about leaving without notice... I was trapped.

"Miss Travis."

I jumped. Ferdinand, Mr. Madden's Beta, stood over me. His face was a mask of professional indifference, but his eyes held a flicker of pity that I hated.

"The Alpha requires the seating chart for the Blackwood Annual Gala to be finalized by end of day," he said, placing a leather-bound guest list on my desk.

I opened it numbly, flipping to the last page—the Alpha's Table.

There, printed in gold lettering right next to Aiden's seat, was a name that made my stomach turn.

Gisele Donovan.

The actress. The woman the tabloids called "The Future Luna of Blackwood."

"The Alpha expects this to be handled with the utmost discretion," Ferdinand said, his voice flat. "Follow protocol."

He walked away, leaving me staring at the name of the woman who would take my place. He wanted me to arrange the seat for his chosen lover. He wanted me to pave the way for my own replacement.

I gripped the edge of the desk until my knuckles turned white. He wanted to break me? Fine. But I wouldn't give him the satisfaction of seeing me crumble. Not today.