Reborn to Reject the Supreme Alpha

Seraphina POV:

Three days had passed since my ceremony.

My body ached with the pre-Shift fever, my dormant wolf clawing at my human bones, begging to be let out.

This morning, a royal carriage pulled into our courtyard.

It carried the envoy and the personal tailor of Alpha Dominic, the ruler of the Supreme Pack.

An Alpha is the highest authority among our kind, and his word is law.

The tailor was here to measure me for the mating ceremony dress.

I stood perfectly still in the center of the drawing room as the tailor wrapped a measuring tape around my waist.

The envoy, a tall man with a sharp nose, walked in circles around me.

He leaned in close, taking a deep breath near my shoulder.

He frowned slightly, his eyes cold and calculating.

"Your scent is incredibly faint," the envoy muttered.

He smiled a thin, calculating smile.

"But pleasing enough, I suppose. The Alpha expects absolute perfection from his new bride."

My stomach dropped as his words confirmed my darkest fears.

The Alpha did not want me.

He wanted the shadow of Celeste.

I turned my head to look directly into the envoy's eyes.

"Tell me," I said, my voice dangerously calm. "Whose name is actually on that registry?"

The envoy blinked, caught off guard by my direct question, and opened his mouth to reply.

Before he could speak, the drawing room doors slammed open.

My mother rushed in, a fake, bright smile plastered across her face.

"The envoy is an honored guest, Seraphina," she scolded loudly. "Stop bothering him with your nonsense."

She grabbed my arm with surprising strength, her nails digging into my skin.

"Come with me to your father's study," she demanded.

She dragged me down the hall and shoved me into the dark, wood-paneled room where my father sat behind a large desk.

On the center of the desk sat a thick parchment scroll.

As soon as I walked in, my mother rushed to the desk and slammed her hands down on top of the scroll.

She looked panicked, her chest heaving as she tried to cover the paper.

I did not hesitate. My eyes fixed on the white of her knuckles where they pressed the scroll to the desk. I walked forward, laid my hand over hers, and began to pry her fingers back, one by one, with a slow, inexorable pressure until the heavy parchment slid free.

The heavy paper unrolled, revealing the official mating registry.

There, written in dark black ink, was the name Celeste, followed by her birth date.

A cold wave of horror washed over me.

Among our kind, there are two types of mates.

A Fated Mate is a soulmate chosen by the Moon Goddess, a perfect match of body and soul.

But a political bond is a forced contract.

If the souls do not match, the Marking—the bite on the neck that seals the bond—will cause a violent physical rejection.

The ancient laws were clear: a false name on a mating contract was a spiritual fraud. The Marking bite would recognize the deception and punish the flesh that bore the lie.

I remembered the tearing pain from my past life, the feeling of my blood boiling as my body tried to fight off an incompatible soul.

It had killed me slowly and painfully.

The words on the page blurred. How could you do this?

My mother lifted her chin, her eyes shining with manic justification.

"Celeste had a short, tragic life," she said smoothly. "It's only right she gets to experience the glory of being a Luna through you. Consider it an act of sisterly love."

I felt physically sick.

My father stood up from his heavy leather chair, his face dark and imposing.

"The contract is signed, and the Alpha accepted the terms," my father said coldly. "Don't ruin our family's chance to rise in status over a damn name."

He looked at me as if I were a piece of property he was trading for power.

I rolled up the parchment and dropped it back onto his desk.

"A damn name?" I asked, letting out a dry, bitter laugh. "When the Alpha sinks his teeth into my neck, who do you think is going to bear the agony of a rejected soul?"

They both remained silent, refusing to look me in the eye.

I turned toward the door, my hand resting on the brass handle.

"It is a death sentence," I whispered into the quiet room.

I walked out, leaving my father staring in shock at my chilling prophecy.

The door closed behind me. For a long moment, Lord Silas did not move. His gaze drifted from the door to a small, dust-covered drawer in the corner of his desk. He did not open it—he had not opened it in years. But his hand, unbidden, curled into a loose fist on the desktop, then slowly released.

Inside that drawer lay a faded ribbon. Celeste's. And a smooth river stone Seraphina had found when she was five, proudly presented to him on his birthday. He had patted her head absently and never picked it up.

He remembered.

He remembered two stones. Two children. Two small bodies breathing in tandem as he checked on them each night before retiring.

Then only one.

He did not open the drawer. He never did.

In the corridor outside, Elara's footsteps faded. Silas closed his eyes and let the darkness swallow it all again.

By morning, he would sit at the breakfast table as if nothing had happened, signing whatever needed to be signed.

The political bond was a death sentence, and I was going to burn it to the ground.

But first, I needed proof of my mother's full madness. And I knew exactly where to dig.