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Rejected by the Alpha, Claimed by the King Novel Cover

Rejected by the Alpha, Claimed by the King

On our seventh anniversary as mates, Alpha Gianni Marshall took me to a secluded mountain resort nestled deep within pack territory. The hot springs were said to be blessed by the Moon Goddess herself. I woke in the middle of the night to find the bed beside me empty. Meanwhile, Maeve Sanchez—his Delta secretary—posted an update on Instagram, tagged at the resort location: “Got picked up by a handsome Alpha.” The photo showed Maeve with her wet hair wrapped in a white towel, and a large, muscular hand gently drying her hair—the hand was unmistakably Gianni’s. A wave of nausea hit me as I commented beneath the post, “Casting a wide net these days, aren’t you? Don’t wear yourself out.” The entire night passed without Gianni returning, not even a mind link. I descended the mountain alone and returned to our pack estate—only to find it just as empty. By evening, as Gianni walked through the door, I was on the balcony consulting a pack lawyer. The pungent scent of Maeve’s overpowering perfume clung to him; she’d been steeped in that suffocating fragrance all day. I shut off my screen without turning to face him.
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Chapter 2

It was morning, and I was preparing breakfast when a sharp knock echoed through the quiet of my apartment. If it were Alpha Gianni, he wouldn’t have bothered knocking—he’d have barged in as if the place still belonged to him. I hesitated, wondering who it could be.

Opening the door, I found Beta Lawson standing there, his posture slightly hunched in deference. In his hands, he held a mismatched bouquet of sunflowers, baby’s breath, and champagne roses, the arrangement haphazard and unappealing.

"Luna Cleo," he said, his voice respectful but tinged with awkwardness. "These are for you."

I took the flowers, though my stomach churned. Only Alpha Gianni would send something so garish, thinking it could somehow mend the cracks in our shattered bond. He’d always done this—thrown together whatever was available after our fights, as if a poorly arranged bouquet could erase the hurt.

I didn’t feel anger anymore, just a dull numbness. Without a second thought, I tossed the flowers into the trash. They were an eyesore, a reminder of a bond I no longer wanted to acknowledge.

As I sat down to eat, I scrolled through the pack’s shared mind link. Maeve, his Delta secretary, had posted a new update. Her voice, sweet and self-assured, echoed in my mind.

"I think the one on the left looks better. What does everyone think?" she wrote.

Attached were images of two bouquets. The one on the left was elegant and refined, clearly chosen with care. The one on the right was the monstrosity now sitting in my trash.

Comments flooded in from other pack members. "The one on the left is stunning! The one on the right is hideous," one said.

Maeve’s response was swift and smug: "Exactly, the right one is so ugly, I didn’t want it."

My chest tightened as the pieces fell into place. These weren’t just any flowers—they were the ones Maeve had rejected. Alpha Gianni hadn’t even bothered to choose something for me; he’d sent me the leftovers, the scraps she deemed unworthy.

A bitter ache settled in my chest, but I refused to let it consume me. I was no longer the Luna of the Silvermoon Pack, no longer bound to Alpha Gianni by a bond that had brought me nothing but pain. Still, the sting of his indifference lingered, a reminder of how little I had meant to him all along.

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