Rejected Mate's Revenge

The stone scraped against my palms as I dragged it across the training grounds for the hundredth time today. Blood seeped from the fresh cuts, mixing with the dirt and sweat that had become my constant companions over the past month. One hundred and seventy-one acts of atonement. I'd completed twenty-three so far, each one designed to strip away another piece of who I used to be.

"Faster, Robertson!" Marcus barked from across the field, his voice carrying none of the warmth it once held. "The future Luna is hosting a pack dinner tonight. These grounds need to be spotless."

Diana. Always Diana. I gritted my teeth and hauled the fifty-pound stone another ten yards, my shoulder screaming in protest. The injury from the rogue attack had never properly healed—hard to recover when you're scrubbing floors on your hands and knees for twelve hours a day.

A group of younger pack members gathered near the edge of the field, their whispers following me like shadows. "Look at her," one of them snickered. "Hard to believe she was ever our youngest warrior."

"My brother says she ran when the rogues attacked," another added. "Left her team to die while she saved her own skin."

Each word was a knife between my ribs, but I kept dragging the stone. Speaking up would only earn me additional acts of atonement. Pierce had made that clear after I'd tried to defend myself during the first week.

The pack house loomed ahead, its windows gleaming in the afternoon sun. Through the main dining room window, I could see Diana directing the omegas as they prepared for tonight's dinner. She caught sight of me through the glass and smiled—a cold, satisfied expression that made my wolf whimper.

"That's enough for today," Marcus said, checking his watch. "Report to the kitchens. Diana wants the floors scrubbed before the guests arrive."

I dropped the stone and flexed my aching fingers. Twenty-four acts down. One hundred and forty-seven to go. At this rate, I'd be broken long before I reached the end.

The kitchen tiles were unforgiving against my knees as I scrubbed, the harsh chemicals burning my already raw hands. The omega staff moved around me like I was invisible, their conversations flowing over my head. I'd become a ghost in my own pack, a cautionary tale whispered in dark corners.

It was while cleaning behind the industrial refrigerator that I found it—a loose floorboard that shifted under my weight. Curiosity overrode exhaustion as I pried it up, revealing a small space beneath. Inside lay a dusty wooden box, forgotten and hidden.

My breath caught as I recognized the carved wolf on its lid. My mother's symbol. With trembling hands, I opened the box to find letters tied with faded ribbon, photographs, and personal mementos I'd thought lost forever. But it was the envelope marked with my name in my mother's careful script that made my heart race.

"My dearest Lara," the letter began, "if you're reading this, then something has happened to me. I pray I'm wrong, but I fear Diana Shaw means to do me harm."

The kitchen noise faded to nothing as I read my mother's words, each sentence hitting me like a physical blow. She'd discovered Diana tampering with the hunting routes, deliberately leading the patrol into dangerous territory. She'd confronted Diana about it, threatening to expose her to the Alpha.

"I have proof," my mother had written. "Diana's own hand-drawn maps, showing the trap she set. But I fear she knows I've discovered her secret. If something happens to me during tomorrow's hunt, know that it was no accident. Diana Shaw is not the innocent she pretends to be. She is dangerous, my darling girl. Trust no one but yourself."

The letter was dated three days before my mother's death.

My hands shook as I read the final lines: "Hidden with this letter is the evidence I gathered. Use it wisely, my brave wolf. The Moon Goddess sees all truths, even those buried in lies."

I found the maps folded beneath the letter—detailed drawings in Diana's neat handwriting, marking patrol routes and noting weaknesses in our border defenses. Notes about timing, about which warriors would be where. All of it leading to the exact spot where my mother had died, torn apart by rogues who'd been waiting in perfect position.

Diana had murdered my mother.

The revelation hit me like a physical blow, stealing my breath and making the room spin. All these years, I'd grieved my mother's death as a tragic accident. I'd even comforted Diana when she'd cried at the funeral, believing her tears were genuine.

I clutched the evidence to my chest, my mother's pendant burning against my skin. Pierce had to see this. Had to understand what kind of monster he'd chosen over his fated mate. This would change everything.

Footsteps echoed in the hallway outside the kitchen. I quickly hid the letters in my shirt and replaced the floorboard, my heart hammering against my ribs. Tonight, after the dinner, I would confront Pierce with the truth. Diana's web of lies was about to unravel.