When I Rejected My Mate at His Wedding

The rental car smelled like stale coffee and someone else's life. I gripped the steering wheel, my knuckles white against the black leather, and tried not to think about how much of my secret savings had just evaporated. Three years of selling ceremonial robes online, of staying up late stitching moon-blessed silk by candlelight while Marcelo slept—all of it funneled into this moment.

Jaliyah sat in the passenger seat, her fingers twisted in the fabric of her dress. She'd been quiet since we left Moonstone territory, but I could feel her anxiety building like static electricity before a storm.

"Vienna," she whispered. "Vienna, Vienna, Vienna."

"I'm here." I reached over and took her hand, keeping my eyes on the highway. "We're just going for a drive. Remember how you like drives?"

Her grip tightened. "Wrong. Smells wrong. Not home."

"I know." The trees outside blurred past, pine giving way to the manicured landscapes that marked Silver Lake territory. Everything here looked expensive, deliberate. Even the grass seemed greener. "But I need you to stay calm for me. Can you do that?"

She rocked forward slightly, a motion I'd learned to recognize as the beginning of an episode. I pulled into a rest stop, my heart hammering, and turned to face her.

"Look at me, Jaliyah." I cupped her face in my hands, the way I'd done a hundred times before. "Breathe with me. In through your nose, out through your mouth."

Her eyes—wild and unfocused—gradually found mine. We breathed together, slow and steady, until the tension in her shoulders eased. This was what eight years had taught me. How to read her tells, how to pull her back from the edge, how to be the anchor Marcelo never bothered to be.

"Good," I murmured. "That's good. We're almost there."

She nodded, still gripping my hand like a lifeline.

The diner appeared twenty minutes later, a chrome-and-neon beacon advertising the "Best Coffee in Three Territories." I needed caffeine. Needed a moment to steady myself before walking into whatever waited at the Silver Lake Pack House.

Inside, the place buzzed with conversation. I guided Jaliyah to a corner booth, ordered two coffees and a plate of fries, and tried to ignore the way other patrons stared at us. Jaliyah's condition wasn't obvious until you looked closely, but people always sensed something off.

"—biggest ceremony in years," a woman at the next table said, her voice carrying over the clatter of dishes. "My cousin works at the Pack House. Says they've been preparing for weeks."

My coffee cup froze halfway to my lips.

"Alpha Thompson's daughter is getting a real catch," her companion replied. "Noble bloodline, apparently. One of those old families that fell on hard times but kept their dignity."

Dignity. The word made my stomach turn.

"They're calling it the perfect match," the first woman continued. "He's mysterious, handsome, and she's got the status and money. Like something out of a romance novel."

Jaliyah's hand found mine under the table. She might not understand everything, but she understood enough. She'd lived with Marcelo's lies too, just from a different angle.

I paid the bill and got us back on the road. The fire in my chest had spread, burning away the last traces of doubt. Let them call it a perfect match. Let them celebrate their romance novel fantasy. I was about to rip the pages out and show them what the story really looked like.

The Silver Lake Pack House rose from the landscape like something out of a magazine. White stone, tall windows, grounds that stretched for acres. White roses climbed trellises on either side of the entrance. Silver ribbons fluttered from every surface, catching the late afternoon light.

I parked in the visitor lot and sat for a moment, staring at the mansion. Somewhere inside, Marcelo was probably getting ready, adjusting his tie, practicing his vows. Did he think about me at all? Did he wonder if I'd figured it out?

Jaliyah whimpered.

"I know," I said softly. "But we're going in anyway."

The main entrance was guarded by two warriors in formal dress. They looked us over—me in my plain dress, Jaliyah in her worn cardigan—with barely concealed disdain.

"Ceremony's invitation only," one of them said.

"I'm here to deliver a gift." I kept my voice steady, channeling every ounce of confidence I didn't feel. "From the Moonstone Pack Elders. Elder Marcus Stone specifically requested I bring it personally."

The guards exchanged glances. Pack protocol was sacred, and refusing a gift from another pack's Elders could be seen as an insult.

"Wait here," the first guard finally said, pulling out his phone.

I waited, Jaliyah pressed against my side, and watched the sun sink lower. Inside that mansion, Marcelo's perfect life was about to begin.

Not if I had anything to say about it.