After My Alpha Chose My Best Friend Over Me

The metal door of The Void clanged shut behind me for the last time, and I stood there, blinking against daylight that felt like knives.

Three years. One thousand and ninety-five days since I'd seen the sun without silver bars cutting it into pieces.

Warden Cass shoved a plastic bag into my hands—everything I owned in the world now reduced to a wrinkled dress, worn sneakers, and thirty-seven dollars in crumpled bills. "Bus ticket's inside," she said, her voice flat. "Don't come back, Stone."

I nodded, my throat too dry for words. My wolf—Ember, she used to be called—stirred weakly somewhere deep inside me, a flicker of consciousness so faint I wondered if I'd imagined it. The wolfsbane injections had done their job well. Too well.

I walked through the gates, each step feeling like I was dragging chains that weren't there anymore. The parking lot stretched before me, cracked asphalt puddled with yesterday's rain. I scanned the rows of cars, looking for Reed's black Escalade.

It wasn't there.

Of course it wasn't.

I stood there anyway, plastic bag clutched to my chest, waiting like an idiot. The sky darkened overhead, clouds rolling in thick and gray. The first drops of rain hit my face, cold and accusatory.

He'd promised. Three years ago, when they'd led me away in silver cuffs, he'd gripped my hand through the bars and sworn he'd be waiting when I got out. That we'd start over. That my sacrifice wouldn't be for nothing.

The rain came harder.

I pulled out the bus ticket with shaking fingers. Greyhound. Departing in forty minutes. I started walking toward the station two miles down the road, my sneakers squelching in puddles, my hair plastering to my skull.

By the time I climbed onto the bus, I was soaked through. The driver gave me a pitying look. The other passengers—all human, thank the Moon Goddess—shifted away from me, noses wrinkling at whatever scent of prison and desperation clung to my skin.

I took a seat in the back and pressed my forehead against the cold window.

The bus rumbled to life, and I watched The Void disappear behind us. Good riddance. But the freedom I'd dreamed about for three years felt hollow, like biting into fruit only to find it rotten at the core.

Six hours later, the bus crossed into Silver Lake Pack territory.

I felt it immediately—that subtle shift in the air, the way my dormant wolf stirred with recognition. Home. Or what used to be home.

The Pack House loomed ahead, and my breath caught. They'd renovated. The east wing had been expanded, all glass and chrome that clashed with the original stone architecture. My architect's eye caught the problem immediately—the support columns were too thin for the added weight. Whoever designed this had prioritized flash over function. In five years, maybe less, those walls would start cracking.

The bus stopped at the main gates.

I stepped off, legs unsteady, and approached the guard station. Two warriors stood there—Jake and Marcus, boys I'd grown up with. Jake had kissed me once at a bonfire when we were fifteen.

Now he looked at me like I was something he'd scrape off his boot.

"State your business," Marcus said, his hand resting on the silver-laced baton at his hip.

"I'm Naomi Stone," I said, hating how small my voice sounded. "Gamma Stone's daughter. I'm here to see Alpha Reed."

Jake's lip curled. "The Gamma's dead. Died two years ago. Broken heart, they said. Couldn't handle the shame of having a criminal for a daughter."

The words hit me like a physical blow. Dead. My father was dead, and no one had told me. No one had written. No one had—

"I invoke my bloodline rights," I whispered, then louder: "I invoke my Gamma bloodline rights for a formal audience with the Alpha."

Marcus and Jake exchanged glances. Pack law was pack law, even for criminals. They couldn't refuse.

"Fine," Marcus spat. "But you're not going in there smelling like that. Omega entrance. Around back."

They escorted me like a prisoner—again—through the servants' entrance. The Pack House bustled with activity, wolves preparing for what looked like some kind of celebration. No one met my eyes. A few wrinkled their noses.

The throne room doors opened.

I stepped inside, and my world shattered all over again.

Reed sat on the Alpha throne—his father's throne, the one he'd inherited while I rotted in a cell. He looked good. Healthy. His dark hair was styled, his suit expensive. He looked every inch the powerful Alpha he'd always wanted to be.

And on his lap, wearing a silver dress that probably cost more than my bus ticket, sat Millie Reynolds.

My best friend.

My sister in everything but blood.

She was wearing the Luna's mark on her neck.

The room spun. My wolf whimpered, that pathetic broken sound of an animal that's been kicked too many times.

Reed's eyes met mine. No warmth. No recognition. Just cold calculation.

"Naomi Stone," he said, his voice carrying that Alpha resonance that made my knees want to buckle. "You dare enter this Pack House?"

The power in his tone hit me like a wave. My legs gave out, and I crashed to my knees on the marble floor. The pack members lining the walls watched in silence. Some looked away. Others smiled.

Millie smiled brightest of all.

"I, Alpha Reed Hoffman," Reed continued, standing now, his aura pressing down on me like a physical weight, "reject you, Naomi Stone, as my chosen mate."

The words carved through me, each one a blade.

"Your criminal record is a stain on this pack," he continued. "Your Gamma bloodline is hereby revoked. You are stripped of rank and status. From this moment forward, you are Omega. You will serve in the kitchens until such time as I deem you worthy of redemption."

I couldn't breathe. Couldn't think.

"Report to the servants' quarters," Reed said, waving his hand dismissively. "And Naomi? Welcome home."

Millie giggled.

Somewhere deep inside me, in the broken place where my wolf used to live, something began to burn.