After My Mate Stole My Rogue Kill, I Defied Him

The guest bathroom mirror showed me a stranger.

Pale skin. Hollow cheeks. Dark circles under my eyes from three years of midnight hunts. The grey dress hung on my frame like a shroud—worn, faded, the hem frayed from too many washes. I looked exactly like what Colin wanted everyone to see: a wolfless nobody. A burden. A stain.

I touched the silver necklace at my throat. It burned.

It had always burned, actually. Three years of constant contact with blessed silver, suppressing my Alpha aura until I could barely feel Valkyrie's presence. The metal had left a permanent red mark on my skin, a brand of my own stupidity.

*Take it off,* Valkyrie purred. Not growled. Purred. Like a predator spotting wounded prey.

"Not yet," I whispered to my reflection.

I opened the small jewelry box on the counter—the one Colin had presented to me last month with such fanfare. "For my mate," he'd said, kissing my forehead like I was a child. The diamonds inside had cost exactly twelve thousand dollars. I knew because I'd earned that money killing a rogue pack in Nebraska.

I snapped the box shut and left it on the counter.

The dress would do. Let them see the Omega they expected. Let Colin preen and posture and prepare his rejection speech. Let him stand in front of the entire pack and call me worthless.

And then I'd show him what worthless really looked like.

Valkyrie's purr grew louder, vibrating through my bones. *Finally. Finally, you listen.*

"I'm not doing this for you," I told her. "I'm doing this because he deserves it."

*Does it matter?* She laughed, and it sounded like breaking glass. *Either way, he bleeds.*

I left the Phillips house through the front door this time. No more sneaking through servant entrances. No more hiding.

The Silvermoon Pack House blazed with light against the darkening sky. Cars lined the circular driveway—expensive ones, the kind that screamed status and power. I recognized Alpha Stone's black Mercedes, Beta Harrison's silver Lexus, and several vehicles I didn't know, probably belonging to visiting dignitaries.

And there, parked right at the entrance like a crown jewel, was a midnight blue Rolls-Royce with tinted windows and the Lycan Royal crest on the hood.

The Prince was here.

My stomach tightened. I'd heard rumors about the Lycan King's search for his missing elite warriors, but I'd assumed they'd given up years ago. Assumed I'd covered my tracks well enough.

Maybe I'd assumed wrong.

I parked my beat-up Honda in the back lot, between two pickup trucks that belonged to Delta wolves. The walk to the entrance felt longer than usual, my worn flats crunching on gravel while my mind raced through contingencies.

The main doors stood open, golden light spilling onto the stone steps. Music drifted out—something classical and pretentious that Mrs. Phillips probably chose. I could hear laughter, the clink of glasses, the low rumble of conversation.

I climbed the steps.

Two Delta wolves flanked the entrance, checking invitations. They saw me and smirked.

"Look who decided to show up," the one on the left said. Marcus, I think his name was. "Surprised you had the nerve, Freya. Everyone knows what's coming."

I kept my eyes down. Submissive. Meek. "I'm Colin's mate. I belong here."

"For now," the other one—James—laughed. "Enjoy it while it lasts, wolfless."

I walked past them without responding. Valkyrie snarled, wanting to rip their throats out for the disrespect, but I pushed her down. Not yet. Not yet.

The entrance hall was packed. Wolves in formal wear clustered in groups, drinking champagne and gossiping. I recognized most of them—pack members I'd served food to, cleaned up after, smiled at while they looked through me like I was furniture.

I kept to the edges, heading toward the main ballroom where the ceremony would take place. The crowd parted around me, not because they were making way, but because no one wanted to stand too close to the wolfless Omega.

Then I passed the VIP security detail.

They stood near the ballroom entrance, three massive wolves in dark suits with the Lycan Royal insignia on their lapels. Professional. Alert. Dangerous.

The one in the center—the head of security—went rigid as I walked by.

His nostrils flared. His eyes narrowed. He turned his head, tracking my movement with the focus of a trained killer.

I felt his confusion like a physical thing, pressing against my suppressed aura. He was trying to reconcile what he saw—a weak, wolfless woman—with what his instincts were screaming at him.

Something's wrong. Something doesn't match.

I kept walking, my heart hammering against my ribs. The necklace burned hotter, working overtime to mask whatever he'd sensed.

Behind me, I heard him murmur something into his radio. Low. Urgent.

Valkyrie laughed. *They know. They know something's off.*

"Good," I whispered, stepping into the ballroom where Colin stood on the raised platform, his new Beta sash gleaming under the chandeliers.

Let them wonder.

Let them all wonder.

Because in a few minutes, they'd have their answer.