Rejected by My Fated Mate

I drifted off amidst a jumble of newspapers and magazines, my body feeling heavy, as if the weight of the world—or perhaps the pack hierarchy—was pressing down on me. In my haze, I thought I saw Jude, the Lycan Prince, lowering his head, a gentle smile playing on his lips as he asked, “Because I like you. Don’t you like me?”

"Like" — such a rare word in my life. Ever since my parents died, I’d been taken in by Uncle Thomas, the Beta of the Silver Fang Pack. Summer, my cousin and the pack’s Gamma, had been childhood friends with Jude, their statuses aligning perfectly in the rigid structure of werewolf society.

Last night, at half past eleven, Summer had suddenly asked me to deliver a birthday gift to Jude for her. As an Omega, I didn’t question it. I planned to drop off the gift and leave immediately. But when I arrived at Jude’s apartment, the living room lights were dim, and the air carried the sharp scent of whiskey, mingling faintly with the floral notes of a Lycan’s natural aura.

When Jude pulled me onto the sofa, I was too stunned to resist. His presence was commanding, his Lycan heritage evident in the way he carried himself—tall, muscular, and radiating an alpha-like dominance even in his human form. He held me, asking if I liked him. The feelings I’d buried deep inside, the ones I’d never dared to voice, suddenly felt exposed. I panicked.

But Jude said he’d liked me for a long time too. In the dim light, his eyes were soft, almost tender, as if he were looking at something precious. For a moment, I was reminded of the way my mother used to look at me, back when I still had a voice. I couldn’t push him away. I thought Jude knew who I was.

It wasn’t until the next morning, when he rested his head on my shoulder, murmuring, “Summer,” that I realized the truth. Jude had mistaken me for her.

Summer and I are only a month apart, but I’m much smaller than she is, my frame more delicate, my presence quieter. Clothes she no longer wanted were often passed down to me by Aunt Melina, another Omega in the pack. Last night, I’d worn one of Summer’s old Victorian-style dresses—a relic of her wardrobe that somehow fit me perfectly.

This mistake was absurd, almost laughable in its irony. So when Jude anxiously lit a cigarette, his Lycan composure slipping as he asked how much money I wanted, I didn’t respond. Instead, I used sign language, my voice long since lost.

“It’s all a misunderstanding. It’s nothing.”

After all, ever since my parents died, I’d learned that someone like me—an Omega, mute, and unremarkable—didn’t hold much value in the pack. Not to the Lycan Prince, and certainly not to the world.