Rejecting My Cruel Alpha For His Rival

Elara Thorne POV:

Sleep had been a stranger to me, but I took meticulous care with my appearance the next morning. I used concealer to hide the dark circles under my eyes and styled my hair to mask its dullness. My face in the mirror was a calm, placid mask, my violet eyes like still pools of water over a deep, dark abyss.

I was eating breakfast alone in the cavernous dining hall when Ryker returned. He looked exhausted, his jet-black hair disheveled, and he carried the scent of the early morning dew and a night spent away from home.

He stopped short when he saw me, a flicker of surprise in his eyes at my composure. He wordlessly took his seat opposite me, and a servant quietly placed a plate and a cup of coffee in front of him. The silence between us was a living thing, thick and suffocating.

I decided to give him one last chance. A final, foolish test.

I looked up from my plate, meeting his gaze directly. "Ryker," I said, my voice soft, almost a whisper. "Do you remember what day it is today?"

He was lifting his coffee cup to his lips. He paused, his brow furrowed in concentration. For a fleeting second, a shadow of shared pain crossed his face, a flicker in his stormy grey eyes that told me his wolf, Ares, remembered. But just as quickly, the recognition was gone, buried under a wall of cold irritation. He had made his choice, actively shoving the memory into a place where it couldn't touch him.

My heart, a stupid, hopeful thing, hammered against my ribs. *Please remember.* Today was the anniversary of our first pup's death.

After a few seconds of searching his memory, he shook his head, his tone laced with irritation. "What day? I don't recall anything special."

The bottom dropped out of my world. The last ember of hope I'd been nursing was extinguished, leaving nothing but cold, black ash. He had forgotten. He had completely erased the most profound tragedy of our shared lives.

A hollow, self-mocking smile touched my lips. "It's nothing," I murmured, looking back down at my food.

Just then, his phone rang again. The caller ID read 'Clara'—Serena’s personal maid.

He answered immediately, his voice sharp with concern. "What is it?"

Clara’s frantic voice was audible even from across the table. "Alpha! It's Miss Serena! She… she's in terrible pain! There's so much blood!"

Ryker shot to his feet so violently that his chair crashed backward onto the marble floor with a deafening clatter.

"Get Dr. Finch over there now!" he roared into the phone. "I'm on my way!"

He hung up and sprinted from the room without a single glance in my direction. He was a whirlwind of panic and fear, gone in an instant.

I remained seated, perfectly still, watching the empty doorway where he had been. I slowly picked up my fork and knife and took another bite of my now-cold eggs. I chewed and swallowed, my movements mechanical, as if I were a doll going through the motions of being alive.

But then a tear fell, splashing onto my plate. And another. And another. They dripped silently into my food, salty drops of grief mingling with my breakfast.

He had forgotten our dead child. But for Serena's fake one, he would move heaven and earth.

*He is not our mate,* Lyra whimpered in my mind, her voice devoid of its usual fire, filled only with the echoing sorrow that consumed me.

I finished every last bite on my plate. I calmly wiped my mouth with my napkin, folded it neatly, and placed it on the table. Then I stood and walked out of the dining hall. The bright morning sun streamed through the large windows, but I felt no warmth.

I didn't go back to my room. Instead, I walked toward the back of the Packhouse, my feet carrying me along a familiar, overgrown path that led into the foothills.

There was a small, secluded clearing there, a quiet cemetery for the pack's pups who had been taken by the Goddess too soon.

One small headstone stood apart from the others. It bore no name, only the simple carving of a moonflower.

That was where our son rested.

I was going to see him. To remember the child his own father had forgotten. It was the last thing I could do for him as his mother.