Revenge of the Rejected Luna

It had been a week since I last spoke to Alpha Conrad. A week of silence. A week of pretending I didn’t exist in his world anymore.

But he hadn’t given up.

Every morning, a fresh bouquet of blood-red roses sat at my doorstep, accompanied by handwritten letters, all filled with the same empty apologies. The first day, I read them. The second, I skimmed. By the third, I tossed them into the trash without opening them.

Today was no different. As I stepped over yet another bouquet, the scent of roses clinging to the crisp morning air, I didn’t spare it a glance. I had more important things to do—like dragging myself through another shift at the diner.

The smell of bacon grease and coffee clung to my uniform as I refilled a customer’s cup. It was the lunch rush, and the place buzzed with noise—clinking silverware, sizzling grills, and hurried conversations.

I liked it this way. It kept me distracted.

“Mavy, table four!” my boss, Lorna, barked from the counter.

I grabbed the notepad from my apron, wiping my hands as I turned—only to freeze mid-step.

The air in the diner shifted, heavy with an unspoken tension. Heads turned, whispers spread like wildfire, and then—click. Click. Click.

Camera flashes lit up the room. And there she was. Celeste Montgomery.

Perfect. Beautiful. Drenched in wealth and privilege. The future Luna.

My stomach coiled with unease as our gazes met. A slow, knowing smirk curled on her lips, and for a moment, I felt…hunted.

I forced my feet to move, ignoring the growing tightness in my chest as I rushed to the kitchen.

But luck was not on my side today.

"Take this to table four," Lorna ordered, setting a tray in my hands before I could protest.

Of course.

With careful steps, I made my way back to the dining area. My palms were sweaty, my grip firm on the tray. I could feel Celeste watching me, feel the weight of the room pressing down on me.

One step. Another. And then—

My foot caught on something—someone?—and the world tilted.

The tray flew from my hands, and in a horrifying second, food rained down onto Celeste Montgomery’s designer dress.

The diner went silent.

A sharp gasp tore through the air before—

Slap!

Pain stung my cheek, my head whipping to the side as Celeste’s hand left its mark.

"You clumsy idiot!" she shrieked, standing, her dress ruined. "Do you have any idea how much this costs?!"

"I—I'm sorry," I managed, heat crawling up my skin.

She didn’t care.

With a forceful shove, she sent me sprawling to the floor. Gasps echoed around us, the humiliation suffocating.

I clenched my fists. I could take this. I could swallow my pride and let her win.

A slow smirk tugged at my lips. I reached for the ketchup bottle on the nearest table, popped the lid, and in one swift move—

Splat.

Bright red sauce covered Celeste’s pristine dress and the entire diner went deathly silent.

I stepped back, wiping my hands as if I had just done a great service to humanity. "Oops," I said sweetly. "Guess you’re messing with the wrong girl."

Celeste let out a strangled shriek.

I turned on my heel and walked away.

Yeah, I was definitely getting fired.

That night, my phone wouldn’t stop buzzing. Photos of the incident had gone viral, and Celeste Montgomery’s army of fans was out for blood. My name was smeared across every gossip page, labeled as a ‘jealous omega’ trying to ‘sabotage’ the future Luna.

As if I cared. I tossed my phone onto the couch, sighing. The apartment was eerily quiet. Too quiet.

Then—darkness. The power went out.

My pulse quickened. I reached for my phone, only to realize—the battery was dead.

Damn it. A soft click echoed through the apartment. The door.

Someone was inside.

I froze, my heart hammering. Every instinct in my body screamed danger.

Reaching for the small knife I kept in the kitchen, I gripped it tight. My breath was shallow, my ears straining for any sound.

Then I heard a voice. Low. Sinister.

"Come out, little wolf."

Chills ran down my spine. I wasn’t alone.

I pressed myself against the wall, muscles tensed. My mind raced—who? Why? Had Celeste sent someone?

A creak. Footsteps. Getting closer.

And then—

A crash.

A struggle erupted in the dark. Grunts, the sound of fists meeting flesh, bodies colliding. Someone had come to fight.

My brother, Jameson.

Without thinking, I lunged forward, knife in hand. I needed to help.

But just as I swung—

The lights flickered back on. And my heart stopped.

Jameson stood before me, barely holding back the man pinned beneath him. And in my hand? The knife—mere inches from my brother’s throat.

I nearly stabbed him.

Shaking, I stepped back, my breath ragged. My gaze snapped to the man Jameson had caught.

A stranger. Wild-eyed. Reeking of desperation.

Jameson pressed a knee to his chest. "Who sent you?"

The man sneered but said nothing.

Jameson’s fist connected with his jaw. "I won’t ask again."

A beat of silence.

"Alpha Conrad."

My blood ran cold.

Jameson’s expression darkened. "Son of a—"

I swallowed hard, gripping the counter for support.

Conrad sent him? Does this mean he knew something about me and my brother real identities?