Unwanted by Him, Chosen by the Stronger Alpha

Olivia POV

The days following the Gala dissolved into a feverish haze of darkness and pain.

They say the rejection of a Fated Mate kills the weaker wolves. Since I couldn't even shift, the entire Pack had placed their bets on my death. I lay in my bed, staring at the ceiling, feeling the hollow, aching cavern in my chest where my heart used to be.

It didn't kill me. But it irrevocably changed me.

When the fever finally broke, I sat up. The room was deafeningly quiet. The sun was shining through the window, which felt like a personal insult.

I moved slowly, my limbs leaden and uncooperative. I walked to my desk and opened the bottom drawer. The jersey. The pen. The charcoal drawing of the black wolf.

I didn't cry. I had no tears left to shed.

I found an old wooden crate in the corner of my closet. One by one, I placed the items inside. I didn't handle them with reverence anymore. I handled them with the caution one reserves for hazardous waste—toxic remnants of a life that no longer existed.

I picked up the drawing. For a moment, I remembered the golden eyes I had sketched with such devotion. Now, all I saw was the monster who had looked at me with pure hatred.

I dropped it into the box and nailed the lid shut.

"Olivia?"

The door creaked open. It was Elder Martha, the Pack Healer. She was a kind Omega who had known my mother. She held a bowl of soup, her hands trembling slightly.

"You're awake," she said, relief washing over her lined face. "We thought... the Alpha's punishment..."

"I'm fine, Martha," I said. My voice sounded raspy, foreign to my own ears.

"Your father tried to come," she whispered, setting the soup down on the nightstand. "Marcus... Alpha Marcus has forbidden him. He says you are in disgrace."

"I know."

"Why didn't you explain?" she asked gently.

I looked at her, my eyes dry. "Would he have listened?"

She looked down, unable to meet my gaze. We both knew the answer. An Alpha does not listen to a Runt. Especially not when a beautiful Beta is whispering in his ear.

*

Three days later, I was in the garden behind the Elder's quarters. I needed air. I was kneeling in the dirt, pulling weeds with a ferocity that startled me.

"You're up."

I froze. The scent of cedar hit me, but it was dull now. Muted. Broken.

I didn't stand. I didn't bow. I just kept pulling weeds.

Marcus walked into my peripheral vision. He looked tired, though he tried to mask it.

"I didn't expect to see you... recovering so quickly," he said. His tone was stiff. "The Gala... it was unfortunate. Emotions were high."

*Unfortunate.* He called the destruction of my soul *unfortunate*.

"I am arranging a stipend for you," he continued, adjusting his cuffs. "Once you are well, you will leave the Pack. Go to the city. Live as a human. It’s for the best."

He was kicking me out. But he was dressing it up as charity.

"The Alpha's command," I said quietly, ripping a dandelion out by the root, "is absolute. How dare I disobey?"

He paused. He didn't like my tone. It lacked the fear he was used to.

"Your father is hosting a gathering at the lake house this weekend," he said abruptly. "Family only. He begged me to let you attend before you... transition out."

I felt a flicker of hope ignite in my chest. My dad.

"I agreed," Marcus said. "I will be escorting you."

I looked up then, dirt smudged on my cheek. "You?"

"People are talking, Olivia. They say I was too harsh. If I am seen escorting you, treating you with... benevolence... it will quiet the rumors."

It was a PR stunt.

"I'd rather stay here," I said.

He stepped closer, his shadow falling over me, blocking out the sun. "That wasn't a request."

He reached into his pocket and pulled out a small, black velvet box. He held it out to me.

"Take this."

I wiped my dirty hands on my dress and took the box. It was heavy. "What is this?"

"It's a diamond necklace. Custom made."

For a second, a stupid, traitorous part of my brain thought he was apologizing. That he realized his mistake.

"Give it to Izzy at the dinner," he said. "Ideally in front of your aunt. She’s been critical of Izzy. If you, the 'aggrieved party,' present it to her, it will legitimize Izzy's position."

The air left my lungs as if he had punched me. He wanted me to bless the woman who framed me. He wanted me to hand over a gift I could never afford to the woman sleeping in the bed that fate had designed for me.

I looked at the box. I wanted to throw it in his face.

But I was a Runt. And he was the Alpha.

"As you wish, Alpha," I said.

*

The dinner was a nightmare.

My father looked aged by ten years. He hugged me so tight I thought my ribs would crack, but he couldn't say anything. Not with Marcus watching.

Izzy sat at the head of the table, next to Marcus. She wore white, looking every bit the innocent Luna. She didn't smell like him. There was no Mate Bond. But she touched him constantly—a hand on his arm, a whisper in his ear.

And Marcus... he was devoted. He filled her glass. He cut her steak.

"Izzy, you must try the tart," my Aunt Sarah said, her voice tight. She looked at me with pity, then back at the happy couple. "It’s a family recipe."

"Oh, Marcus knows I hate cherries," Izzy giggled.

"Of course," Marcus said, signaling a server. "Bring her the chocolate mousse."

I looked down at my plate. Marcus knew Izzy hated cherries. But he had knocked my chopsticks off the table five minutes ago and hadn't even noticed. He didn't know I was allergic to shellfish, which was currently sitting on my plate. If I took a bite, my throat would close up, and I doubted he would even look away from Izzy to notice me dying.

"Oh, Olivia has something for you, darling," Marcus announced, turning his cold gaze on me.

The table went silent.

I stood up. My legs shook. I walked around the table, the velvet box burning a hole in my hand.

I stopped beside Izzy. She looked up at me, her eyes dancing with triumph.

"Congratulations," I said. My voice was dead.

She opened the box and gasped. "Oh, Marcus! It’s stunning!"

She leaned over and kissed him. A deep, wet kiss that made my aunt look away.

"You see?" Marcus said to the table, his hand resting possessively on Izzy's back. "Even Olivia supports us. The Pack is united."

I walked back to my seat. As I sat down, I looked at Marcus. He wasn't looking at me. He was looking at Izzy, watching the diamonds sparkle against her neck.

He didn't see me. He never had.

And in that moment, the last tiny thread of hope that had survived the rejection finally snapped.

I wasn't just rejected. I was erased.