Rejected By The Man Who Broke Me, Claimed By The Alpha King

Teach him what respect feels like

Victoria's POV

The hotel smelled like money and bad decisions.

Soft lighting. Marble floors. The kind of place James liked because it made him feel important, like he belonged among men who wore watches worth more than my car. I stood outside the suite for a full five seconds longer than necessary, my fingers curled into fists at my sides, my heart hammering so loud I was convinced the people passing by could hear it.

You came here, I told myself, don't flinch now.

I knocked.

The door opened almost immediately, like he'd been waiting right behind it. James looked pleased, he had a stupid smug grin on that I was dying to smack. White shirt, sleeves rolled up, expensive cologne that once made my knees weak and now just made my stomach churn.

"Vic," he said slowly, eyes dragging over me. "I knew you'd come."

I stepped inside before he could say anything else. Confident. Chin up. Shoulders back. That was the armor. The fear stayed tucked underneath, vibrating like a live wire.

"Don't flatter yourself," I said. "I'm here to end this."

He laughed and closed the door behind me, the sound sharp and mocking. "You always say that. You never mean it."

The suite was massive. Floor-to-ceiling windows, city lights glittering outside. He moved closer, invading my space the way he always had, like the air itself belonged to him.

"You really thought you could embarrass me?" he continued. "Reject me in public. Make me look like a fool in front of everyone."

"You did that all by yourself," I shot back.

His smile twitched. Good. I'd hit something.

"I don't regret sleeping with your mother," he said casually, like he was discussing the weather. "If anything, I should thank her. She was far more appreciative than you ever were."

My nails dug into my palms. Breathe. Don't react. That's what he wanted.

"And yet," I said, voice steady by sheer force of will, "you're the one blackmailing me to get attention."

His eyes darkened. "Careful."

"You got me fired. That didn't work. So you went lower." I tilted my head. "That's your pattern, James. When you lose control, you punish."

He stepped closer, close enough that I could feel his heat. His fingers brushed my waist, lingering, possessive. My skin crawled.

"Don't touch me," I said.

He ignored it, thumb grazing my cheek. "You're still mine. You always will be. You still have my name tattooed under your breasts, don't you?"

My breath hitched despite myself. A mental reminder to remove that stupid tattoo I got before my frontal lobe grew. What was I thinking tattooing a narcissist?

He had requested it as his birthday gift and for me to prove my love and I had stupidly obliged, wiling to do anything to keep him. Doing that for a man who always forgot my birthday made me cringe inwardly.

Where was my self respect?

"There it is," he murmured. "That reaction. You can pretend all you want, Vic, but you don't exist without me."

I shoved his hand away. "You're delusional."

"Am I?" His smile turned predatory. "Because here you are. Running back. Just like I said you would."

Fear spiked then, real fear. Not of him. Of the tape. Of waking up to my life detonated online. Of never being able to crawl back from that humiliation.

He leaned closer. "Who was that guy?" he asked. "The one who thought he could put his hands on me."

I laughed, sharp and brittle. "You mean the man who made you look small without even trying?"

His jaw clenched.

"You should thank him," I added. "He did what every woman you've ever touched wanted to do."

James's hand lifted.

I closed my eyes.

The slap never came.

Instead, there was a sickening crack, bone meeting bone. The sound echoed in the room. When I opened my eyes, James was airborne, his body slamming into the glass table behind him before crumpling to the floor.

Lucien stood behind me, his body towering over mine.

Tall. Broad. Dressed in black like the room had parted to let him in. His presence was suffocating in the best, most terrifying way. His jaw was tight, eyes glacial.

James groaned on the floor.

Lucien didn't even look at him.

"You don't raise your hand to women," he said calmly. Deadly calm. "Ever."

James tried to laugh and failed. "You think you're a hero?"

Lucien finally glanced down at him. "No," he said. "I think you're a lesson."

Two men in black suits appeared like shadows, grabbing James by the arms as he struggled weakly.

Lucien stepped closer to me, his voice dropping so only James could hear. "You will delete every copy of that tape. Every backup. Every cloud file. You will forget her name, her face, her existence."

James spat blood and sneered. "And if I don't?"

Lucien smiled.

It wasn't kind.

"Then you'll spend the rest of your life afraid of elevators, basements, and dark rooms," he said softly. "Because you'll remember what happened the last time you tested me."

James went pale.

Lucien straightened. "Take him," he told his men. "Teach him what respect feels like."

They dragged James out, his curses fading down the hallway.

Silence swallowed the room.

I exhaled shakily.

Lucien turned to me, eyes softening just a fraction. "Are you hurt?"

I shook my head. "Just, shaking."

He nodded, like that made sense. Like fear didn't scare him.

"You're safe," he said.

I believed him.

And that terrified me more than James ever had.

__

Lucien's POV

James Scoffield was bleeding quietly in the back of my car when we pulled away from the hotel. My guards had slapped him into unconsciousness.

Good.

His wrists were zip-tied, his mouth stuffed with gauze to keep him from screaming. I didn't need noise. I'd dealt with men like him my entire life, men who thought money made them untouchable, who mistook women's silence for consent and fear for weakness.

My wolf snarled beneath my skin, pacing, furious.

Mine.

That was the word it kept repeating.

I had him kept in a basement somewhere around the manor. No windows. Clean men who knew how to hurt without killing. He'd live. Living was the point.

By the time I returned to the manor, the sun was climbing, and the house felt wrong. Too quiet. Too heavy.

Susan Voss had been burned at sea barely twelve hours earlier. We had gathered for a traditional werewolf funeral where we said our goodbyes. I felt more sorry for Maeve, she was like a daughter to her because she raised her since she was a kid.

She'd been my first friend. My shadow as a child. The one who taught me how to control my shift, how to breathe through the rage. The curse had taken her mid-transformation, skin splitting, bones screaming, before her body gave up and combusted like it always does.

She wasn't the only one.

A breeder, barely twenty-three, pregnant with twins had slit her own throat before dawn. Maeve said the feral contagion had finally reached her mind. Madness before death. Mercy before pain.

I stood in my study, hands braced on the desk, jaw clenched.

This was my pack, this was my failure. And then there was Victoria.

Human. Fragile. Furious. Brave in a way wolves rarely were. She had slept in my house last night, unaware of the blood soaking into the soil beneath her feet, unaware that half my people were watching the clock, waiting for the next full moon like a death sentence.

I hadn't told her yet.

I wouldn't, not all at once.

You don't drop a world on someone and expect them not to shatter.

The elders had been waiting when I summoned them. Tension thick enough to choke on.

"I've found my mate," I told them.

The room erupted. Rage. Disbelief. Disgust.

"She's human."

That had gone over even worse.

Maeve stood then, cane striking the floor. "And she is the only thing standing between this pack and extinction."

Silence followed. Heavy. Afraid.

"She will end the blood moon curse," Maeve continued. "Or you will all die clinging to pride."

No one spoke after that. I knew the Pack would never accept her. I even had a betrothed Luna, everyone thought we would be the power couple of the Pack but we just were never meant to be.

Now, I leaned against the doorway of the guest wing and watched Victoria sit on the couch, knees tucked in, staring at nothing. She looked smaller than she had last night. Worn thin by fear and betrayal and a life that had never cut her any slack.

My wolf softened.

I crossed the room slowly so I wouldn't startle her.

"You shouldn't have come to the hotel," she said without looking up.

"And let him touch you again?" I replied. "No."

She finally met my eyes. "What happens now?"

I didn't lie.

"Now," I said evenly, "you stay where I can see you."

She laughed softly. "That's not very subtle."

"I'm not a subtle man." I paused. "I need an assistant. Someone I trust. Someone who isn't afraid to tell me when I'm being an ass."

Her brow lifted. "You're offering me a job?"

"I'm offering you safety," I said. "A home. A salary that means you never have to beg anyone again."

"And the creeps like James?"

My mouth curved, cold. "They won't survive proximity to you."

She studied me for a long moment. I let her. This was her choice.

Finally, she exhaled. "I don't have anywhere else to go."

I held her gaze. "Say yes."

There was a beat. Just one.

Then she smiled. Small. Real.

"Yes."

My wolf howled in triumph. Maybe, just maybe we might survive the next full moon, thanks to the moon Goddess and my human mate.