Alpha's Redemption: His Forgotten Fated Mate

Accusations and Alibis

Sloane's POV

The crowd erupted in murmurs the second Joanna's words landed. Whispers rippled out like waves—thief? Her? The new bakery girl? Eyes turned on me, sharp and judging. My face burned. I stood frozen by the storefront, hands clenched at my sides, the fresh paint on the sign suddenly feeling like a joke. Mom pushed through the front, Victoria's face twisting from confusion to alarm. "What's going on? Sloane, what does she mean you stole her ring?"

Joanna didn't miss a beat. She yanked out her phone, thumbing the screen fast. Held it up high, the photo glaring under the midday sun—a close-up of an emerald ring, green stone catching light like it owned the world. "This. I wore it to the gala two nights ago. Chatted with your daughter right before it vanished. Everyone there got searched—alphas, betas, the works. Except her. She bolted like a shadow. Stole it and ran."

My stomach knotted tight. "That's not true! I didn't take your ring. You got any proof?"

Joanna's lips curled, eyes gleaming triumph. "Proof? Where were you that night, Sloane? After the chaos started? Spill it."

The question hit like a slap. My mind flashed—Hunter's mouth on mine, hot and urgent in the tub, water sloshing around us. His hands gripping my waist, pulling me under. Heat flooded my cheeks. If I said it, she'd twist it. Paint me as the desperate omega, legs open for a scrap of alpha attention. Just like she spat at the party. First whiff, and you're done. No. Couldn't go there. Words stuck in my throat. Hesitated too long.

Joanna's grin widened, smug as hell. "See? Cat got your tongue? Or did you fence the thing already? Guilty as charged."

Mom's hand clamped my arm, yanking me aside behind the counter. Her nails dug in, voice low and urgent. "Sloane, did you? Take it? I've asked about that night a dozen times. You clam up every time. If you did, give it back now. We can't afford trouble here."

Her words cut deep. Mom—my mom—not even blinking at the accusation. Just assuming the worst. Like I was the kid who'd burn the house down for kicks. Chest ached, hot and tight. "Mom, I didn't. I swear."

She searched my face, doubt clouding her eyes. "Then why won't you talk? What happened out there?"

Tears pricked, voice cracking. "Nothing bad. Please. Trust me."

Joanna's laugh sliced through from the doorway, cold and mocking. "Trust you? Even your own mom doesn't. How's that for proof? Face it, Sloane. You're caught."

I whirled on her, fists balled. "You're lying. Framing me. I've never seen that ring. Never touched it. Get out. Stop slandering me in front of everyone."

Joanna crossed her arms, chin high. "Slandering? That ring's worth a fortune. Ten bakeries like this wouldn't cover it. You stole it. I want it back. And you? Moral stain like that? You don't belong at Silverridge. I'll go to the board. Get your whole family kicked out. Ruined."

Mom paled, grip tightening. "Sloane! If you have it, hand it over. Now. We just got this place. Can't lose it."

Tears welled, spilling hot. "I don't! Mom, why won't you believe me?" Voice broke, raw. The crowd watched, a wall of faces—curious, pitying, accusing. Even William hung back, arms crossed, that scarred eye boring holes. No one on my side. Alone. Again.

A voice cut through, cool and edged. "What's all this?"

Heads turned. The crowd parted quick, like he carried his own gravity. Hunter Whitman sauntered up, sunglasses perched low on his nose, black tee hugging his frame, jeans slung casual. That lazy stride, like the world bent for him. My heart stuttered—surprise, then a rush of something warm. Him? Here?

He scanned the group, brow quirking. "Who's making noise on academy grounds? Spill. What happened?"

Silence dropped heavy. No one breathed. Joanna stepped forward, chin jutting. "It's her. Sloane stole my ring. Came here to get it back. And throw this lowlife in jail."

Hunter's gaze slid to me, steady behind the shades. "That true, Sloane?"

I shook my head fast, throat tight. "No. Never seen it. She's making it up."

He nodded once, sharp. Turned to Joanna. "She's not a thief."

Joanna's eyes widened, then narrowed. "Evidence? Why take her word over mine?"

Hunter reached into his pocket, pulled out the ring—emerald flashing green. Tossed it casual. She caught it mid-air, staring down like it burned. "This yours?"

Her face drained white. Fingers closed around it, turning it over. "How... this can't be..."

"Can't be what?" Hunter's tone stayed even, arms loose at his sides.

Joanna's head snapped up. "How'd you get it? It was gone!"

"Found it." Simple. Flat.

"Where?" She pressed, voice pitching higher.

"Ground." He shrugged, like it was nothing.

"Bull. Impossible."

"Why impossible?" His head tilted, voice dipping low. Patient. Almost amused.

Joanna sputtered. "We tore up the carpets. Flipped every inch. Nothing. She took it. You're covering for her."

Hunter's laugh came soft, dry. "Covering? Why so sure it's her? You plant it? Frame job?"

Joanna flushed red. "Plant? No. She vanished that night. Nowhere. Stole it, hid. And you're blind—'cause you called her your next target. Hooked now. Protecting your hookup."

Hunter glanced my way. Quick. Unreadable. Then to the crowd. Slow drawl. "Yeah. I said I'd chase her. But what if she turned me down? We're not together."

Murmurs exploded. Jaws dropped. Hunter rejected? Whispers flew—his old boast, the one that made him legend. Chase any girl, land her in a week. Fail? Any punishment. Bets placed, stories swapped.

Joanna's shock twisted sly. "Turned down? You?" She laughed, brittle. "Fine. Prove it. Wear this." Held up her phone—photo of a skimpy mini dress, hot pink and tiny. "Run the quad lap in it. Full circuit. Then maybe I'll buy your story."

Crowd held breath. Hunter's jaw ticked. Eyes on me again—searching. I met them, pulse racing. Don't. But he held steady. For me.