Their Game, Her Ruin

Chapter 3

Autumn

He’s impossible to miss, seated at the center. His chair—a deep crimson velvet monstrosity that might as well be a throne—dominates the room, drawing every eye toward him whether they want to look or not. He leans back against it with an ease that borders on arrogance, one long leg stretched out in front of him while his arm drapes casually over the side.

His dark hair is tousled just enough to look effortlessly perfect—a calculated mess that only adds to his allure. Broad shoulders fill out his crisp white shirt in a way that makes it hard not to stare, even though I’d rather gouge out my own eyes than give him that satisfaction.

My chest constricts painfully as memories surge forward unbidden: Jaxon standing stiffly at my brother and father’s funeral, his jaw tight and his glare colder than ice.

Now his gaze locks onto mine across the crowded room, pinning me in place like a moth under glass. His expression remains unreadable but there’s something sharp flickering in his eyes that sends shivers racing down my spine.

“Move,” Brielle hisses behind me before giving me another shove—harder this time.

I stagger forward, barely managing to stay upright as she propels me toward an empty chair directly across from Jaxon. My heart pounds in my ears as I sink into it, every nerve in my body screaming at me to run.

Jaxon doesn’t say anything—doesn’t even blink—but his gaze remains fixed on me like he’s trying to peel back my skin and see what lies beneath it.

“Look who I convinced to join us,” Brielle drawls from somewhere behind me, her tone dripping with mockery as she perches herself on the edge of Jaxon’s armrest like she belongs there.

I clench my fists in my lap, nails digging into my palms as I fight to keep my expression neutral.

“Autumn’s here to play.”

I feel like I’m choking on the air. My skin burns. Every stare in the room feels like a hot iron against my skin. Especially his.

To Jaxon’s right, someone stands tall, broad, and familiar.

Ryker Graves.

My brother’s old best friend. My best friend, too, once.

He’s taller now — broader than I remember with that signature Bloodridge build. Muscles honed from years of combat training, hands that have taken down rogues twice his size, and that cold, unreadable stare he’s perfected since we lost them. His jaw is sharp, always tight, like he’s holding back a snarl. His dark eyes used to light up when I made stupid jokes. Now they go flat the second they land on me.

In high school, Ryker was the one person I could always count on. We were inseparable — late nights in the forest, camping together, the secret hand signs across pack meetings when we were bored out of our minds. How he would piggy back me through the woods when my legs would get tired on our way home from school.

Until everything changed.

Until he started spending more time with Jaxon.

Until my brother died.

Until I lived.

Ryker is next in line to be Alpha of the Bloodridge pack — the pack known for its ruthless warriors, for being the first line of defense against rogue attacks. They’re elite, merciless, and feared by all the surrounding territories.

And yet… that day, it wasn’t fear I saw in Ryker’s eyes. It was instinct. Because when the rogues came, and I was bleeding and screaming, it wasn’t a soldier that saved me.

It was Ryker’s wolf. He tore through those rogues like they were nothing. But instead of turning to help Laken — instead of trying to save the Son of an alpha — his wolf barreled toward me.

I still remember the feel of his tongue over my wounds, the warmth burning through my veins as his saliva laces my skin back together. I still carry the scars on my shoulder and ribs, even now — reminders of the attack, of what I lost, and of who saved me.

And I know — I know Ryker wishes he hadn’t.

He couldn’t even look at me after that. Didn’t speak to me again. Like I was some filthy reminder of a choice he never meant to make. Because an Alpha’s only weakness is an Omega-born girl.

A genetic liability. A curse. Something in our blood — in our scent — pulls their wolves like a tether. Overpowers logic. Warps instinct. Makes them choose us when they should choose the pack.

That’s just another reason why Omegas are hated. We are a liability to alphas.

Why they resent us. And that day proved it.

Why Ryker abandoned me the second he realized his wolf chose me over Laken. And now, as he stands across the room staring at me like I’m poison, something cold slides through my chest.

He was supposed to save Laken. He saved me instead.

And neither of us will ever forgive that.

Why did I let Brielle drag me in here? I should have said no and demanded Mrs. Kailee take me home.