Rejected to Fated

Tyler

Marcus rises from the table, his Beta following close behind. Their footsteps fade down the hall, leaving a heavy, suffocating silence in their wake.

Tyler stares after them for a long moment, jaw clenched, chest rising and falling too fast. Then his gaze snaps to me — sharp, hateful, unfiltered.

“This is all your fault,” he spits.

I freeze.

“You and your stupid magic ruin everything.” His voice cracks, not with grief, but with rage. “You should’ve died in that crash with your parents.”

The words hit harder than any physical blow. My breath stutters. The room tilts.

Tyler stands abruptly, grabbing his wine glass. Before I can move, he strides toward me and tips it forward. Cold red liquid splashes down my sweater, soaking into the fabric, dripping onto the floor.

A small gasp escapes me — not from the wine, but from the humiliation.

Tyler tosses the empty glass onto the table. “Enjoy your perfect little ceremony,” he snarls, then storms out after Stephanie.

For a moment, I can’t move. The wine clings to my skin, sticky and cold. My throat tightens, and I bolt — up the stairs, down the hall, into my room. I shut the door behind me and slide down until I’m sitting on the floor.

The tears come fast, hot, unstoppable.

Not just from Tyler’s words.

Not just from Marcus’s plans.

But from the crushing truth that I have no one.

No voice.

No choice.

I press my palms to my eyes until the tears slow.

Then I force myself to breathe.

In. Out. In. Out.

I can’t disappoint Alpha Marcus.

He took me in when no one else wanted to.

He knows what’s best.

He always has.

At least… that’s what I’ve always told myself.

I pull myself together, wiping my face with the back of my hand. I change into clean clothes, scrubbing the wine from my skin until the scent fades. My reflection in the mirror looks hollow, but steady.

Duty first.

Always duty.

I head back downstairs. The house is quiet now, emptied of voices and footsteps. I begin cleaning up dinner — clearing plates, wiping spills, stacking dishes. The motions are familiar, grounding, almost enough to keep the ache in my chest from breaking open again.

Almost.

When I finally head upstairs again, the hall is dim and still. I’m halfway to my room when voices drift from Tyler’s door — sharp, frantic, muffled.

I don’t mean to listen. I really don’t.

But then I hear my name.

“…El is not going to ruin anything,” Tyler snaps. “Don’t worry, Steph.”

Stephanie sniffles. “But she’s your—your—”

“She’s nothing,” Tyler cuts in. “The only time I’ll ever touch her is at the ceremony, and I’ll hate every second of it.”

My breath catches. I press a hand to the wall to steady myself.

Tyler keeps going, voice low and venomous.

“After that, we’ll lock her away. It’ll be just you and me, babe. She can scrub floors or clean toilets for all I care when I’m Alpha.”

Stephanie lets out a shaky laugh, the sound brittle. “But your father—”

“When my dad is gone,” Tyler says, “I’ll reject her. And then you and I can be mated for real.”

The words hit like ice water down my spine.

I step back before they can hear the crack in my breathing. My legs feel numb as I turn and hurry to my room, closing the door quietly behind me.

I sink onto the edge of my bed, burying my face in my hands. The ache in my chest feels too big, too sharp, too heavy to hold.

My eyes burn, my chest aches, and the house feels too big, too quiet, too full of people who would never choose me.

Eventually, sleep drags me under.

And I dream.

Not of the Alpha House.

Not of Marcus’s plans or Tyler’s hatred or Stephanie’s glare.

Not of ceremonies or power or duty.

I dream of a place that feels nothing like this life.

A place where the air is warm and soft, carrying the scent of wildflowers instead of fear. A place where the sky stretches wide and open, untouched by expectations. A place where no one watches me, judges me, claims me.

A place where I am not magical.

Not special.

Not a weapon.

Not a burden.

Just… wanted.

In the dream, someone reaches for my hand — not to control me, not to use me, but simply because they want me near. Their touch is gentle, steady, warm. I can’t see their face, but the feeling is enough. The kind of enough I’ve never had.

For the first time in a long time, my heart doesn’t feel like it’s breaking.

It feels like it’s remembering.

Remembering what it’s like to be seen.

To be chosen.

To belong somewhere that isn’t built on fear.

I cling to that feeling as the dream fades, holding it close like a secret I’m afraid to lose.

Because when morning comes, I know the real world will be waiting.

And nothing in it feels like that place.

A sharp knock rattles my door, dragging me out of the dream far too soon. Sunlight spills across my floor when I blink awake. Did I oversleep?

“El. Alpha Marcus summons you.”

My stomach sinks.

I open the door to find one of the house guards waiting. His expression is blank, unreadable. “He wants the pack doctor to see you,” he says. “Immediately.”

A chill runs down my spine. “Why?”

“He said it’s to make sure you’re still… whole.” The guard’s eyes flick away, uncomfortable. “And to confirm you’ll be able to carry pups.”

My breath catches. “What?”

“He said it’s a normal check before a mating ceremony. To ensure you haven’t been with another wolf.” The guard swallows. “And if you had… well… he said it wouldn’t stop the ceremony. Just that you’d need to be ‘cleaned out’ first.”

My knees nearly buckle.

I don’t remember Marcus ever being this cold.

Or maybe I never let myself see it.

The guard steps aside, and the pack doctor enters my room with a small case in hand. Marcus follows him in, arms crossed, expression carved from stone.

“Let’s get this over with,” Marcus says.

The doctor clears his throat. “El, I’ll need you to undress.”

Heat floods my face. “Here?”

“Yes,” Marcus answers before the doctor can. “I want to ensure everything is done properly.”

Humiliation burns through me. My hands shake as I remove my clothes, folding them neatly even though my vision blurs. Marcus stands in the corner, watching with the cold detachment of someone inspecting livestock.

The doctor keeps his voice clinical, but nothing about this feels clinical.

It feels like being stripped of the last piece of myself.

“Lie down,” he says gently. “Bend your knees.”

I do as I’m told, staring at the ceiling, trying to leave my body behind. Trying not to feel the shame crawling up my throat.

The doctor works quickly, murmuring instructions, avoiding my eyes. When he finishes, he steps back and clears his throat again.

“She’s… intact,” he says quietly. “Everything is as expected.”

Marcus nods once, satisfied. “Good. Then we proceed as planned.”

He turns and leaves without another word.

The doctor gives me a sympathetic look — the kind that says he wishes he could say something, but he won’t. He packs his things and slips out, closing the door softly behind him.

I sit up slowly, pulling the blanket around myself, shaking so hard I can barely breathe.

I’ve never felt so small.

So exposed.

So powerless.

I wonder if Marcus ever cared at all.

Or if I was always just a piece on his board.