My Fated Mate
1101 Words
The estate gates rose before me.
I'd dreamed of this moment for twelve years. Imagine it a thousand different ways. In some dreams, my mother waited at the gates, arms open. In others, my father nodded once, stern but approving. In the best dreams, my wolf finally woke and I ran through these gates on four legs, strong and whole and home.
The gates opened. No one was waiting.
I stood there with my worn suitcase and my grandmother's bracelet wrapped in cloth and my law books with its yellowed pages. A servant glanced at me, confused.
"Who are you?"
"Leila Yuxan. The Chairman's daughter."
Something flash briefly. She bowed quickly and disappeared inside.
I waited.
The sun climbed. My shadow shortened. My suitcase handle dug into my palm.
My mother found me first.
She walked through the front doors like she was walking onto a stage. Silk robes. Perfect hair. Expensive perfume.
Her eyes swept over me. My countryside clothes. My calloused hands. My face, which I'd scrubbed raw that morning in the bus station bathroom.
"Oh," she said. "You're here."
Not a question. Not a greeting. Just... acknowledgment. Like I was a package that had arrived earlier than expected.
"Yes, Mother."
She flinched at the word. Recovered quickly.
"Your father is busy. I'll have someone show you to your room."
She didn't hug me. Didn't touch me. Didn't look at me long enough to see that my eyes were the same shade as hers.
She just turned and walked away.
My room was next to the servants quarters.
Not the main house. Not the guest wing. A narrow box with a single bed, a chipped dresser, and a window that looked out at the service courtyard. Water stains bloomed on the ceiling like bruises.
"This is...?"
"The room was prepared for you." The servant wouldn't meet my eyes. "Miss Lily oversees household arrangements now."
Miss Lily.
My adopted sister.
The girl who arrived at the estate six years after I was sent away, wrapped in furs and smiles and a perfectly crafted origin story. The orphan the Yuxans took in out of the goodness of their hearts.
The daughter they actually wanted.
I set my suitcase on the bed. Unlatched it. Began unpacking.
The servant hovered in the doorway.
"Is there anything you need, miss?"
My parents. My wolf. My life back.
"No," I said. "Thank you."
She left.
I hung my few dresses in the narrow closet. I placed my law book on the nightstand. Wrapped my grandmother's bracelet in fresh cloth and tucked it into the drawer.
Then I sat on the edge of the bed and listened to the laundry machines churn through their cycles.
It's my birthday, the year I turned 18, but no one remembers.
This is not home. They didn't want me home.
I told myself it was fine. I'd only been here an hour. These things took time. They'd come around. They just needed to get to know me again.
I told myself a lot of things that first day.
Dinner was in the main hall.
I wore my best dress, which was still too simple, still wrong, still screaming countryside against all that silk and crystal. My mother's eyes skimmed over me and kept moving. My father sat at the head of the table, reading something on his phone.
No one told me where to sit.
I stood awkwardly near the door, suitcase replaced with nothing but my own two hands. A server rushed past with a platter. An elder I didn't recognize frowned at my presence.
Then I saw him.
Alpha Dixon.
Tall. Golden. Broad-shouldered in that effortless way born wolves carried. His jaw was sharp, his eyes clear, his posture radiating the quiet confidence of a man who had never been told he wasn't enough.
I remembered him at six years old. My father adopted him when his father passed away. A boy who'd squeezed my hand at our betrothal ceremony and whispered, "Don't worry. I'll wait for you."
I'd believed him.
Twelve years later, his arm was wrapped around my adopted sister.
Lily.
She was beautiful.
I'd known she would be. Everyone always said so. Miss Lily is so graceful. Miss Lily is so kind. Miss Lily is the perfect Luna.
Seeing her in person was worse.
She glowed. Not literally, but almost. Her hair caught the chandelier light like spun gold. Her dress was pale pink, delicate, expensive. Her smile was soft and warm and utterly practiced.
She leaned into Dixon's side like she belonged there.
Like she'd always belonged there.
And when her eyes found me across the room, that smile didn't waver. Didn't flicker. Didn't show even a hint of surprise or discomfort.
It widened.
"Sister!"
The word rang through the hall. Heads turned. Conversations paused.
Lily released Dixon's arm and glided toward me, hands outstretched, face radiant.
"You must be so tired from the journey. We've been so excited to finally meet you."
Her hands closed around mine. Warm. Soft. Perfect.
I couldn't speak.
"I'm Lily. Your sister. Well, adopted sister. I hope you don't mind sharing that word with me."
She laughed, light and musical. Like she'd made a charming joke.
I stared at her hands wrapped around mine and thought: You took everything.
My room. My pack. My place at his side.
And now you're pretending I'm the guest in my own home.
"Sister?" Lily tilted her head, concerned about etching her perfect features. "Are you alright? You look pale."
Say something.
Anything.
"I'm fine." My voice came out rough. "Just tired. From the journey."
Lily's smile didn't waver. "Of course, of course. Let me show you to your room.."
"I've seen it."
Her pause was microscopic. Then she nodded, sympathetic. "Ah. Yes. The east wing is still being renovated, I'm afraid. We wanted to give you something more suitable, but with the summit approaching..."
The east wing. My grandmother's old rooms.
Renovated for Lily, no doubt.
"It's fine," I said.
Lily squeezed my hands. "You're so understanding. I knew we'd be close."
Dixon didn't speak to me.
He looked at me once, briefly, when Lily pulled me toward the table and settled me at the far end, below her, below some uncle I didn't recognize. His gaze skimmed my face, my clothes, my hands still raw from farm work.
Then Lily touched his arm and he looked away.
I stared at my plate for the rest of dinner.
That night, I lay in my narrow bed and listened to the laundry machines.
They called me home.
They didn't want me home.
- Writer
