The Mate He Rejected

Choosing Sides

Maeve

I can still feel it while I make my way to the storage rooms.

The pull is wrong.

Too sharp. Too aware. Like something inside me has already decided he matters… and refuses to let it go.

I hate it.

My grip tightens on the basket without me meaning to.

I force my focus back to my hands, stacking loaves that are already stacked, adjusting things that don’t need adjusting just to keep moving.

If I stop, I’ll think.

And if I think, I’ll feel it again.

The moment.

The way he looked at me.

The way he chose not to.

A tight, uncomfortable pressure settles in my chest at the memory. I push it down before it can turn into something worse.

So I don’t stop.

The delivery takes longer than it should.

Not because there’s more to do, but because I let it.

Because I let him get in between.

The storage room smells like grain, wood and dust warmed by the morning sun, the air thick enough to settle something restless inside me if I stand still long enough.

I don’t give it the chance.

I set the basket down and start sorting, stacking loaves where they belong, adjusting things that don’t need adjusting.

“You planning to move in here?” one of the older boys asks from the doorway.

I glance over my shoulder. “It’s tempting.”

He huffs out a laugh. “Bit cramped for that.”

“I don’t need much space.”

“That bad, is it?”

I lift a brow. “Only if you’re paying attention.”

That earns me a grin, quick and easy, and for a moment the world feels… normal.

Simple.

Like nothing shifted this morning.

Like something didn’t snap quietly into place between me and the Alpha’s son while no one else was looking.

The thought presses at me harder than I expect. I pick up the empty basket before I can think about it again and step back into the light.

Diana finds me halfway down the path.

She falls into step beside me like she always has, her presence familiar in a way that should feel comforting.

It doesn’t.

Something in me tightens instead, small but immediate.

“You disappeared,” she says lightly.

“Delivery.”

“Mm.” She tucks a strand of hair behind her ear. “Kim’s already gathered half the square.”

“That sounds like effort.”

“It isn't when she wants something.”

I glance at her. “And what does she want today?”

Diana hesitates.

Just for a second.

Then she shrugs. “Same as always.”

That tells me more than an answer would have.

We walk the rest of the way in a silence that used to be easy.

Now it feels measured. Careful. Like every step is placed instead of natural.

I feel it in the space between us.

There was a time when she would have leaned into me without thinking. When I wouldn’t have noticed the distance because it didn’t exist.

Now I do.

It sits there, quiet and constant, like something that's already decided.

Kim stands near the well, exactly where I expected her to be.

Sandra and Bente flank her, positioned just far enough apart to make it clear that space belongs to them. Others linger close enough to listen, not close enough to commit.

Kim sees us immediately.

Her gaze lands on me first.

It lingers.

Then she smiles.

My stomach tightens before I can stop it.

“Maeve,” she says lightly. “Still working hard, I see.”

“I try to stay useful.”

Sandra lets out a soft laugh. Bente’s eyes move over me, slower, sharper.

Diana shifts beside me.

Just enough to register. But I feel it.

Kim tilts her head, studying me like something mildly disappointing.

“You always try so hard to look like you belong here.”

The words land cleanly. Familiar.

I hold her gaze.

“I’ve never had the luxury of assuming I do.”

A flicker crosses her face. Quick. Gone before anyone else would catch it.

Kim’s smile sharpens.

“We were just talking about tonight,” she continues. “You probably won’t make it.”

I tilt my head. “That sounds like a decision you’ve already made for me.”

“Well,” she says, her tone sweetening just enough to sharpen it, “someone has to stay behind and make sure the rest of us don’t starve.”

A few quiet laughs ripple through the group.

I look at Diana.

She knows what this is.

She knows exactly what I’m waiting for.

It wouldn’t take much.

A single sentence.

A small correction.

Enough to shift the moment.

She could do it.

She doesn’t.

Her gaze flicks to Kim, then away again.

Something drops in my chest. Not sharp. Just heavy, like something settling into place exactly where I didn’t want it.

She’s already decided where she stands.

That lands harder than anything Kim said.

Something in me stills.

Not new. Just… confirmed.

Again.

“I’d rather smell like bread,” I say calmly, “than try as hard as you do.”

Sandra chokes on her laugh before she can stop it. Bente looks away, lips pressing together.

For a second, Kim’s expression sharpens.

Then the air shifts.

I feel it before I see it.

That same pull from earlier, sudden and unwelcome, tightening just beneath my ribs.

My breath catches.

Finn.

He steps into the square without hurry, and the space adjusts around him in that quiet, instinctive way it always does. Conversations dip. Attention shifts.

It moves through the crowd like a ripple. Subtle. Immediate.

Kim turns at once.

Her entire posture changes, softening, brightening, like a different version of her steps forward the moment he’s close enough to matter. She closes the distance without hesitation, her hand settling against his arm like it belongs there.

“Finn,” she says, her voice warmer now, lighter.

He doesn’t react the way she expects.

I can see it even from here.

The slight tension in his shoulders.

The way his gaze flicks, quick and involuntary, toward me before he looks away again.

It still hits.

Sharp. Immediate.

I hold his gaze for a fraction of a second when it happens.

Long enough.

Then he turns his head.

Deliberately.

Like he is choosing not to look.

The bond tightens anyway.

It presses inward, uncomfortable, impossible to ignore. My chest tightens with it.

Kim doesn’t miss it.

Her fingers curl slightly against his arm, her smile tightening just enough to show it.

“We were just talking about tonight,” she says, angling herself closer. “You’ll be there, right?”

“I’ll be there,” he replies.

His tone is even, his attention isn’t.

Not completely.

Diana laughs at something Sandra says, stepping a little closer to them, her body turning away from me.

The shift is small.

I feel it settle, quiet and final.

I look at her.

She doesn’t look back.

That answers everything.

Something in me goes very still.

This is how it works.

Kim speaks.

The others follow.

And if I don’t fit neatly into that shape, I am left just outside it. Visible enough to be noticed, never enough to be included.

I could stay.

I could keep talking.

Keep pretending any of this matters.

The thought feels heavier than it should.

So instead, I adjust the basket on my arm.

“Enjoy the bonfire,” I say lightly.

No one stops me.

Not Kim or Diana.

Not him.

I turn and walk away before anyone can decide whether they should.

The pull follows me for a few steps, sharp and insistent, like something reaching that has no right to. My chest tightens with it, every step growing heavier.

I don’t look back.

I don’t need to.

I already know what I would see.

Kim at his side.

Diana laughing with the others.

And Finn not looking at me.

It doesn’t surprise me how easily people push you into a corner.

What still surprises me is how much it costs to stand there and pretend it doesn’t matter.