Contract With My Ex's Brother

Vivian’s POV I never thought my happily ever after would end before it even began. The fairy tales lied—there’s no prince sweeping you off your feet, no magical bond that fixes everything. Instead, there’s just me, Vivian Hart, standing in a room full of wolves who smell my heartbreak like it’s blood in the water. My mate—my fated mate, Clayton—stands on a makeshift stage in the pack hall, his arm around her. Kathryn. His high school sweetheart, the one he swore was in the past. The fairy lights twinkle overhead, mocking me as I clutch my champagne flute so hard I’m surprised it doesn’t shatter. “Vivian,” my best friend Lila whispers beside me, her hand brushing my elbow. “You okay?” I force a smile, the kind that stings my cheeks. “Fine,” I lie, because what else can I say? That my chest feels like it’s caving in? That the mate bond—supposed to be sacred, unbreakable—feels like a noose tightening around my throat? Lila’s hazel eyes narrow, but she doesn’t push. She knows me too well. The pack hall buzzes with chatter, couples swaying to soft music under the glow of lanterns. It’s the annual couples’ party, a night to celebrate love and unity. I spent hours getting ready—curling my dark hair, slipping into this sapphire dress that hugs my curves just right. Clayton said blue was his favorite color on me. I thought tonight might be the night. A proposal, maybe. A public declaration. Instead, he’s up there, all broad shoulders and golden hair, grinning like he didn’t just rip my world apart. “Pack,” Clayton’s voice booms, silencing the room. My wolf stirs, drawn to him despite everything. “I’ve got an announcement.” My heart leaps. Maybe I misread this. Maybe Kathryn’s just a friend, and he’s about to— “I’ve chosen my mate,” he says, pulling Kathryn closer. Her red lips curved into a triumphant smirk, her blonde hair cascading over one shoulder. “Kathryn will stand by my side as my partner, my Luna.” The room erupts—gasps, cheers, a few murmurs of confusion. My glass slips from my hand, shattering on the hardwood floor. The sound cuts through the noise, and heads turn. Clayton’s green eyes meet mine for a split second, cold and unyielding, before he looks away. Like I’m nothing. Like the past year—every touch, every whispered promise—meant nothing. “Vivian, let’s go,” Lila urges, tugging my arm. But I can’t move. My feet are rooted, my wolf whimpering inside me. She feels it too—the rejection slicing through our bond, jagged and raw. “No,” I choked out, shaking her off. “I need to talk to him.” I push through the crowd, ignoring the pitying stares and the whispers that trail me like shadows. My dress swishes against my legs, the fabric suddenly too tight, too hot. I reach the stage just as Clayton steps down, Kathryn clinging to his arm like a leech. “Clayton,” I say, my voice trembling but loud enough to turn heads. “What are you doing?” He stops, his jaw tightening. Up close, he’s still breathtaking—sharp cheekbones, a scent like cedar and musk that used to make me dizzy. Now it just makes me sick. “Vivian, don’t make a scene.” “A scene?” I laughed, bitter and broken. “You just rejected me in front of the entire pack. I think the scene’s already made.” Kathryn steps forward, her heels clicking. “Oh, honey, don’t embarrass yourself more than you already have. He’s moved on. You should too.” “Stay out of this,” I snap, my wolf growling low in my chest. She’s close to the surface, claws itching to break free. “Vivian,” Clayton says, his tone sharp now, alpha authority lacing every syllable. “It’s over. The bond—it’s not enough. I need someone who fits my future, my pack.” Not enough. The words hit like a slap. I’ve spent months proving myself—training with the pack, supporting him, loving him. And I’m not enough? Tears burn my eyes, but I blink them back. I won’t let him see me break. “Clayton, please,” I whispered, stepping closer. We’re fated. You can’t just—” “I can,” he cuts me off, his voice ice-cold. “And I have.” Before I could respond, Kathryn gasped dramatically, clutching her leg. A glass cup—where did that even come from?—shatters at her feet, shards glinting in the light. Blood trickles down her calf, and she stumbles into Clayton’s arms. “Vivian threw it at me!” she cries, her voice shrill. “What?” I gape, hands empty, nowhere near her. “I didn’t—” “Enough!” Clayton roars, his eyes flashing gold as his wolf rises. The crowd parts, tension thick in the air. “Get out, Vivian. Now.” The command hits me like a physical blow, my wolf cowering under his alpha power. I stumble back, chest heaving, as Kathryn smirks behind his shoulder. She planned this. And he believes her. The pack watches, silent, judging. I’m the rejected mate, the scorned omega, the fool who thought she could hold an alpha’s heart. I turn and run. My heels clack against the floor, then the gravel outside as I burst into the night. The cool April air stings my lungs, but I don’t stop until I’m far from the hall, far from the pity and the pain. My dress snags on a branch, tearing, but I don’t care. I collapse against a tree, sobs tearing from my throat. My wolf howls inside me, mourning a bond that’s fraying but won’t break—not until he severs it fully. I don’t know how long I sit there, tears soaking my cheeks, when my phone buzzes. A text from Lila: Where are you? I’m worried. I can’t face her, not yet. I need to drown this ache, bury it somewhere it can’t claw me apart. There’s a bar on the edge of pack territory—shabby, human-run, a place wolves avoid. Perfect. The walk takes twenty minutes, my heels wobbling on uneven ground. By the time I push through the bar’s creaky door, my makeup’s a mess, my hair tangled from the wind. The room smells of stale beer and cigarette smoke, a far cry from the pack hall’s elegance. A few humans glance my way, then look back to their drinks. I slide onto a stool, waving at the bartender—a gruff guy with a beard that’s more salt than pepper. “Whiskey,” I say, voice hoarse. “Keep it coming.” He nods, pouring a double shot. The first sip burns, but it’s a good burn, chasing away the chill in my bones. The second glass goes down easier, and by the third, the edges of my pain blur. I’m staring at the amber liquid, wondering how many more it’ll take to forget Clayton’s voice, when someone slides onto the stool beside me. “Rough night?” a deep voice asks, smooth and warm, like honey over gravel. I turn, ready to snap, but the words die on my tongue. He’s gorgeous—ruggedly so, with dark hair that falls just past his ears, a jawline sharp enough to cut glass, and eyes that glint like storm clouds under the bar’s dim lights. His leather jacket hugs broad shoulders, and there’s a faint scar above his left eyebrow that only makes him more intriguing. My wolf perks up, sniffing the air. He’s a werewolf, no doubt—his scent is wild, pine and musk, different from Clayton’s but just as potent. “You could say that,” I mutter, swirling my glass. “What’s it to you?” He leans closer, a half-smile tugging at his lips. “Maybe I’ve had a few rough nights myself. Buy you another?” I should say no. I don’t know him, and my heart’s already a battlefield. But there’s something about him—something steady in the chaos—that makes me nod. He signals the bartender, then turns back to me, his gaze lingering like he sees more than I want him to. “Name’s Marcus,” he says, offering a handkerchief from his pocket. It’s old-fashioned, embroidered with an M. “You look like you could use this.” I take it, wiping my smeared mascara, and manage a small, shaky laugh. “Vivian. And yeah, I probably look like a train wreck.” “Nah,” he says, his smile widening. “Just like someone who’s been through hell and kept walking.” His words hit harder than they should, and for a moment, I forgot the sting of Clayton’s rejection. But as Marcus leans back, studying me with that too-knowing look, my wolf nudges me again—curious, alert. Who is he? And why does he feel so… familiar? Just as I opened my mouth to ask, the bar door slammed open, and a shadow loomed over the entrance—Clayton.