Revenge of the Rejected Luna

Eleanora's pov I woke up today and realized I was dying. The cause of it was a disease called the truth. The truth — a slow-moving poison that sank quietly and subtly into my veins the first time I realized my mate didn't love me. Realization hit me like a bullet and not in the dramatic way books and movies are linked to portray it. There were no screaming matches, no shattered plates, no fiery confessions of regrets instead it was like lightning, patient and merciless, striking when I least expected it. I learned it that way. Perks of being a young, naive, and stupidly hopeful Luna. I had been waiting for Tristan, my mate that night, curled up on my own side of the bed. I stared quietly at the ceiling, listening to the low hum of the AC filling the silence of our bedroom. Tristan was late. He was always late these days. A foolish part of me told me he was busy, that being Alpha carried responsibilities that kept him away but I wasn't naïve. At least, not anymore because I knew exactly where he was and who exactly he was with. The scent of citrus and wildberries hit me first - the unmistakable fragrance of Violet. It clung to him like an invisible mark as he entered our bedroom. Our eyes locked and I knew I was right. But not just that. His look – shirt unbuttoned at the top, his chestnut-brown hair tousled like one one had run their hands through it, the faintest hint of red on his collar. Lipstick. Hers. A calm and rational person would've let it go but I had done that so many times before and I was sick of it. I sat up, gripping the sheets in front of me. “Where were you?” Tristan sighed and rubbed a hand over his face. “Now's not the time, Eleanora.” “Really?” Anger rose in my voice before I could control it. “Do you even plan to come home tonight or did she send you back here out of guilt?” “Don't start!” Tristan snapped towards me, his jaw tightening. I let out a soft, bitter laugh. “Don't start? You don't even try to hide it anymore, do you?!” Silence fell over the room, drowning us in a tranquil death. Silence – That was always Tristan’s weapon of choice. He knew the silence hurt more than any insult. He turned towards the walk-in-closet, unbothered, as if my pain was nothing more than a background noise. I watched him pull off his shirt, revealing the expanse of his toned back, and for a moment, just a moment, I remembered the first time I had sent him like this. The way my heart had raced when our eyes met. Back then, I had been in love with him. Now? Now, I wasn't sure what I felt. ‘Betrayal. Anger. Resentment. You feel that, don't you?’ My wolf told me. She wasn't wrong. I had to stop denying myself the truth and face reality. My wolf was right. An aching, bone-deep loneliness borrowed its way into my heart, almost swallowing me whole. That hollow feeling existed the day Tristan stopped touching me. Tristan turned towards me, exhaling roughly. “You know how my mother feels about this.” I scoffed. “Your mother? Is that your excuse now? That she prefers Violet?” Another silence followed. I took a shaky breath, pressing a hand to my stomach. Empty. Always empty. I had always dreamed of a family. I had always dreamed of a child. A piece of him and me intertwined — something to prove that this love was real. But Tristan had stolen even that from me. Refusing to touch me. Choosing her instead. I let go of the sheets, my fingernails digging so hard into my palms that I cared they'd leave little indentations. I climbed out of bed, my bare feet hitting the cold wooden floor as I walked towards him. “Do you love her?” Tristan stilled, his hand hovering over a fresh white Tee. Seconds stretched and I nearly stopped breathing. Finally, he wore the shirt over his head and turned to face me. “Go to bed, Eleanora.” It wasn't a request. It was a command – Brusque, cold and dictatorial. It sent a shiver down my spine. Old me would obey quietly but that was in the past. The day I listen to Tristan again is the day snow will fall in hell. “Go to bed?” I said with another scoff. “That's not an answer, Tristan. Do you love Violet?” “If an answer is what you want, then ‘Got to bed’ is the only one you're getting.” he said with a hiss. A lump formed in my throat as I clenched my fists by my side. “Did - Did you ever love me, Tristan? Did you?” Another silence followed. Another danger to my chest. “It doesn't matter.” He replied, not even bothering to look at me as he spoke. “It doesn't matter.” I repeated softly. Growing up in a house where love was a currency and given only in exchange for obedience, I thought if I did everything right, if I was good enough, quiet enough, devoted enough, I would be worthy of it. But… Standing there in our bedroom, watching a man who loved me refuse to even give me an answer made me realize love isn't something you earned. And Tristan? Tristan had never given me his and he was never going to. He pulled on his T-shirt and walked past me without another word. The door closed sharply behind him and I was alone again. Like I always was. I sank onto the bed, pressing my fingers against my lips to keep in the sob threatening to break free. I had once believed in fated mates. I had once believed in love. I had once believed in forever but the fairytales never told you about the Luna's who spent their nights alone staring at the empty side of the bed. They never mentioned the women who gave everything, only to realize they were never enough. All I had ever wanted was to be loved. Instead, I was just another forgotten story. The bed was cold and not in the way a room gets chilly when the AC is on, but in a way that seeped into my bones. Tristan was not here. He was with her. Again. I bunched the sheets in my hand as if trying to hide the panic in my chest. I should have been used to it by now — the betrayal, the way my stomach twisted when I caught the lingering scent of her on his clothes, on his skin. But no amount of pretending, no amount of looking the other way could numb the fact that Tristan, my husband, my mate, chose another woman over me. Violet. The name tasted like rust in my mouth. Once, she had been my best friend, the sister I never had but like every other woman, she had taken everything from me.