Chapter Two

Elena’s POV

“I, Alpha Devon Damien, reject you, Elena Hanson, as my mate.”

The words crashed over me like a tidal wave, cold and merciless. His tone was laced with venom, his expression carved from stone. My chest tightened, and for a moment, I forgot how to breathe. I couldn’t feel the mate bond the way he could, but knowing I had one at all—it gave me hope. A foolish hope, clearly.

That hope shattered the instant he said it. In front of the entire pack.

A gasp rippled through the crowd. My knees buckled slightly, but I stood my ground, even as the tears spilled freely down my cheeks. “W-why?” The question slipped from my lips, weak and broken. But deep down, I already knew, didn’t I?

Devon sneered, loud enough for every curious ear to hear. “Why?” he echoed mockingly, turning to the crowd like he was performing on a stage. “Did you hear her? She wants to know why.”

Laughter erupted. Cruel. Cold. Echoing all around me like a curse.

“You’re weak, Elena. Worthless,” he spat. “It’s Aliya I want. Not a… peasant.”

My breath hitched. My eyes snapped to my sister—Aliya—smirking like a viper, smug satisfaction radiating from her.

He turned to her, and for a fleeting second, they shared a look. Intimate. Familiar. Betrayal carved deeper than any blade.

“She has a wolf. She’s strong. She’s fit to be Luna. You?” He looked me up and down like I was filth. “You bring nothing to this pack but shame.”

Then came the jab—his finger hitting my shoulder hard enough to send me stumbling back. My vision blurred through the onslaught of tears. The crowd’s laughter grew louder, harsher, wrapping around me like a noose.

I wanted to scream, to run, to disappear. But I was frozen in place, drowning in humiliation. The Moon Goddess gave me a mate only to take him away… like some sick joke.

“Accept it, Elena,” Aliya snapped, her voice venomous. “Accept the rejection.”

“You heard her.” Devon’s voice rose above the crowd, and soon it became a chorus.

“Accept the rejection.”

“Accept it.”

“Accept it.”

Their words became thunder in my ears. I clasped my hands over them, trying to shut it out, but it was inside me now—every syllable like a whip against my soul.

“I ACCEPT IT!” I screamed, collapsing to my knees. “I accept the damn rejection! Is that what you wanted?” My voice cracked as I sobbed. “I accept it! I accept it!” My body trembled, my face wet with tears, my heart torn open for all to see.

Devon didn’t even flinch. He turned and walked away—no remorse, no second glance. The crowd followed, including the two people who should have stood by me. My mother. My sister.

Neither looked back.

In that moment, I realized I was alone. Utterly, completely alone.

Maybe even a rogue had more dignity than me.

⸻

Later that night

The bag was already packed. Not that I had much to bring—just a small suitcase of worn clothes and a shattered sense of identity.

I was almost at the door when her voice cut through the silence like a whip. “Where do you think you’re going?”

I didn’t turn. “There’s a door, Mother. Take a wild guess.”

The slap came hard and fast, knocking my face sideways. I staggered from the blow, stars flashing behind my eyes. Wolves were strong—even the females—and she never held back.

“You forget who you’re talking to,” she hissed.

I straightened, my cheek stinging. “Oh? Then remind me.”

She looked stunned, just for a second. Maybe no one had ever dared talk back to her. But I had nothing left to lose.

“I see Devon’s rejection didn’t break you nearly enough,” she said, her voice like acid.

“You’re not my mother,” I whispered, rage and pain bubbling in my chest. “No real mother treats her daughter like garbage. You’ve hated me since I was born. And you know what? I hate you too. I wish you’d only had Aliya—your precious perfect daughter.”

She flinched. Barely. But I saw it.

“I hate you. I hate all of you.” I shoved past her, not caring that I knocked her aside. I was done being the family disgrace. Done begging for love I’d never receive.

The hallway was empty, blessedly silent. No eyes, no whispers. Just me and the front door. One step away from freedom—or at least, from this living hell.

At the threshold, I looked back one last time.

No good memories. No warmth. Just scars.

I let out a bitter laugh, adjusted my grip on the suitcase, and stepped into the night.

No money. No job. No home.

But I still had something they couldn’t take from me.

My will to survive.

“Fuck this life,” I muttered.