Chapter two

Ashley

"Not even Phillip is going to want you after this," my mom hisses.

Her words crush the last bit of my already shattered heart. A few seconds ago, I could only hear her voice in the distance—loud and angry—but my thoughts had spiraled. Her words jerk me out of whatever moment I had, pulling me back to reality.

"Of course he'll choose me," I respond angrily, my voice shakier than I would’ve preferred.

"My Goddess, you're even more foolish than I thought. Somehow, this video is on every wolf phone in the pack. What on earth were you thinking, Ashley Grant?" my mom says, shaking her head in disapproval. Her eyes are glassy and dark—not because she wants to cry, but because she's angry enough to slap me again.

"No alpha is going to pick you as his mate, especially not Phillip, not when you've disgraced yourself in the most scandalous way possible. Why do you think your mate rejected you?" She pauses, staring at me like I'm her biggest disappointment ever.

The weight of her words begins to sink in, and I let out a harsh whimper. She's right about everything, but she doesn't know how much Phil and I want to be together. He was the other person in the tape, so he'll own up and we'll be mates. My wolf would be okay.This will all be in the past.

"Phill loves me. He'll claim me, and you'll see not everything is about politics," my voice is harsher when I speak, an angry glare directed at her, but she doesn't flinch. Instead, a small smirk tilts her lips.

She takes a step forward, and I gulp hard. "Everything is politics. The sooner you get over this foolishness, the better it is for everyone. Phil is a future alpha, not a lovesick puppy like you think he is. He'll do what's best for his image and the pack." Her words make me flinch, and I rub my bare skin, lowering my head so that she doesn't see the tears that are now rolling freely.

"Your tears won't solve anything. Stephen's waiting at the hotel's back gate. Go home while I clean this mess." She dismisses me icily. I wish the ground would open so that I could disappear. I've done nothing but seek my mother's approval since I was little—something close to impossible—but hearing her this disappointed hurts a lot.

Everything does.

I sniffle and turn away, eager to get away from everyone, when her voice halts me.

"While you spend the night crying, try to think of a way to solve this." I nod my head and continue walking. I'm glad Stephen, our driver, doesn't ask questions when I get in. As if on cue, he winds up the privacy glass that separates us.

I turn on airplane mode, resting my head against the window. Tears stream down my face . Every time I think I'm done, another wave crashes over me.

Goddess, I have so many questions I want to ask, like who recorded us. Why anyone would do something so horrible and broadcast it to the whole pack is beyond my reasoning. My wolf—whose name I don't even know—is still howling in my head. The pain from the rejection still tugs at my heart. I should reach out to her, but I'm too overwhelmed to do so, especially when my mom's words, as much as I try to ignore them, make me uneasy.

Sleep finds its way to me before I get home, and I let it drift my restless mind into an abyss of unconsciousness—but not before I remind myself I have to fix this tomorrow.

*****

Breakfast is a painfully silent affair. The only sound is our cutlery against the ceramic dishes. I know I look like a mess, something that my mother doesn't fail to frown at when she eventually looks at me.

"Have you thought of how to fix this?" Her voice is crisp.

"Not yet," I lie. Actually, I have. I don't tell her though—I doubt she'll let me do it my way.

She lets out a tired sigh, setting her cutlery down. "This is impromptu but you'll leave for England by the end of the week—"

"Mom—" I begin to protest, and she holds up a hand. My mouth clamps shut.

"I had to make a few calls, and everything necessary for your departure is being prepared. You'll attend one of the biggest warrior academies there and stay with your grandmother during the holiday. That's final. At least till the buzz dies." She continues eating.

"What about Phil?" I ask in a tiny voice. She raises her eyes slowly to meet mine, eyebrows arched angrily. My gaze flickers back to the distance ahead of me, but I still feel her glare burning into my head.

Right. She's shipping me off to another continent as damage control.

I continue to eat a breakfast I have zero interest in, and once I hear her car leave, I pull out my phone , mentally preparing myself for the worst. The first five notifications are about me. On Wolfgram, our own version of I*******m, several blogs have already published my story.

"Alpha’s unmated girlfriend tries to tie him down with sex? What the fuck?" I read the first headline, and I see red. My blood begins to boil as I slide my tongue along my teeth. So now I’m the leech? A few other headlines go ahead to show that the media is against me. I don't even bother checking the comments. I let out a blood-curdling scream, pushing everything in sight away from me until I'm tired.

When my breath evens out, I check my iMessage, where Zoe has sent over five messages. There are a few missed calls, too. I make a mental note to call her later. There's no text from Phil—no call—and I'm disappointed. But then I wonder if he's okay. That has to be it... right? Phil would never leave me stranded like this. Maybe he ghosted everyone, like me.

I head to Phil's house, slightly surprised my mom didn't order the guards to keep me in. Maybe she just thought I’d stay in. I decide to drive to Phil's house, where the butler tells me he's not around.

"Did he say where he went?" I ask the butler.

"I'm afraid not,"

I murmur "thanks" and head to the one place Phil always goes when he's angry—or just when he wants to get away. It's on the outskirts of the pack, his parents’ log cabin. True to my instincts, I see one of his cars when I get there.

A satisfied smile sets on my lips, and my steps quicken, but I'm careful not to make a sound so I can surprise him—something I've never been able to do. I'm barely a few feet from the front porch when I hear a sickening rhythm of creaking wood and gasps. My stomach knots. His voice—low and smug—cuts through the air, followed by a low moan.

I halt, craning my neck to pick out the voices. It's Phil—and another female's voice that sounds annoyingly familiar...