EX ALPHA’S REGRET: THE TYRANT KINGS’ PLUS SIZED JEWEL

DAPHNE

The silk of my ceremonial Luna gown clung tightly to my body, every seam strained against my wide hips and full thighs. I stood at the top of the pack altar under the light of the full moon, acutely aware of the hundreds of wolves staring up from the courtyard. I could already feel the judgmental friction humming through our shared pack link. In a pack that praised hyper-skinny, agile frontline female warriors, my plus-sized figure had always been an unspoken grievance  to the elite elders.

But I had never cared before tonight. I had run their entire infrastructure. I managed their modern territory logistics, optimized their border defense networks, and kept their treasuries overflowing. I had earned the right to be Tristan’s Luna-elect through sheer competence.

I looked across the altar at Tristan, waiting for him to step forward, sink his fangs into my shoulder, and deliver the final blood-mark that would fuse our souls forever. He looked magnificent in his Alpha regalia, his broad shoulders squared. But his eyes were dead, staring right through me.

Tristan? I pushed a desperate thought into our telepathic mind-link, seeking the warm, familiar spark of our latent fated mate bond.

A freezing, iron-clad wall slammed into my consciousness. He had completely blocked me out. My wolf whimpered in my chest, her claws scratching at my ribs in a sudden spike of primal panic.

High Elder Thomas raised the ceremonial silver blade, his voice booming over the courtyard's PA system. "Tonight, we cement the future of the Crescent Dawn pack. Tristan, son of Arthur, do you accept the mantle of Alpha, and do you accept the woman chosen by fate to stand as your Luna?"

I took a breath, stepping up to offer the side of my neck.

"I accept the mantle of Alpha," Tristan’s voice echoed coldly through the speakers. He paused, his gaze slowly drifting down my body with a look of intense, public disgust. "But I reject Daphne  as my Luna."

The courtyard erupted. The pack link instantly flooded with a chaotic wave of whispers, shocks, and sudden, malicious amusement from Isolde’s faction.

My spine locked into a rigid line. I refused to let my knees buckle. "Tristan, what the hell is this?" I demanded, my voice raw and sharp, cutting through the murmurs.

"A pack cannot thrive under a liability, Daphne ," Tristan said, taking a deliberate step back from me, opening a humiliating physical chasm between us on the stage. "We assumed we were fated because it was politically convenient for our families. But the Moon Goddess does not make mistakes. My true fated mate has finally stepped forward."

From the shadows of the VIP glass balcony, Isolde stepped down onto the stone altar. She wore a tight, pristine white lace dress that emphasized her petite, fragile waist and narrow hips. She glided toward Tristan like a flawless porcelain doll, looking up at him with a performance of submissive innocence. But when her eyes flicked to me, a venomous, triumphant smirk twisted her lips.

"She carries the true, undeniable scent of my mate bond," Tristan declared, his voice booming with absolute finality.

"A true mate?" I stepped right into his space, ignoring the way his elite security enforcers instantly reached for their silver-tipped daggers. "You’re a coward, Tristan. You planned this public humiliation. Tell them the real reason."

"Look at the projector screens, Daphne ," Isolde spoke up, her voice a sweet, mocking purr that made my skin crawl. "Let’s show the pack what happens when a rogue heart is left in charge of our servers."

The massive digital screens behind the altar flickered to life. A sequence of forged encrypted server logs and heavily manipulated audio files splashed across the display.

"Last week, five of our young pack warriors were slaughtered in a warehouse raid on the eastern border," Tristan roared, playing directly to the grief of the crowd. "Our security codes were leaked from an internal IP address. Your IP address, Daphne . You sold our pack's proprietary defense data to our corporate rivals."

"That is a lie!" I snapped, my wolf snarling inside my mind. "I built those firewalls! I spent forty-eight hours straight tracking the breach, and the digital signature traced straight back to Isolde’s father’s sector!"

Isolde took a step closer to me, her eyes raking over my full figure with cruel amusement. She leaned in, her voice dropping to a low whisper meant only for me. "Look at you, Daphne . Look at those heavy thighs and that soft waist. Did you really think an Alpha of Tristan's caliber would want a fat, bloated cow sitting on the Luna throne? You don't even look like a wolf. You look like a joke. You're too slow to run a border, and too soft to survive a real fight. No wonder you had to turn traitor to feel important."

The words hurt me, but it was Tristan's cold nod of agreement that completely shattered my chest. He wasn't just framing me,  he was using my own body, the skin I had lived in and fought for, as a weapon to make the pack hate me. He wanted them to look at my curves and see weakness.

"The data doesn't lie," Tristan announced to the crowd. The grieving pack turned on me in an instant. The shared mind-link flooded with an ugly, suffocating wave of collective rage directed entirely at my mind.

"You don't care about a fated bond, Tristan," I said, my voice trembling with raw, unadulterated fury as I looked at him. "Isolde’s family controls the western border supply lines. You're trading a soulmate for a corporate merger. You're a parasite."

"Silence!" Tristan’s Alpha aura flared. A heavy, gravity-crushing weight slammed onto my shoulders, a dominant physical pressure designed to force an Omega to her knees in submission.

My joints popped. My legs shook violently under the immense weight of his command, but I forced my chin up, staring directly into his golden, predatory eyes. I refused to bow. "Then do it cleanly, Tristan. Sever the bond. Do it in front of your sheep."

His jaw clenched. He stepped up, the cloying, nauseating scent of Isolde’s lavender perfume completely overwriting the crisp winter pine scent I had loved since we were children.

"I, Tristan, Alpha of the Crescent Dawn pack," he chanted, invoking the ancient, immutable pack laws, "hereby reject you, Daphne , as my mate, my Luna, and my equal. I sever the bond."

A catastrophic, violent agony ripped through my chest. It felt like a white-hot iron rod had been driven straight through my heart and twisted until the bone snapped. The invisible, biological threads connecting our souls tore apart one by one, each rupture sending a wave of blinding, vomiting sickness through my veins.

I gasped, my hand clutching my chest as my vision blurred. I collapsed to one knee, vomiting dark, thick blood onto the white marble of the altar, the crimson liquid splashing over the hem of my gown.

Through the haze of blinding pain, I watched Isolde tilt her head back. Tristan didn't hesitate. He leaned down and drove his fangs deep into the sweet spot of her shoulder, delivering the public blood-mark, claiming her right where I was supposed to bleed.

The crowd roared in bloodthirsty approval, completely brainwashed by the performance.

"Strip her," Tristan commanded his enforcers, his voice completely devoid of any human emotion. "Take her keys. Her phone. Her credentials. Toss the rogue trash out."

Two heavy-set security guards grabbed my arms, dragging me down the altar steps. My heels scraped against the stone. I couldn't fight them; the physical shock of the severed bond had left my wolf completely comatose inside me.

They dragged me past the rows of luxury SUVs, throwing me into the back of a security van like a piece of dead weight.

When the doors finally flew open, the freezing, torrential rain of the Neutral Zone hit my face. We were at the asphalt border line—the edge of the highway where the pack’s protective magical wards ended and the lawless dead-zone began.

Marcus, an enforcer who used to take my logistics directives without question, shoved me out of the vehicle. I landed hard on the muddy gravel, the sharp stones tearing through the silk of my dress, embedding themselves into my knees.

"The Alpha says if your shadow ever crosses into our territory again, we shoot to kill," Marcus said, his eyes completely cold.

The van doors slammed shut, and the taillights bled into the dark storm as it sped away.

The exact second the vehicle crossed back into the wards, the final residual connection to the Crescent Dawn pack link snapped. The mind-link died completely. A vast, freezing, and terrifyingly absolute silence dropped inside my head.

I lay there in the mud, shivering, coughing up blood into the rain, completely alone in the dark.