From Rejected to Resilient: The Alpha's Supermodel Luna

Isla Hart stood in front of her bathroom mirror, frustration bubbling inside her like a pot about to boil over. “Why is it so hard to be a girl in this city?” she ranted to her reflection, her voice barely above a whisper.

“And not just any girl—a wolf-less girl trying to make it in a world that doesn’t care.” She sighed, running her fingers through her tangled hair.

The dark circles under her eyes were a testament to the sleepless nights she had endured, working non-stop for the last three days, posing for cameras that barely noticed her.

She reached for her concealer, dabbing it under her eyes in a futile attempt to mask the exhaustion that clung to her like a shadow. “Three days of grueling shoots, and for what? A paycheck that never comes,” she muttered, her heart sinking. “Two months without a dime, and I’m still stuck in this mediocre modeling gig.”

The thought of her dreams slipping away made her chest tighten. She had the looks and the drive, but without connections, privilege, and nepotism, she was just another face in the crowd.

Isla stepped closer to the mirror, her heart pounding with a mix of pride and pain. She admired the reflection staring back at her, a result of her hard work and determination. Her cheekbones had become prominent, giving her a model-like face that she had once only dreamed of. Her lips were fuller, and her body had curves in all the right places, a result of countless hours spent in the gym and yoga studio.

“I’ve come so far,” she thought, a small smile creeping onto her lips.

She had worked hard to sculpt her body, hitting the gym relentlessly and practicing mewing and face yoga after her Beta mate, Hector, had dumped her for being powerless, skinny, plain-looking, and wolf-less. That’s how she had landed this modeling job, even though it was mediocre. Still, it was a significant improvement over her previous job—two years ago, she had been a skinny, plain-looking waitress, freshly dumped and heartbroken, struggling to make ends meet. The pay had been even less than what she earned now, and the thought of those days made her shudder. It had been the lowest point of her life.

Now, even though she had come to the surface, she wasn’t at the top yet. She knew she needed to climb higher in the modeling industry. Without her wolf, she was forced to rely on her human form and physical appearance for money, and the reality of that weighed heavily on her shoulders.

“If only I had my wolf,” she thought bitterly. “I wouldn’t be hustling in this human form, struggling to pay rent. I’d have the connections, the opportunities. And most importantly, Hector would have never rejected me.”

The reason she lost her wolf was her parents. Her thoughts drifted back to her childhood, where her parents had always compared her to her older sister. “You’re weak,” they would say, their voices echoing in her mind. “Why can’t you be more like her?” Those words had cut deep, discouraging her from pursuing her studies or honing her skills. Instead, she had given up, believing she would never measure up.

At eighteen, in a desperate attempt to prove her battling skills to her parents, she joined a deadly battle against rogue wolves. The memory of that day was as vivid as if it had happened yesterday. She had been in an alley, facing three rogues, her heart racing with fear and determination. The battle had been hard to win, the odds stacked against her, and she was severely injured, her wolf form, Selene, lying on the ground in a pool of blood.

“Please let me shift, Selene,” she had begged her wolf, desperation clawing at her throat. But Selene’s voice had been calm yet haunting. “Live…”

In that moment, Isla had felt her wolf retreat, shifting her back to her human form, healing her human body with the little powers she was left with - Selene had died that day, leaving Isla shattered and alone. The loss had broken her soul, a wound that never truly healed. She had thought she could never feel more pain, but then she had met Hector at twenty. For a brief moment, she had felt hope again, believing she had finally found happiness. But just three months after that, he had rejected her without even touching her, leaving her heart in ruins once more.

Isla stood there, staring at her reflection, wondering how she had managed to keep moving forward despite her tragic past. Each day was a struggle, but she had relied on her physical appearance to earn money and survive. “I wish I was at least a supermodel already,” she thought, a flicker of sadness crossing her face. Yet, despite everything, she felt a spark of strength within her. She had come out of the lowest lows, and if she could keep improving herself, maybe one day she would find the happiness she so desperately sought.

…..

That evening, Isla Hart was forced to return to the work. She had attempted to request leave, feeling exhausted from her hectic schedule, but her boss had refused, insisting that she was needed in the major fashion show event.

In the dressing room, the harsh fluorescent lights illuminating her tired face. She applied her makeup with shaky hands, the lack of sleep catching up to her. The long hours of preparation for the runway event had drained her, but she pushed through, determined to make an impression. She had to look perfect in the latest designer dress, a stunning creation that hugged her curves and flowed like liquid fire.

“Isla! Hurry up!” Jackie’s voice cut through the air like a whip, sharp and demanding. “You’re going to miss your turn if you keep dawdling!”

Isla cursed under her breath, wishing she had a makeup artist to do the work for her. “If only I were a supermodel in high fashion,” she muttered to herself, applying a final coat of mascara. “Then I wouldn’t have to do this myself."

With a deep breath, she slipped into the dress, the fabric cool against her skin. She adjusted the straps, feeling a wave of dizziness wash over her as she stood up. The world spun slightly, but she shook it off, focusing on the task at hand. She needed to get out there, to shine, to prove herself.

As she stepped into her high heels, the air around her shifted. There was something different, something almost electric. The stage was set up dramatically, with fiery backgrounds and fireworks that would erupt during the show. It was a spectacle, and Isla couldn’t help but wonder if high-level clients were in attendance. Her agency wouldn’t spend this much on decorations for just any event.

The first two girls walked the runway, their confidence radiating as they strutted past the audience. Isla took a deep breath, her heart racing as she prepared to follow them. She stepped onto the stage, the lights blinding, and the cheers of the crowd ringing in her ears. But with each step, the dizziness intensified, and she felt a strange heat enveloping her.

Suddenly, the air shifted again, and a sharp, acrid smell filled her nostrils. Something was burning. Panic surged through her as screams erupted from the audience. The stage was on fire, flames licking at the edges of the backdrop, and Isla felt the heat closing in around her.

She froze, her heart pounding in her chest. This was it. She was trapped in a circle of fire that was catching faster. She couldn't even try to run anywhere as there seemed to be no way out. She was completely surrounded—

Drenched in sweat and surrounded by searing heat, Isla couldn't help but feel a wave of self-pity wash over her. For heaven's sake, she was a werewolf, and she had always yearned for a glorious death on the battlefield, not this—what a pathetic way to go, trapped in a fashion show stage fire!

“Pathetic,” she thought, tears stinging her green eyes. “Selene would be so disappointed in me for letting her down, dying like this.”

As the flames drew nearer, she closed her eyes, surrendering to the inevitable. She felt the heat intensify, and just as despair threatened to consume her, a strong pair of arms lifted her effortlessly.

In an instant, she was backstage, safe in the arms of a man who looked like he had stepped out of a dream. He had hunter’s eyes, high cheekbones, and a jawline that could cut glass. His thick eyebrows framed his striking features, and his hair fell in tousled waves.

“Was I really saved?” she thought, her mind racing. “Or have I died, and now I’m in the arms of an angelically devilish man who’s taking me to heaven?”