Chapter 4

Ava’s been parading around for weeks, telling anyone who’ll listen that she’s going to be Leon’s mate. That it’s fate. That it’s written in the stars. No one questions it. Not unless they want to end up with a bloody lip and a black eye.

Because Ava doesn’t just talk. She acts. She’s ambushed girls in the hallways, clawed faces, pulled hair, smashed heads into lockers—all for the crime of daring to glance at Leon for too long.

And what does the pack do?

Nothing.

No one says a damn thing. No punishment Nor warnings Because Ava is untouchable. Because she’s the Beta’s daughter.

Not that any of it has anything to do with me. I’m not stupid. Leon doesn’t even know I exist. I’m invisible to him. Just another shadow in the halls, another nameless omega he’ll never speak to, never look at.

And that’s fine.

Really.

Because the last thing I want is Ava’s eyes on me for real. Right now, I’m just a speck. Not worth her time. But if she ever thought I was a threat… even by mistake…

Yeah. No thanks.

So when the classroom door opened and Damian walked in—with Leon right behind him—my whole body stiffened like it always does. Like it’s been trained to.

Damian is Ava’s older brother. Twenty years old. Sharp-featured, all cocky grins and dark eyes that don’t hide how much he enjoys being cruel. He only ever pays attention to me when he’s bored and looking for something to kick. He usually finds me.

They strode into the room like they owned the air itself. A couple of other high-ranked wolves followed them in—names I didn’t bother to learn because they didn’t matter. They all sat in the front row, the seats reserved for the important ones. The ones that mattered. The ones with wolves who answered when they called.

The moment Leon sat down, a wave of whispers swept through the room. Girls sighing. Fanning themselves. Eyes wide and full of dreams they’d never realize. It was pathetic, but also... familiar. Because even I couldn’t stop the way my gaze moved toward him.

And then, instinctively, toward Ava.

She was sitting three rows ahead, but her focus was locked—completely, obsessively—on Leon. She hadn’t even blinked since he walked in. Her lips were parted slightly, her body angled toward him like she thought that would make the bond appear faster. It was disgustingly d esperate. But in a weird way, I almost felt bad for her.

Almost.

The teacher called out drawing their attention back to him ending the chaos as he started writing today’s topic on the board: The Role of Alpha Bloodlines in Pack History.

Fantastic.

Another hour of pretending I care about who ruled who a hundred years ago while trying not to get caught staring out the window like I’m planning my escape.

Which, let’s be honest—I kind of am.

Because no matter what the lesson is, no matter who walks into the room or who thinks they’re going to end up mated to a throne, I can’t stop the one question that’s been chewing through my brain for weeks:

What happens after I turn eighteen?

Three days.

Three more sunrises.

And I’ll either feel my wolf awaken inside me—or I won’t.

There’s no in-between. No “maybe later.” This is the deadline. This is the moment everything either starts… or ends.

And no one is waiting for me. No one’s watching me with hope. There’s no prophecy tied to my name. No one thinks I’ll surprise them. Hell, most people have already written me off. I’m the failure. The glitch. The wolfless omega who's supposed to scrub their floors and keep her head down.

I can feel the countdown in my bones. Every hour, every second, dragging me closer to something I’m terrified of.

I was so lost in my own head that I didn’t even realize the class had gone silent—until the silence broke. Loudly.

Laughter exploded around me. Not the fun kind. The ugly kind. The kind that digs under your skin and scrapes at your ribs from the inside. I blinked fast, yanked out of my thoughts like I’d just surfaced from underwater, only to find myself in the middle of a nightmare.

The teacherwas staring at me.

That look on his face.

Not anger. Not even annoyance.

Pity.

The absolute worst emotion in the world.

“I asked you a question, Selene,” he repeated, this time slower, as if I were hard of hearing. “Would you care to answer?”

I stood up too fast, the chair scraping loud against the floor. Awkward and jumpy. Definitely not cool. My face was already burning. I could feel the heat rise in my cheeks and behind my ears. The more I tried to seem unaffected, the more I felt like a lunatic.