Chapter 3: I Reject You, Fatass.

POV: Tahlia

My heart raced so fast I could barely hear anything.

For one foolish moment I believed he was about to accept me. The way he'd walked across the entire courtyard. The way he'd stopped so close that his scent wrapped around me like a claim. The way the bond still sang between us, bright and desperate and alive. I told myself the cruel curve of his mouth was only nerves, that the whiskey on his breath was only the courage he needed to do the right thing. I told myself maybe, just maybe, this was the night the Goddess finally decided I was allowed to stop being the joke.

He laughed.

The sound was loud enough to silence the entire festival.

Every conversation stopped mid-sentence. Every instrument faltered and died. Every eye turned toward us as if the Moon Goddess herself had dragged a spotlight across the stones and left us standing in the center of it. The floating crystal lights felt suddenly too bright. The air felt too thin. My lungs forgot how to work.

Ronan looked me up and down without bothering to hide the disgust. His gaze dragged over my face, my neck, the tight pull of the green dress across my chest and hips, the soft curve of my stomach the fabric could never hide no matter how many times my mother forced the zipper. His lip curled like he'd stepped in something foul.

Then he said the words that destroyed my life.

"I reject you, fatass."

The mate bond exploded inside me.

It felt like someone had reached into my chest with bare hands and torn my heart apart in one slow, deliberate motion. White-hot pain ripped through every nerve at once. My wolf screamed, a raw, broken sound that never made it past my throat. My knees gave out. I hit the cold stone hard, palms scraping open, the impact jarring up through my arms. The courtyard spun. Colors smeared. Sound rushed back in a violent wave of laughter.

"He actually said it!"

"Fatass! Goddess, right to her face!"

A woman near the front laughed so hard she had to grab her friend's arm for balance. "Did you see her face? She actually thought he was going to claim her!"

"I can't breathe," someone gasped between laughs. "The Alpha Prince and the fat Osadebe girl. Best festival in years."

I tried to push myself up. My arms shook violently. My legs refused to obey. The pain kept rolling through me in waves, each one worse than the last, like the broken bond had left raw nerve endings dragged across glass. I couldn't catch my breath. I couldn't stop the tears spilling hot and fast down my cheeks, dripping onto the stone between my hands.

A few wolves looked uncomfortable. I caught it in the way an elder turned her face away, in the way a young warrior shifted his weight and stared hard at the ground, in the way a mother pulled her daughter closer as if the humiliation might be contagious. But most didn't look away. Most leaned in. Most laughed harder.

"Someone help her up before she starts rolling," a man called out.

"Don't you dare," another answered. "This is better than the entertainment they hired."

"I always knew the Goddess had a twisted sense of humor," someone said, "but this is next level."

Out of the corner of my eye I saw Nadia. She stood at the edge of the circle that had formed around us, silver dress gleaming under the floating lights like she'd been born for this exact stage. For one unguarded second her mouth curved into a small, satisfied smile, the same smile she used to wear as a child when she got the new dress and I got the altered one. Then she wiped it away with practiced speed and arranged her face into something that almost looked like concern, pressing a hand to her chest and whispering to the girl beside her, who nodded solemnly, already rehearsing how devastated Nadia had been for her poor sister.

I tried again to stand. My palms slipped on the stone. The green dress had torn at the knee, and I felt the chill of the courtyard seeping through the fabric into my skin. All I wanted was to disappear, to sink into the cracks between the stones and never come back up, to stop existing in a place where hundreds of people could watch me break and call it the highlight of the evening.

"Someone should tell the Moon Goddess she needs better taste," a voice rang out.

"Maybe next time she'll pick someone who can fit into a Luna's gown."

"Can you imagine the official portraits? The Alpha Prince and his walking banquet table."

Fresh laughter rolled over me. I kept my head down. My hair had come loose from its pins and hung in my face, sticking to the tears and sweat on my cheeks. I could still smell him, cedar and rain and smoke and whiskey, and the scent made the pain worse. The bond was broken, but the pieces of it were still inside me, sharp and bleeding, refusing to die quietly.

I whispered to my wolf, to myself, to anyone who might still be listening. "Please. Just let me leave."

No one moved to help.

"She's begging," a man said behind me, loud enough for half the circle to hear. "That's even better."

"I'm almost impressed she can still speak," a woman replied. "I thought the rejection would've finished her."

I forced my arms under me again. My elbows trembled. My vision swam with black spots. The pain had spread down into my stomach, up into my throat, out into every limb until even my fingers ached. My wolf had gone silent except for a low, continuous whimper living somewhere behind my sternum. I had never felt her so small.

"Best entertainment of the decade," someone stage-whispered. "Someone should commission a painting."

I managed to get one knee under me. The torn fabric caught under my shoe and I nearly went down again. A fresh wave of laughter rose at the near-fall. I bit the inside of my cheek hard enough to taste blood, anything to keep the sob locked behind my teeth. I would not give them the sound. They already had everything else.

Nadia's voice floated across the circle, carefully pitched to carry. "Someone should help her. This is terrible. Truly terrible."

The fake concern was perfect. Soft. Sisterly. Exactly what people expected from the beautiful Osadebe daughter. A few sympathetic murmurs answered her. No one actually stepped forward.

I dragged in a breath that hurt all the way down. My arms shook so hard I was certain they'd give out again. The cold of the stone had crawled up through my palms into my wrists. I could feel every scrape, every bruise that would bloom later, every eye still locked on the spectacle of the rejected fat girl who had dared to believe the Alpha Prince might want her.

"She's taking too long," a voice said, closer than the others. "Someone drag her off before she ruins the rest of the night."

"Leave her. The Alpha Prince might want to say something else."

"What else is there to say after 'fatass'?"

More laughter. Someone actually clapped.

I closed my eyes for a second. Behind my lids I still saw his face, the disgust, the smile, the casual way he'd delivered the words like he was commenting on the weather. I still felt the exact moment the bond shattered. I still heard the wet, tearing sound it made inside my chest, even though no one else could hear it.

I whispered again, barely sound at all. "Please."

A pair of polished black shoes stopped in front of me, close enough that I could see the faint reflection of the floating lights on the leather, close enough that the toes nearly touched my scraped hands.

Then a calm male voice said:

"Get up."