CHAPTER 1 — The Rejection

The grand hall of the Thorne Hotel’s penthouse ballroom reeked of expensive whiskey, wolfsbane, and arrogance. Crystal chandeliers blazed overhead, casting gold over silk gowns and tailored suits — and over the dozens of werewolves who stood with their heads high, their eyes glowing faintly in the dimmer corners. At the front of the room, on a raised dais beneath a banner embroidered with the Northern Pack crest, stood Alexander Thorne.

My mate.

My heart hammered so hard against my ribs I thought it might crack. I gripped the edges of the cheap silk dress I’d bought secondhand, my palms slick with sweat. I’d counted the days — forty-two since the Moon Goddess had whispered his name against my soul, since the bond had snapped into place like a lock clicking shut. I was his. He was mine. Tonight, I was going to tell him.

He was terrifyingly beautiful. Dark hair cut short, jawline sharp enough to cut glass, eyes the color of glacial ice. He stood with his hands behind his back, every line of his broad, powerful frame radiating absolute command. He was the Alpha of Alphas, the Lycan King, and the CEO of Thorne Global — a man who owned skyscrapers, banks, and the loyalty of thousands. And I was Seraphina Cole. Twenty-one. A waitress.

“Alexander,” I said, stepping forward. My voice shook only a little. “I need to speak with you.”

He didn’t even look at me properly. “This is Council business. Leave.”

“It’s about us.” My fingers curled into fists. “It’s about the mate the Moon Goddess chose for you.”

A ripple went through the room. Whispers. Smirks. Pitying glances. Alexander’s head snapped toward me, and his gaze dropped — over my worn shoes, my simple dress, my face — with such cold, dismissive judgment it felt like ice water poured down my spine.

“You?” He laughed, a low, cruel sound that echoed off the marble floors. “You’re the one the Goddess sent?”

“I am.” I lifted my chin, even though my throat was closing up. “I feel it. Don’t you?”

“I feel nothing but annoyance.” He stepped closer, towering over me, his presence pressing down like a mountain. “You think a human — a waitress — is fit to stand at my side? To rule the Northern Packs? To be Luna?”

“I’m not just—”

“You are weak. Fragile. You would break within a month.” His voice dropped, low enough that only I could hear the words that would haunt me for five years. “I reject you, Seraphina Cole. I renounce the bond. You are nothing to me. Go back to your tables and your tips — and do not ever speak of this again.”

The room went dead silent. Then, slowly, the whispers swelled — mocking, cruel, amused. Heat flooded my face, burning hot tears pricking my eyes. I could feel every gaze, every sneer, every pitying look. But beneath the shame, something colder, harder, was taking root.

I didn’t run. I looked him in the eye, my voice steady as steel. “You don’t know what I am. You don’t know what I carry.”

“I know enough.” He turned his back on me. “Get out of my sight.”

I walked out of the ballroom with my head held high, but the moment the elevator doors slid shut, my knees gave out. I sank to the floor, the sobs coming fast and hard, tearing at my chest. I pressed a hand to my stomach — still flat, already changing. I’m not alone, I thought. And neither are you, little one.

By the time I reached the lobby, the tears were gone. I pulled my phone from my purse and dialed the number the woman had given me three days before — the woman who’d told me she’d been looking for me since I was a child.

“Seraphina,” she answered immediately, as if she’d been waiting. “Did you tell him?”

“He rejected me.” My voice was calm, final. “He called me weak. Said I’m nothing.”

“Then he is a fool.” Her voice was sharp, dangerous — and entirely different from the gentle tone she’d used before. “Come home, Seraphina. Your family has been waiting. And you have an empire to claim.”

The elevator doors opened onto the street. The city lights blazed — neon, gold, cold — and for the first time, I didn’t see them as something to gaze at from the outside. I stood up, straightened my dress, and took a step into the night.

“Where is home?” I asked.

“Manhattan. But not the part you know. The Romano Estate.” She paused. “Your father was the head of the family. Before they killed him.”

Ice slid down my spine. “Who killed him?”

“Alexander Thorne’s family. And the same people who are still hunting you. Who will hunt your child.” Her voice dropped. “Come to me, Seraphina. We have work to do. And when you return… you won’t be a waitress anymore. You’ll be the heiress. And he will learn what it means to reject a Queen.”

I ended the call and looked back toward the hotel — the same building where he was still inside, celebrating his power, unaware that he’d just cast aside the one person who could burn his world to the ground.

You rejected me tonight, I thought, touching my stomach again. Fine. But when I come back, you won’t be able to look away. And I will never let you forget that you called me weak.

I turned and walked away — into the shadows, into the waiting car, into the life I was born for. Somewhere behind me, a wolf howled — long, mournful, and searching.

But I didn’t look back.