Chapter 5

Scarlett's POV 

I spent the next three days in a haze of numbness, moving through my life like a ghost. Every time I closed my eyes, I heard the slam of that door and the echo of Arlo’s voice calling me an impurity. The bond, once a golden thread of hope, had turned into a jagged piece of glass embedded in my chest, slicing deeper every time I took a breath.

I didn't have the luxury of a complete breakdown. I had bills that didn't care about my broken heart and a landlord who viewed my existence as a mere source of revenue.

"Scarlett, you're staring again. The glass is going to crack if you keep gripping it like that."

I blinked, coming back to reality. I was standing behind the bar at the local pub, my knuckles white as I held a pint glass. Fiona was leaning over the counter, her eyes full of concern. 

"I can't stop thinking about it, Fiona," I whispered, my voice sounding hollow. "He looked at me with such... disgust. Like I was something he'd stepped in on the street."

Fiona reached over and squeezed my hand, her grip firm and grounding. "He's an arrogant prick, Scarlett. I don't care if he's a 'pure' wolf or the King of the Lycans. You are strong, you are resilient, and you are more of a wolf in your pinky finger than some of those pack-puppets are in their entire bodies."

"He rejected the bond," I choked out. "You know what that does to us."

"Then fight back," Fiona countered, her voice sharpening. "Don't just let him discard you like trash. You have rights, Scarlett. The laws of the moon don't just vanish because he has a superiority complex. You're his mate. That gives you a claim, a voice. Don't give up so easily. If you let him walk away now, you'll spend the rest of your life wondering 'what if.' Go to him. Demand the respect you deserve."

Fiona’s words sparked something in me, a tiny, flickering ember of defiance amidst the ash of my heartbreak. I didn't want to fight, but the thought of being "nothing" to him was becoming more unbearable than the pain of the rejection itself.

For the next few days, I kept my eyes peeled. I worked my night shifts at the pub, my feet aching and my mind racing. Between those shifts, I took on odd jobs, cleaning offices, delivering packages, doing anything for a few extra credits. Every cent went toward the mountain of debt my mother had left behind. She had fled her pack years ago, but not before racking up loans and debts in my name, leaving me to pay for her escapes and her whims.

I was exhausted, broke, and broken. But when I saw him right after I'd dropped off a package, the exhaustion vanished, replaced by a surge of adrenaline.

Arlo was standing in the center of the town square, surrounded by a few of his pack mates. They were lingering a few paces behind him, their postures rigid, their eyes scanning the area with a predatory alertness. Arlo looked every bit the alpha. Dominant, powerful, and utterly untouchable.

My heart hammered against my ribs, but I forced my legs to move. I walked straight toward him, the wind whipping my hair across my face.

"Arlo!" I called out.

He froze. He didn't turn around immediately, but I saw his shoulders tense. When he finally looked at me, his expression wasn't one of longing or regret. It was irritation. Pure, unadulterated irritation.

"I told you to stay away from me," he said, his voice a low growl that vibrated in the air.

I stopped a few feet from him, refusing to flinch. "I can't just do that. I've spent three days trying to ignore the fact that my wf is screaming because you've turned your back on it."

Behind him, the other wolves shifted, their eyes widening. They whispered among themselves, their scents spiking with curiosity and judgment. I realized then that they didn't know. They didn't know about the bond, and they certainly didn't know what I was.

"Be quiet," Arlo hissed, his eyes flashing gold. "You're making a scene."

"I don't care about the scene!" I snapped, my voice rising. "Just because I'm a hybrid doesn't make me any less of a wolf. My blood might be mixed, but the bond doesn't lie. As your mate, I have rights, Arlo. You can't just erase me because I don't fit your definition of 'pure'."

The silence that followed was suffocating. The pack mates behind him were staring now, their expressions shifting from curiosity to shock and then to blatant disdain. The secret was out. I was a hybrid, a "glitch" in the eyes of the pure-bloods, and I had just announced it in the middle of the town square.

Arlo’s face transformed. The irritation vanished, replaced by a blinding, white-hot rage. He stepped toward me, his presence expanding until it felt like he was crushing the oxygen out of the air.

"You arrogant, delusional little thing," he snarled, his voice dropping to a dangerous, guttural level. "You dare come here, in front of my men, and claim rights over me? You dare reveal your filth in public?"

I recoiled, the force of his anger hitting me like a physical wave. "I'm not filth! I'm your mate!"

"I don't want you!" he hissed. "Do you honestly think a title like 'mate' is enough to bridge the gap between us? Even if we were fated, I could do so much better than you. I could have a female with a lineage, with grace, with power. Not a scavenger who hides in the shadows."

I felt the tears prickling my eyes, but I held my ground. "It's not about power, it's about the bond—"

"Is it?" Arlo interrupted, a cruel, mocking smile curling his lips. He stepped closer, his voice becoming a poisonous whisper that only I could hear. "Let's be honest. It's not just the hybrid blood. It's everything."

I frowned, confused. "What do you mean?"

"I know about your situation," he sneered. "I know about the debts your pathetic mother left in your name. I know you live in a slum of an apartment and spend your nights scrubbing floors and pouring drinks for drunks just to keep a roof over your head. You're a nobody. A penniless, broken hybrid with a ruined reputation."

The words felt like a thousand needles piercing my skin. He hadn't just rejected my nature. He had looked at my life, my struggle, my poverty, my desperation, and found it repulsive.

"You... you looked into my finances?" I whispered, horrified.

"I make it my business to know who is entering my circle," he replied coldly. "And you, Scarlett, are a liability. You bring nothing. No status, no wealth, no purity. You are a burden. Why would I ever want a mate who is a financial and genetic disaster?"

The world seemed to tilt on its axis. All this time, I had tried to convince myself that his rejection was based on a misguided sense of "purity" or pack tradition. I thought that if I could just make him see my heart, my strength, he would understand.

But it wasn't just the wolf in me. It was the girl who worked odd jobs to pay off her mother's debts. It was the girl who slept in a cold room with peeling wallpaper. He didn't just hate my blood. He hated my existence. He looked at my poverty and saw a stain on his prestige.

I looked at him, really looked at him, and for the first time, the golden glow of the bond didn't feel like a bridge. It felt like a chain. A chain tying me to a man who was as hollow and cold as the winter wind.

"I see," I said, my voice barely audible.

"Good," Austin replied, his expression returning to one of detached indifference. "Now, do us both a favor. Disappear. Go back to your pub and your debts, and forget that I ever existed. You are nothing to me, and you never will be."

He turned his back on me without another word, signaling to his pack mates to follow. They walked away in a tight, disciplined formation, their hushed comments drifting back to me like shards of glass.

I stood alone in the center of the square, the eyes of the townspeople on me, though I couldn't see them. I felt stripped bare, exposed in a way that was far more violent than any physical assault.

The bond in my chest gave one final, agonizing throb, a desperate, dying pulse, and then it went silent. The connection didn't just break; it withered. The hope that had sustained me, the belief that there was someone in the world meant for me, vanished completely.