The Rejection Of My Three Apex Mates

“If this tactical strategy essay isn’t an A-plus by sunrise, I’m telling my dad you stole my diamond pendant,” Camilla’s voice sliced through the silence of the dorm room, sharp and dripping with casual malice.

The girl didn’t look up from the keyboard. Her fingers ached from typing for three consecutive hours on the laptop, the screen light making her eyes burn in the dark. “It will be done, Camilla. I’m analyzing the flank formations of the Bloodmoon pack ambush now.”

“Good. And make sure the writing style matches mine. If the professors suspect a packless stray wrote it, you’ll be sleeping in the storage unit for a month.” Camilla didn’t wait for a response. She never did. She just went back to painting her nails a violent shade of crimson on her white marble desk, the chemical scent of the polish mixing with the cold air of the small alcove where her target's cot sat.

This was her life at Blackwood Alpha Academy. To the rest of the world, she was the nameless, incredibly fortunate orphan adopted by the great Alpha Thomas of the Crestwood Pack. The media loved the story. A display of supreme Alpha benevolence, they called it. But inside these walls, the title of ‘adopted sister’ was just a cruel joke. She was an unpaid nanny. A glorified shadow. A legal punching bag.

“Are you done packing my hardshell luggage trunks yet?” Camilla snapped, blowing on her wet nails. “The autumn transit shuttle buses arrive in an hour, and if my designer jackets are wrinkled, your back is going to pay for it.”

“I’m finishing the essay first,” she murmured, her voice low and carefully devoid of any emotion. Keeping her face dead blank was the first rule of survival. If she showed anger, they broke her. If she showed sadness, they laughed.

Camilla slammed her nail polish down on the glass vanity table. “Did I ask you which one you were doing first? Pack the luggage. Now.”

She swallowed the lump of burning battery acid in her throat, carefully closed the laptop, and stood up. Her limbs were stiff from the freezing draft leaking through the concrete floor. She walked over to the massive luggage cases, carefully folding the silk and velvet gowns that cost more than a common omega would see in a lifetime.

Run, a tiny, bruised voice whispered from the deepest, darkest corner of her mind. Just walk out the academy gates. Never look back.

She closed her eyes for a fraction of a second, a bitter smile touching her lips inside her head. She wanted to run. Every single second of every single day, her soul screamed to run. But she couldn't.

She could still feel it—the heavy, suffocating pressure wrapped around her throat like a collar of jagged iron. The Invisible Leash. Before they left for the academy, Alpha Thomas had locked his dominant gaze onto hers, unleashing the full, crushing weight of his Alpha command. 'If you ever attempt to flee, if you ever let Camilla lose face, if you ever fail to submit to her every whim, my pack-bond will rip your mind apart from the inside out.'

The psychological terror of that suppression was a physical wall. The moment she even thought about crossing the academy boundary lines, her chest would tighten, her lungs would starve for air, and a blinding, agonizing migraine would threaten to make her faint. She was a prisoner, bound by a telepathic leash she couldn’t see but felt with every breath.

“Hurry up, useless,” Camilla groaned, lounging back on her plush ergonomic bed. “My friends are waiting for me in the student lounge. I need my boots zipped.”

She walked over to the closet, retrieving Camilla's custom-made, knee-high leather boots. Camilla extended her leg arrogantly, hovering her foot inches from the girl's chest.

“Well? What are you waiting for?” Camilla smirked, her eyes scanning the faded, oversized uniform jacket. “Kneel.”

The frosted glass door to their suite suddenly swung open, and three of Camilla’s high-ranking friends walked in, laughing. They stopped when they saw the scene, their expressions twisting into matching smirks of disgust and amusement.

“Oh, look, Camilla’s shadow is doing her morning worship,” one of them giggled, leaning against the sleek metal doorframe.

“Honestly, Camilla, I don’t know how you tolerate having a packless, weak stray in your room,” another added, crossing her arms. “She doesn't even have a visible wolf aura. It’s embarrassing to the whole Crestwood lineage.”

Camilla chuckled, her chest swelling with pride in front of her audience. She looked down at the girl, her gaze cold and merciless. “She knows her place. Don’t you, stray? Now, I said kneel and strap my boots. I won't ask a third time.”

The air in the room grew heavy. The girl's hands trembled against the leather of the boots. Every ounce of dignity she had left begged her to throw the shoes at Camilla's face. But the imaginary leash tightened around her throat, choking off her air, reminding her of Alpha Thomas’s promises of pain.

Slowly, deliberately, she lowered her knees onto the freezing floor.

The girls chuckled in the background. She kept her eyes locked on the tile, refusing to look up as she pulled the heavy silver zipper up the boot, her fingers shaking.

“See? Perfectly trained,” Camilla gloated, kicking her foot slightly out of her grip the moment it was finished. She stood up, smoothing down her skirt, entirely unbothered by the humiliation she had just inflicted. “Finish that essay by the time I return from the cafeteria. Come on, girls, let's leave the trash to clean up.”

They swept out of the room, their high-pitched laughter echoing down the hallway until the heavy glass door clicked shut.

Silence returned to the room.

She stayed on her knees for a long moment, her hands clenched into fists against the cold floor. A strange, sudden wave of intense, blistering heat slammed into her chest, so hot it made her gasp. It wasn’t the familiar burn of the Alpha suppression. This was different. It felt like liquid fire pouring through her veins, centered deep within her soul.

Soon, a voice rumbled from the dark, completely unlike the weak, bruised whisper from before. This voice was deep, resonant, and dripping with an ancient, terrifying fury that made her own heart skip a beat. Soon, they will all burn.

She gasped, stumbling backward onto the floor, clutching her chest as the sudden heat vanished just as quickly as it had arrived, leaving her shivering and drenched in a cold sweat. What was that? She didn’t have a wolf. She was supposed to be weak.

She forced herself to stand up, her legs trembling as she walked back to the desk to open the laptop and finish Camilla's essay. The digital clock on the wall blinked away the minutes, a countdown to a day she didn't know would change everything.