Tommy Tallarico Response 소설 & 이야기

"Say something,” I whisper to Caspian, my voice breaking. “Look me in the eyes and tell me this isn’t a mistake.” “I, Alpha Caspian King of the Nightfall Pack, reject you, Jocelyn Valdez, as my mate and Luna.” He says, staring down at me with a look of pity in his eyes. That… that wasn't what I was expecting him to say. However, I don't need his pity, but I think my ears must have heard wrong. “Accept my rejection, Jocelyn,” he says quietly. “Let’s end this.” “You mean let's end us?” I chuckle a sad laugh, looking up at him. “Yes.” His response is cold. I bite down on my bottom lip until I taste blood. I want to stop crying, but I can't. Why reject me? Why now? Why Lycena? I don't want to accept his rejection, but he is leaving me no other choice. “Well,” I gather all my strength, “I, Jocelyn Valdez, accept your rejection, Alpha Caspian King.” As soon as the words leave my lips, I feel like a knife is butchering my heart into pieces. The pain of accepting his rejection is so intense and so merciless that I can't breathe properly. I feel like I am dying. ~ Humiliated and heartbroken, Jocelyn Valdez fled the Nightfall Pack after being rejected by Alpha Caspian King at her Luna Ceremony before he chose a power-hungry she-wolf to be her replacement. Jocelyn vanished into the night with nothing; no pack, no powers, no future. But what no one knows in her previous pack is that Jocelyn is the Chosen one of the Moon Goddess. Now, five years later, she returns. No longer the weak rejected she-wolf they tossed away. And her ex-mate? He is on his knees begging for the woman he threw away.

On the eve of our engagement ceremony, I noticed that Angelina Manning, my rich girlfriend, wasn't paying attention at all when we were shopping together. I bought a hotdog from a nearby food truck and passed it to Angelina's lips. To my surprise, she tossed it to the ground furiously. "Devon Fuller, my family wants a son-in-law who can carry himself with confidence and poise! Stop buying these cheap things! You'll just end up embarrassing me even more! How can my parents ever accept you if you keep doing things like this?" Feeling rather awkward, I picked up the hotdog and threw it into a nearby trash can. Then, I nodded in response so that I could maintain our four-year relationship. "Okay." I thought that was the end of the outburst, but Angelina decided to get engaged to Jeffrey Terell the next day. "Devon, Jeffrey committed suicide and got admitted into the hospital just so he could be with me. Once he's back to normal, I'll definitely return to you." I still nodded and broke up with Angelina. "Okay." After that, I left. Four years later, Angelina shows up at my residence with the diamond ring she had used to propose to me back then. "Devon, Jeffrey has agreed to file for a divorce from me. We can finally be together again! I told you before that I can return to your side as soon as Jeffrey lets go of his obsession over me and stops hurting himself." I frown at Angelina, who looks all loving and affectionate. At the same time, I mentally curse myself for picking this particular time to come home. After all, I've decided to come back to my cottage just to grab something on a whim, only to bump into my delusional ex-girlfriend. I just push her toward the door. "Excuse me. I don't want to be late picking up my kid from school."

"Strip for me," he commanded, his ice-blue eyes devouring her. "Tonight, I take what's mine." I thought I knew betrayal when I caught my fiancé's balls-deep in another woman. I thought I'd hit rock bottom when that woman turned out to be my TWIN SISTER. But the real knife in my back? He was her boyfriend first. For eight months, she fed him every secret about me—my fears, my dreams, my insecurities—so he could seduce me, make me fall in love, and destroy me when it hurt the most. Why? Because she's always hated that I'm successful. That I'm respected. That people love me for who I am, not what I look like. So there I was—promoted, engaged, happy—walking into my fiancé's apartment to celebrate... only to find him f*cking my sister against the wall while she smirked at me over his shoulder. "Surprise, sister. He was always mine." I should've gone home. I should've cried. Should've been the victim they wanted me to be. Instead, I walked into the most exclusive bar in New York and caught the attention of the most dangerous man in the city. Dante Ashford. Billionaire. My ex-fiancé's boss. Sex personified. And currently getting pleasured by a beautiful blonde in the VIP lounge—while staring directly at ME. He said my name while another woman's mouth was on him. Then he dismissed her with one cold word: "Leave." When I demanded to know how he knew who I was, he smiled like the devil making a deal. "I know everything about you. Your cheating fiancé and backstabbing sister. I know exactly how to make them pay." His offer was simple: Marry me. Destroy them. I'll give you power, wealth, and revenge. My response shocked us both: "I'll marry you. But first... take my virginity. Tonight."

“Don’t tell me you’re starting to get scared again,” he whispered before returning his lips to my sensitive nipples. His hand slid lower, shifting my panties aside, the fabric brushing against my skin. “Someone might walk in,” I managed to say, though my voice was barely audible. “Forget everyone and focus on us,” he murmured. His fingers began to tease me, running over my clit with a deliberate slowness that made my breath hitch. “I love how you’re always so wet for me,” he said, his tone filled with raw desire. As his pace quickened, his words urged me on. “Don’t hold back your moans. I want to hear all of it.” The knowledge that his office was soundproof was the only reassurance I had, but even then, I couldn’t trust my own voice. My body arched in response as he trailed kisses along my neck, his fingers moving with an intoxicating rhythm. “I love how your body reacts to my touch,” he murmured against my skin. “I could fuck you all day.” “Yes,” I moaned, unable to stop myself. “Yes, what?” he teased, his fingers moving even faster, pushing me closer to the edge. “Don’t stop, Alex,” I gasped. ********************************************************** Six years ago, Alex broke me, leaving me humiliated, pregnant, and abandoned. He chose Camila, his flawless childhood friend, while I was left to pick up the shattered pieces of my life. But I survived, and for my son, I built a life I’m proud of. Now, Alex is after me, but stunned by the woman I’ve become, and the son who bears his resemblance. When he asked about his father, my son’s innocent reply said it all: "Mommy said he's dead." I couldn’t have said it better myself.

For my birthday, I got a gift box. Inside was a dead silver fox. Its fur was peeled away. Dark, profane runes were carved into its flesh. My wolf cried out in agony, then shattered. I desperately reached for my Alpha, Darian, through our mate bond. “Darian… help me… My wolf… my heart…” His response was ice cold. “Maeve, stop being so dramatic. It’s just a prank. A Luna should be stronger than this. Amara has a fever. I’m with her.” He just cut the bond. He chose his childhood friend over me. Her mate had recently died, and she only had a low-grade fever. I was left to collapse in agony. I didn't get help until a pack beta found me and rushed me to the medical center. It took me three whole days to recover. When Darian finally came back, reeking of Amara’s sweet perfume, he sneered at me. "I knew you were faking it. How could a dead fox hurt you? You just wanted to stop me from comforting her!" I didn’t cry. I didn’t scream. I just handed him a document to sign. Compensation, I said, for choosing Amara over me. He signed it without even looking. "Is this about money? Don't be another jealous she-wolf. Don't cause trouble for me. I can give you anything. Amara and I grew up together. She's important to me. You know that." I just nodded. I didn't say a word. The next day, he took Amara to an Alpha-only alliance dinner. Pictures were all over the werewolf social feeds. He had no idea what he’d signed. It wasn’t a compensation agreement. It was a rejection of our mate bond. I counted down the three days. I calmly packed my most precious things. Then, I pulled out my burner phone. “Uncle Marcus? I need a private jet to the South.”

My Alpha mate Derek secretly inherited his sister-in-law Sarah after his brother's death. On the surface, I was his Luna, but in reality, Sarah was the one who truly held his heart. He praised me as the most exceptional Luna, tasking me with caring for all pack members, yet when Sarah tended to an injured male wolf, his jealousy flared so violently that he bit off the poor wolf's paw. In public, he proclaimed me as his beloved Luna to the entire pack, while keeping Sarah hidden safely in the shadows. When enemy wolves kidnapped me after discovering my identity, I desperately reached out through our mind link, begging for help. His response cut deeper than any physical wound: "Olivia, Sarah is carrying my pup. We'll tell everyone it's my brother's son. I must protect her and the baby without leaving her side for even a moment." "Just endure for a few days. Once Sarah's morning sickness improves, I'll lead all our warriors to rescue you." In the days that followed, I sent countless pleas for help through our link, but received nothing in return. Eventually, our connection shattered completely. For an entire year, those wolves imprisoned and tortured me. They broke my hind legs and ripped out my fangs, stripping me of my wolf's dignity. Derek never came for me. When I finally escaped and stumbled back to our territory, blood-soaked and broken, I discovered my daughter locked in the silver prison where rogue wolves were kept. She was being torn apart as food, her small body covered in wounds. Meanwhile, my mate—my pup's father—was joyfully celebrating the first birthday of his and Sarah's pup, announcing that Sarah's child would become the pack's heir. Tears streaming down my face, I gathered my skeletal little pup in my arms. "It’s OK, sweetie. I'll find you a better dad."

My mother constantly berated me for being lazy and fragile, claiming I couldn't handle a single shred of hardship. Her resentment stemmed from a terrifying symptom I couldn't control. Without warning, my body would begin to convulse, and my mind would go entirely blank. I would collapse into pitch darkness. Yet, every time she took me to the hospital, the medical tests came back frustratingly normal. My teachers eventually noticed my frequent episodes of zoning out and fainting, and they desperately urged my mother to take me for a more thorough evaluation. But my mother, a respected doctor herself, brushed their concerns aside. To her, it was an open-and-shut case: I was a lazy child faking an illness to skip class. From then on, she strictly rationed my diet. Whenever I felt dizzy, grew drowsy, or began to convulse, her response was swift and cruel. I was subjected to sharp slaps across the face and hours of forced standing, while she towered over me, screaming that I was a disappointment who was intentionally trying to ruin her life. Everything came to a dead end on the day of our school-wide physical exams. My mother happened to be the doctor manning the blood-drawing station. When my turn arrived and I sat across from her, that familiar, agonizing tremor seized my limbs. The entire room began to spin, and my torso pitched forward, nearly crashing onto the examination table. Instead of checking my pulse, my mother violently yanked me upward by the arm and shoved me away. "Stop acting!" she hissed, her voice dripping with disgust. "Faking a faint over a routine blood draw? Can you be any more pathetic? Get out into the hallway and stand there. Stop humiliating me in front of my colleagues!" She shoved me out the door before turning back to her work. The moment my back hit the cold hallway wall, an icy chill enveloped my body. My consciousness began to splinter. For the first time in my life, I couldn't fight the weight. Half out of it, I thought to myself that this was good. If I passed out completely this time, she would finally believe that I wasn't lying.

We have just finished our classes for the day when Nicholas Wolfe tells me that he's going to a concert with his junior, Madeline Cross. "I'm heading over to the venue right now. I can't let Madeline wait for me, after all." Nicholas sounds so casual, as though he's talking about the weather. I arrange my textbooks neatly before putting them into my bag. "Okay." My response leaves Nicholas stunned. He pauses in the middle of typing a text to Madeline before raising his head to look at me. "Madeline and I are about to watch the concert performed by The Paxleys, your favorite band. Are you… not mad at me at all?" I zip my bag while replying calmly, "Nope." I've begged Nicholas 99 times to watch the concert with me. On the 100th time, he finally buys two tickets… for himself and Madeline. I'm not surprised in the slightest. Ever since Madeline transferred to our university, I've started to get used to Nicholas prioritizing her over me. I sling my bag onto my shoulder and begin making my way to the classroom's exit. Nicholas doesn't move an inch. But when I'm about to leave, he catches up with me and grips my wrist. "Lia, we'll travel to Sorenton three days later. The Paxleys will be holding another concert there. I'll attend that concert with you. "That day is our third-year anniversary, so I definitely won't bail out on you." I look down at Nicholas' hand that's gripping me, then I look up at him. This time, my lips curl into a smile. "Okay." Over the past six months, Nicholas has promised me to do things "next week" nine times, and said "I'll definitely show up" 13 times, and "don't worry" 16 times. But he's bailed out on me every single time he makes plans with me. Next week, we won't be attending the concert together, that's for sure. After all, I'm the one bailing on him this time.

Five years ago, my Alpha parents rescued me from an orphanage and brought me home to the Blue Moon Pack. I thought my life was finally taking a turn for the better. I thought I was safe. But I was wrong. Yolanda McKinney—the fake heiress—conspired with rogue wolves to destroy me. They kidnapped me, ran over my legs with a car, breaking them, and left me battered and bleeding. When my parents and my childhood sweetheart, Joseph Delgado, found me lying in a pool of my own blood, their panic was unmistakable. They rushed me to the pack hospital, but the diagnosis was devastating: I might never walk again. Joseph proposed to me on the spot, vowing to stand by me through everything. My parents, furious at Yolanda's betrayal, promised swift justice. They assured me they had cut all ties with her, that she'd fled in guilt and drowned in a tragic accident. I believed them. I had to. For five years, I focused on recovery, trying to rebuild my shattered life. My marriage to Joseph was my anchor, the one thing I thought I could trust. Until the day I saw Yolanda McKinney alive. "You and Mom and Dad saved my life," she said smugly, her voice dripping with venom. "Without you, that pathetic cripple would’ve been the end of me." My blood ran cold as she continued. "But she never suspected, not even for a second, that you and I have a pup. Mom and Dad? They erased every trace, switched her meds for useless pills—hell, they even buried the evidence." Joseph's response shattered what little remained of my heart. "Don't make it sound so harsh," he murmured. "Marrying her was the only way I could keep sending those forgiveness letters. It was the only way to keep you and our son safe." Every word stabbed me like a blade. My marriage? A lie. My parents? Traitors who discarded me like trash. The justice they’d promised me? A farce. Fine. If I meant nothing to them, then they would mean nothing to me.

He almost never texts me first, and in person he barely says a word. In three years together, he's never remembered a single anniversary, and he's never once suggested we celebrate a holiday. But the second I message him first, he lights up, all "baby" this and "baby" that, fussing over me, coaxing me to sleep. Sometimes I'd get this strange feeling that there were two different Noahs. His explanation was that he was just bad with words face-to-face, and that texting or voice notes felt like less pressure. I kept telling myself that being together meant meeting each other halfway. He was quiet and reserved, so I'd be the one to reach out. He forgot anniversaries, so I booked the restaurant and reminded him to keep the night free. He had no time to schedule our engagement shoot, so I handled the whole thing with the studio myself. He was too busy with work to help us move, so I packed everything alone, booked the movers, and got it all done. When I was so worn out I was about to break, I'd send him a voice note, and he'd say, "I'm so sorry, baby. The lab was insane today. I couldn't be there for you, and it kills me to watch you run yourself into the ground." Hearing how guilty he sounded, all my hurt just melted away. And that's how I carried three years of this relationship on my own, running on the flawless tenderness he only ever gave me online. Until today, when I found a program on his laptop called Boyfriend Assistant. It analyzed every message I sent and generated the perfect reply, the perfect response, every single time. Cold snap? It sent: Bundle up, baby. Time of the month? It pinged an API and auto-ordered hot chocolate to my door. All those late nights he spent "working," the gentle voice notes that lulled me to sleep, every one of them was synthesized in Noah's voice. For three years, the person who'd been there for me, day and night, was never Noah at all. For three years, I'd been performing a one-woman show.