Chapter 11
The moment Alpha Godfrey Hansen slipped that silver ring onto Jillian Boyd’s delicate finger, the pack erupted into thunderous applause.
My heart thudded in my chest, like it wanted to claw its way out and run.
Alpha Godfrey lifted her veil. Slowly. Reverently.
Jillian. His first love. The fate mate he used to dream about, cry over, and, I suspect, occasionally howl for when he thought I was asleep. She looked… well, she looked like someone who belonged in a painting. Big doe eyes, porcelain skin, a smile so sweet.
Meanwhile, I was wearing a hoodie, covered
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in rogue patrol dust, with mud still clinging to my boots. My wolf, snorted in the back of my mind.
“At least you didn’t wear the funeral black. That would’ve been too poetic.”
“Kiss! Kiss! Kiss!” the pack chanted, some in wolf form, tails wagging, tongues lolling. Wolves love a good show.
Jillian tilted her chin up, lips puckered. Picture perfect.
But Godfrey hesitated. Just a flicker, a pause. And instead of her lips, he kissed her cheek.
That’s when his gaze found mine-
half–hidden under the sycamore tree, right next to the hospital’s rose garden. Yeah, this whole ceremony was happening at a
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hospital. Romantic, right? Except this wasn’t some fairytale send–off for the terminally ill. It was the man who promised me a forever wedding…
This was the man who once promised to give me a wedding under the stars, surrounded by our pack, with our wolves howling in blessing.
Instead, here he was, making vows to another she–wolf under the harsh glow of hospital lights and the scent of antiseptic.
And me? I stood there, dumbfounded. My hands were ice–cold. My feet felt bolted to the ground. A breeze rustled the trees, and a shiver ran through me.
The ceremony stuttered. People whispered.
“Who’s that?” someone muttered near the
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back.
“Ugh, is she crashing the wedding?”
“She’s not even marked. Compared to the bride? Not even close.”
No ring, no mark, no mate? No value.
My ears rang with shame as everyone turned to stare. I knew that look. Judgment. Pity. Disgust.
Like I was the villain.
Like I was the one who ruined this fairytale.
Even Jillian saw me. Her brows lifted in surprise–barely–but enough to remind me how she always looked composed. Like a goddess carved out of snow.
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Alpha Godfrey’s mask cracked. His shoulders tensed, his jaw clenched, and he dropped her hand like it burned him.
“Yolanda, 1-”
Jillian’s hand clamped around his arm like a velvet vice. Tears shimmered in her eyes, perfectly timed, of course.
“Godfrey.” Jillian’s voice was soft, but it had teeth. She caught his arm, blinking up at him with tear–filled eyes. “This wedding needs a groom.”
For a second, just a second, I saw him falter. The Alpha of the Shadow Ridge Pack. The same man who once faced down a rogue horde with fire in his eyes–hesitated now. Between me and her.
And he chose her.
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Not with words. Not with a grand gesture. But with his body–leaning toward her, not
- me.
I felt my wolf whimper inside me, low and soft.
“Let’s go. We don’t beg. We never beg.”
I turned. Walked away, chin high, spine straight, but inside? Inside I was a collapsing
star.
“Yolanda!” he shouted behind me.
I didn’t stop.
Then another voice–raw, hoarse–called out, “Jillian!”
There was a commotion. A nurse? Maybe
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her family. Maybe the Moon Goddess
herself had finally decided to intervene. Who knows?
All I know is… he didn’t follow.
I didn’t sleep a single damn wink.
Not that tossing and turning on a half–cold mattress. my wolf was growling all night like she wanted to tear something–or someone -to shreds. I didn’t blame her. I kind of wanted to do the same.
Alpha Godfrey didn’t come home.
Our pack messaging interface was still stuck on the last thing I’d sent him yesterday morning:
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“Alpha Godfrey, when you come back, I’ll give you a pleasant surprise~”
Yeah. Real pleasant.
I’d spent the whole day baking his favorite blood–moon cinnamon rolls and anxiously waiting for him to come back from what he claimed was a business trip with some ally pack across the mountain range. “Pack relations, he’d said. “Diplomatic stuff.”
Turns out, he was diplomatically getting married to someone else.
The same someone who used to be his fated mate before the bond snapped.
The same someone who once left him for a wolf with a bigger territory and flashier howl.
I clutching a pregnancy test in my trembling
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hands.
I thought he’d be happy. Thought he’d kiss my neck, curl around me, and whisper how lucky he was to have me carry his pup.
Instead, he pulled another woman into a wedding dress.
The healer’s report crumpled in my hand as my grip tightened. The parchment groaned in protest.
All of it. The cinnamon rolls, the surprise, the waiting, the believing–it was a joke now. A cruel one.
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