My Promised Rejection by TheNich29

For three years, I was Alpha Laurence's fated mate, a title he never honored. He was in love with another woman, Rosalie, and I was just an inconvenient placeholder he refused to mark.

The night my father lay dying, I begged him for the life-saving medicine he had promised to deliver.

He was with Rosalie. Through our mental link, I heard her laugh in the background before he cut me off.

"Stop bothering me with trivial matters," he snarled.

His lover then faked an illness, pulling every senior healer away from my father's side. He died while my mate was choosing a tuxedo with another woman.

My father's life was a "trivial matter" to the man who was supposed to be my other half. In his obsession, he had become an accomplice to murder.

But he had no idea what I had done. Days earlier, while he was distracted by a call from her, I slipped a single page into a thick stack of documents. He signed it without reading, and with a flick of his wrist, he severed his own soul. He had just signed the Ritual of Rejection.

Chapter 1

JOSIE POV:

The rain hammered against the windows of the Rolls-Royce, each drop a tiny fist beating against the glass. Inside, the silence was just as violent. It pressed down on me, heavy and cold like a gravestone.

I sat on the edge of the plush leather seat, my hands clenched in my lap. My knuckles were white.

"Laurence, please," I whispered. My voice was thin, a fragile thing in the oppressive quiet of the car. "It's been three years. The pack elders are… they're starting to talk."

He didn't even look at me. His gaze was fixed on the storm-lashed road ahead, his handsome face carved from stone. The scent of him—like a winter forest after a fresh snowfall, sharp pine and cold earth—usually brought a sense of peace to my soul. Tonight, it just made my lungs feel tight.

"The marking ceremony is just a formality," I pressed on, hating the desperation in my own voice. This was the ninety-ninth time I had begged. I had counted. "It would solidify your position as Alpha. Our pack would be stronger."

His jaw tightened. "I am already the Alpha. My position needs no solidifying."

Just then, his phone chimed. A soft, melodic sound that was completely out of place in our cold war. He glanced at the screen, and the granite of his expression melted. It was a subtle shift, but to me, who had spent three years studying his every micro-expression, it was like the sun breaking through the clouds.

"One moment," he said, his voice now a low, warm murmur. He wasn't speaking to me.

He answered the call, and the change was complete. The ice was gone, replaced by a warmth that I hadn't felt directed at me since the day we met.

"Rosalie," he breathed. "Are you ready for the Full Moon Gala? I was just thinking about you."

My heart felt like it was being squeezed in a vise. Rosalie. Always Rosalie. His childhood friend, the woman he believed was his true mate, even though the Moon Goddess had screamed my name to his soul.

I stared out the window, watching the world blur through the rain and my own unshed tears. He continued to talk to her, his words weaving a picture of a life I was supposed to have. A life of galas, of shared smiles, of being seen.

When he finally ended the call, the ice returned, colder than before.