Claimed Then Cast Aside

Rain traced silver trails down the arched windows of the Windsor Gallery, blurring the lines between the glowing chandeliers inside and the storm-soaked London night. The ballroom shimmered with wealth and status—designer gowns, cufflinks that cost more than my annual wages, and wolves who walked like kings.

I stood at the edge of it all, wrapped in a borrowed black server’s uniform that fit too snug across my shoulders and too loose around my waist. Invisibility was part of the job, but tonight it felt like erasure.

“Eyes down, Sofia. No smiling, no staring. You’re Omega. Don’t forget where you stand.”

Mrs. Winters didn’t bother to whisper. She didn’t need to. Her words were a blade I’d grown used to—sharp, swift, and always aimed to remind me that I didn’t belong.

I nodded, biting back the urge to say something reckless. My fingers tightened around the champagne tray. The flutes clinked softly—one sharp move and I’d be fired, and with it would go my place in this city.

The irony wasn’t lost on me. Years ago, my grandfather, Elias Moreau, had stood in a room like this—not as a servant, but as a Gamma, a voice on the council. He’d dared to suggest that Omegas deserved more than quiet servitude. For that, he’d been cast out by the Wolfhart family. Tonight, I served drinks to the heir of that same dynasty.

I saw him before anyone announced him. You couldn’t miss Rafael Wolfhart.

He stepped onto the stage like he owned the sky. Tall. Composed. Every line of his tailored tuxedo sculpted to accentuate the power in his frame. His dark hair was brushed back, not a strand out of place, his features sharp as obsidian—cheekbones, jawline, mouth. Cold perfection, the kind that made people drop their gazes without realizing they’d done it.

And beside him stood Veronica Lancaster. The Luna-to-be. Her gown shimmered like starlight, and her honey-blonde hair fell in soft waves down her back. She smiled with icy confidence, her arm looped delicately through Rafael’s as if she had already been crowned.

I turned away, focusing on the tray in my hands, the path between tight-laced guests, the rhythm of inhale, step, offer, smile. I kept my gaze low, but I couldn’t block out the voices.

“Tonight’s announcement will seal the alliance with the Lancaster pack.”

“She’s perfect for him. Regal, clever. Not just a pretty face.”

“Unlike that girl serving drinks—what’s her name again?”

I moved on.

The microphone buzzed softly as Rafael stepped forward. His voice, low and commanding, cut through the murmurs.

“Honored guests. Tonight is more than a celebration of charity. It is a celebration of legacy, of duty, and of the future we shape together.”

Applause rippled through the crowd. I risked a glance up.

And that was when it happened.

His eyes met mine.

A single heartbeat. That’s all it lasted.

But in that moment, the air shifted. The scent of pine and winter struck me like thunder. My knees buckled slightly, and I gripped the tray to steady myself. The glasses trembled.

His voice faltered.

Rafael blinked, visibly shaken, his words hanging unfinished in the air. Slowly, deliberately, he turned his head. Not toward Veronica. Not toward his family.

Toward me.

My breath caught.

His gaze pinned me in place. The room around us faded. The murmurs, the soft clinking of glasses, the press of a hundred bodies—all gone. There was only him. And me. And something ancient and electric sparking between us.

His nostrils flared.

Recognition.

The Mate Bond.

I felt it slam into me like a tidal wave—raw, absolute, undeniable. My wolf stirred violently beneath my skin, howling in recognition. In longing.

He took a step forward. Veronica clutched his arm, confused. “Rafael?”

He didn’t answer.

He moved through the crowd with terrifying focus. Wolves parted instinctively, bowing their heads without knowing why.

He stopped in front of me.

Close. Too close.

I could feel the heat of him, the pull of him. His scent wrapped around me—clean forest air, cold steel, something that felt like home.

“You,” he said, voice hoarse, barely audible. “You are…”

He reached out, fingers brushing my wrist, sending a jolt of heat through my skin. My pulse leapt beneath his touch.

“You’re mine.”

The words echoed through me like a sacred vow.

My lips parted, not to speak, but to breathe. To feel. To exist in that moment where everything changed.

Then his expression shifted.

Hardened.

The warmth vanished.

He dropped my wrist like it had burned him.

“No,” he said, voice louder now. “You’re just an Omega. Don’t get ideas.”

The tray slipped from my fingers.

Glass shattered.

Gasps rippled from every corner of the room.

He turned away.

Returned to the stage.

Took Veronica’s hand.

Raised it high.

“As I was saying,” he announced smoothly, as if nothing had happened, “I am honored to announce our engagement.”

The crowd erupted in applause.

But I couldn’t hear it.

All I could hear were the words he’d just thrown at me.

Just an Omega.

Just nothing.

I stumbled backward, heart racing, throat tight. A waiter steadied me. I didn’t thank him. I couldn’t.

I ran.

Out the side door. Into the rain. Into the dark.

Because better cold water soak through my skin than stay under the fire of his gaze another second.

Behind me, something primal still tugged at me. A thread spun of instinct and destiny, now frayed at both ends.

The Mate Bond had been awakened.

And Rafael Wolfhart had just tried to bury it alive.