The cold punched into me like a fist as I pushed through the service exit. The storm outside raged harder than I remembered—it soaked through my uniform in seconds, plastering the thin fabric to my skin. My shoes slipped on the slick pavement as I ran, but I didn’t stop.

I couldn’t.

His scent still clung to my wrist.

Mine.

That single word had shattered me—filled me, then ripped me in two.

I ducked into an alley, my breath tearing from my lungs in broken sobs. My wolf was howling inside me, clawing at my ribs, desperate to go back. To return to our mate. To complete what had been started.

“No,” I gasped, pressing my back against the cold brick wall. “He rejected us. Did you forget that part?”

But Luna didn’t understand rejection. She didn’t understand shame. All she knew was that she had found her other half—and then been denied.

My fingers trembled as I touched the place where Rafael had gripped me. The memory of his warmth lingered, infuriatingly vivid. His scent. His voice. The way his eyes had widened in disbelief.

And then the way they’d gone cold.

Just an Omega.

The words rang louder than the storm.

I slid down the wall and curled into myself. My bones ached. My skin burned. The shift was coming, uninvited and violent. Omegas didn’t shift easily—not unless we were pushed to the edge.

I was past the edge now.

My fingers spasmed, claws threatening to emerge. My teeth ached. My vision blurred.

“Not now,” I whispered, shaking. “Someone will see—”

A shadow moved near the alley entrance.

I froze.

“Hey—are you okay?”

The voice was male, cautious but not threatening. A man stepped into view, umbrella in one hand, the other raised in a peace offering. He looked... ordinary. Human. Warm brown eyes. Dark hair soaked from the rain. A concerned furrow between his brows.

“I’m fine,” I said too quickly.

“You don’t look fine,” he replied, crouching a few feet away. “You’re shaking.”

“I need... to be alone.”

He hesitated, then set the umbrella beside me and shrugged off his coat. “At least take this. You’re freezing.”

I didn’t want his help. But the coat was warm. Dry. I pulled it around my shoulders and tried not to whimper as another wave of pain rolled through me.

“I’m Ethan,” he said, not moving closer. “I was at the gala. I saw you run out.”

Of course he had.

God.

He’d seen it.

“All those people,” I croaked. “He said I was his mate—and then he said I was nothing.”

Ethan’s expression didn’t change. He didn’t flinch or offer empty sympathy.

He just said, “That must have hurt like hell.”

That simple truth undid me more than pity ever could. I let out a strangled laugh, then a sob. I couldn’t tell which it was.

“Come on,” he said gently. “Let me take you somewhere dry. You can scream into a pillow if you want.”

I didn’t know why I trusted him. Maybe because he hadn’t tried to touch me. Maybe because he hadn’t looked at me with disgust or worse—pity.

Maybe because my wolf, as broken as she was, didn’t sense danger in him.

I let him help me up.

—

Ethan’s apartment was small but warm, the scent of chamomile and lemon balm hanging in the air. Books lined the walls. A couch groaned under the weight of too many throw blankets. It felt like a safe place.

He handed me a cup of tea and sat across from me, legs crossed, not pushing, not prying.

“I’m not going to ask everything that happened,” he said. “But if you want to talk, I’ll listen.”

I stared into the tea.

“He said I was his mate,” I whispered. “And I felt it. I really—Luna, my wolf—she lit up like a fire inside me. And then he looked at me like I was dirt.”

Ethan nodded slowly. “And that kind of contradiction messes with your head. Makes you question your worth.”

“I already knew my worth,” I muttered. “Omega. Bottom of the pack. Unwanted. Powerless.”

“That’s not what I meant,” he said gently. “I meant your worth as a person. As someone who didn’t deserve to be discarded.”

I looked up sharply. “You’re not a wolf. How do you know anything about what I deserve?”

“I’m not a wolf,” he agreed. “But I’ve worked with plenty. My sister was one.”

Something shifted in his expression—pain, old and carefully buried.

“She was an Omega too,” he said after a moment. “And her first shift... didn’t go well. The pack labeled her broken. Defective. She didn’t survive it.”

My throat tightened.

“I’m sorry,” I said.

He nodded. “So when I see someone like you—someone who’s been hurt by that same system—I don’t need to be a wolf to understand.”

We sat in silence for a while. I sipped the tea. My hands stopped shaking.

“Thank you,” I said finally. “I don’t even know why I’m here.”

“Because you needed a place to fall apart,” he said simply. “And I had a couch.”

—

I stayed that night. And the next. Ethan never pushed. Never asked questions I wasn’t ready to answer. He just made sure I had food, tea, and a place to breathe.

But the mate bond didn’t let me rest.

Every night, I dreamed of Rafael.

Not the cruel Alpha who turned his back on me.

But the one whose eyes had found mine across the crowd. Whose voice had cracked when he whispered, “You’re mine.”

That version haunted me more than the real one ever could.

And in the quiet hours before dawn, I hated how much I still wanted him.

Even after everything.

Even knowing he’d never choose me.

The bell above the café door jingled softly as I wiped down the espresso machine. It had been two weeks since the gala. Two weeks since Rafael Wolfhart looked me in the eyes, claimed me as his mate—and then discarded me like I was nothing more than spilled wine on a marble floor.

I hadn’t seen him since.

But I felt him. Every. Damn. Day.

The mate bond was supposed to be a gift. A sacred thread woven by the Moon Goddess herself. But for me, it was a wound that never healed. A quiet ache that pulsed under my skin, just beneath my ribs. A reminder of what could have been—what should have been—if he hadn’t rejected me the moment our bond awakened.

“Earth to Sofia,” Tanya called from across the counter, snapping her fingers in front of my face. “You’re burning the milk.”

I blinked, startled, and quickly pulled the steaming wand away from the metal pitcher. “Sorry.”

“That’s the third time today.” She narrowed her eyes. “Is this about a guy?”

I gave a hollow laugh. “Something like that.”

Tanya raised a brow but didn’t push. She was kind, in her own blunt way, and had taken me under her wing since I started at Brewstone Café. Here, I was just another barista. No one cared that I was Omega. No one whispered behind my back. No one looked at me like I was less.

And yet, I couldn’t escape the thread.

Every time the door opened, my heart stuttered. I caught the scent of pine and winter more than once—only to realize it wasn’t him. A stranger’s cologne. A gust of wind through pine trees. A dream lingering too long after waking.

But never Rafael.

Not really.

Only the ghost of him.

Ethan came in every morning, like clockwork. His presence was a steady balm, his quiet concern never overbearing. He ordered the same drink—black coffee, one sugar—and sat in the same corner booth with a psychology journal or a worn paperback.

Today, he lingered longer than usual.

“Any better?” he asked as I brought over his order.

“Define ‘better,’” I muttered, sliding the cup onto the table and sinking into the seat across from him.

“The dreams?” he prompted.

I didn’t answer. I didn’t have to. The dark circles under my eyes spoke for themselves.

“They’re getting worse,” I admitted after a moment. “Last night, I dreamed he was standing at the foot of my bed. Just... watching me. His eyes were glowing.”

“And how did you feel?”

I looked away. “Safe. Angry. Wanting.”

Ethan nodded, not judging. “The bond is still active.”

“I know.” I pressed a hand to my chest. “It’s like I can’t breathe unless I know where he is.”

“Have you considered that he might be feeling the same thing?”

“I don’t care.”

It was a lie. We both knew it.

“Do you want to talk about him?”

“No.”

But I did.

I thought about him constantly.

About the way he’d looked at me when the bond snapped into place—like I was air after drowning. About the way his voice had broken when he whispered, “You’re mine.” About the way his hand had trembled when he touched me.

And then... about the way he’d let go.

That was the part that hurt the most.

He’d felt it too. I knew he had. And still, he chose politics. Pride. Veronica Lancaster.

“I hate him,” I said, but my voice cracked.

Ethan didn’t reply. He just sipped his coffee and let the silence stretch.

—

That night, I couldn’t sleep.

Again.

The full moon was still a few days away, but the pull between us was building. I could feel it tightening with every hour, like a rope wrapped around my spine. My skin burned. My wolf stirred.

Luna had been quiet since the gala—wounded, like me. But lately, she was growing restless.

He’s calling, she whispered. He can’t ignore us forever.

I pressed a pillow over my face and screamed.

When I finally drifted off, exhaustion pulling me under like a tide, the dream came again.

I was standing in the gallery, wearing a gown I’d never owned. The chandeliers shimmered above me, and Rafael stood at the far end of the room, waiting. His eyes found mine across the crowd.

He held out his hand.

And this time, I didn’t run.

I walked to him.

When our fingertips touched, the entire room vanished. There was only us. Only heat and breath and the bond singing between our skin.

“You’re mine,” he whispered again.

But this time, I answered.

“I never stopped being.”

I woke with tears on my cheeks and an ache in my chest that no amount of tea or therapy could soothe.

—

Three days later, the full moon rose.

And everything fell apart.

The pain came first—sharp, burning, tearing. I collapsed on the floor of my apartment, clutching my abdomen as if I could hold myself together by sheer will alone.

Luna screamed inside me.

She wanted him.

Needed him.

The bond demanded completion.

Ethan found me like that—half-shifted, trembling, unable to stand.

He didn’t ask questions. Just knelt beside me and offered his presence like an anchor.

“This will pass,” he said gently, brushing the hair from my face. “You’re strong enough. Just hold on.”

I wanted to believe him.

But I could feel Rafael through the bond—restless, pacing, his wolf thrashing beneath his skin. Ares was howling for Luna. And she was howling back.

“We’re going to die like this,” I whispered, half-delirious. “Torn in half.”

“No,” Ethan said firmly. “You’re going to survive this. And then you’re going to decide who you want to be on the other side.”

I closed my eyes, exhausted.

But even in sleep, I dreamed of him.

And I knew—no matter how far I ran, no matter how long I stayed away—part of me would always ache for the wolf who had once said I was his.