Penelope's POV

I shouldn't be here.

The thought echoes in my mind as I huddle deeper into my worn jacket, pressing myself against the cold brick wall outside the Frostfang Ice Stadium. My physics textbook digs into my ribs where I clutch it, but nothing can protect me from what I'm about to witness.

"Just a quick peek," I whisper to myself, the same lie I've been telling for months. "Just to see him skate."

Lyra, my wolf, whimpers softly in my mind. This isn't healthy, Penelope. You're torturing yourself.

But I can't stop. Timothy Blackthorn is like staring at the sun; he is dangerous, impossible, and utterly irresistible. For three years, I've watched him from the shadows of lecture halls and cafeteria corners, memorizing the way he moves, the sound of his laugh, the casual confidence that radiates from him.

The service entrance I've been using to sneak peeks at practice sessions is slightly ajar tonight. Through the gap, I can see into the equipment room where players sometimes change before heading home. My heart hammers against my ribs as I lean closer, knowing I should leave, knowing this is wrong, but unable to resist.

That's when I see them.

Timothy has Madison Sawyer pressed against the equipment lockers, her perfectly manicured hands tangled in his dark hair. She's everything I'm not: is tall, confident, from a respected Beta family. Her designer clothes are scattered across the floor.

"You're so good to me, Timothy," Madison purrs, her voice breathy with desire. "Better than any of those other boys could ever be."

He chuckles, low and rough. "You know exactly what you're doing, don't you?"

My stomach plummets to my feet. I should look away. I should run. But I'm frozen, watching the boy I've secretly loved for years worship another girl's body like she's a goddess.

"Tell me I'm the only one," Madison demands, arching against him. "Tell me I'm special."

Timothy's response is muffled against her neck, but I catch enough. "You're incredible, Madison. Absolutely incredible."

The textbook slips from my numb fingers, hitting the concrete with a sharp crack that echoes through the tunnel. Both heads snap toward the sound, and for one horrifying second, Timothy's storm-blue eyes meet mine through the crack in the door.

Recognition flashes across his features, not the kind I've dreamed about, but the cold awareness that the weird Omega girl has been watching him. His expression shifts from surprise to something worse: pity mixed with disgust.

I run. My sneakers slap against the pavement as I flee through the back parking lot, tears already burning my eyes. Behind me, I hear Madison's tinkling laugh and Timothy's mumbled explanation probably calling me a stalker or a freak. The words I imagine he's saying cut deeper than any object could.

Pathetic little Omega.

Delusional nobody.

As if someone like her could ever interest me.

By the time I reach the bus stop, I'm sobbing so hard I can barely see. The other passengers give me a wide berth—nobody wants to deal with a crying Omega having a breakdown. My phone buzzes with a text from Mom asking when I'll be home, and I realize I forgot my textbook. Twelve hours of work shifts to afford that stupid book, and now it's abandoned in a tunnel where Timothy Blackthorn just crushed my heart into powder.

The bus ride home stretches endlessly through Frost Haven's darkened streets. Through the fogged windows, I watch the glowing mansions of the Alpha district give way to the cramped apartments of the lower ranks. My reflection stares back ordinary brown hair, unremarkable hazel eyes, skin too pale from spending all my free time studying instead of socializing. No wonder he looked at me with such disdain.

Lyra tries to comfort me. You're worthy of love, Penelope. Someday.

Someday what? I snap internally. Someday a prince will notice the nobody Omega? This isn't a fairy tale.

When I finally stumble through our apartment door, Mom looks up from her mountain of paperwork. She works three jobs to keep us afloat since Dad's disgrace, and the exhaustion shows in every line of her face.

"Sweetheart, you look upset," she says, setting down her pen. "What happened?"

I can't tell her the truth that I've been secretly stalking the Alpha heir like some lovesick puppy, that I witnessed him with another girl, that my heart feels like it's been fed through a wood chipper.

Instead, I mumble something about a difficult test and escape to my tiny bedroom.

The walls are covered with newspaper clippings of Timothy's hockey victories, carefully cut from sports sections and arranged like shrines to my own stupidity. His face grins down at me from dozens of photos scoring goals, lifting trophies, celebrating with teammates who actually matter.

I should tear them down. Should grow up, accept reality, focus on my studies instead of impossible dreams. But my hands shake as I trace the edge of one photo, remembering the way his eyes looked right through me tonight.

"I'm such an idiot," I whisper to my reflection in the dark window. "Such a pathetic, invisible idiot."

My phone buzzes with a notification someone tagged me in a social media post. My blood turns to ice as I open the app and see what awaits me.

It's a video from tonight, shot by someone in the stadium tunnel. The caption reads: "Creepy Omega stalker caught spying on hockey gods! #StalklerAlert #OmegaProblems #Pathetic"

The footage is grainy but clear enough. There I am, pressed against the wall like a lovesick fool, watching Timothy and Madison through that crack in the door. The camera captures my devastated expression when they notice me, my clumsy flight, even the textbook I dropped in my panic.

The comments are already pouring in:

"OMG so embarrassing!"

"Someone needs to teach Omegas their place."

"Timothy should get a restraining order."

"Second-hand cringe! Poor girl has no clue."

My phone slips from my trembling fingers as the full horror hits me. By tomorrow morning, the entire pack will know. They'll know I've been watching him, that I'm the pathetic Omega with delusions of grandeur. They'll laugh about the girl who thought she had a chance with their golden boy.

"Penelope?" Mom's voice calls through my door. "I heard crying. Are you."

She stops speaking when she sees my phone screen, still displaying the cruel video. Her face crumples with secondhand embarrassment.

"Oh, sweetheart," she whispers, sinking onto my bed. "What have you done?"

The disappointment in her voice cuts deeper than any online comment. "I'm sorry, Mom. I'm so sorry."

"We can't afford this kind of attention," she says quietly, running tired hands through her graying hair. "Not with our family's reputation already destroyed. This will make things worse for all of us."

I curl up on my narrow bed, pulling my pillow over my head as if it can muffle the shame burning through my veins. Three years of careful invisibility, ruined in one moment of weakness. Three years of protecting my secret, destroyed by a dropped textbook and someone's cruel phone camera.

But even as shame consumes me, a terrible hope blooms in my chest. Maybe the video will force Timothy to notice me. Maybe he'll realize we're meant to be together. Maybe this is the Moon Goddess's way of bringing us closer.

Lyra whimpers in my mind, trying to offer comfort, but even my wolf feels the crushing weight of our humiliation. Still, deep down, she whispers dangerous things about destiny and bonds that can't be broken.

Outside my window, snow begins to fall. Tomorrow I'll have to face school, face the stares and whispers and pointed fingers. Tomorrow I'll have to pretend I don't care that my deepest secret has become everyone's entertainment.

But tonight, I let myself break. Tonight, I cry for the girl who believed in fairy tales and the woman who's learning that some dreams are just elaborate forms of self-torture.

The worst part isn't the embarrassment or even the public humiliation waiting for me tomorrow.

The worst part is that even after everything after seeing him with Madison, after being exposed as a stalker, after becoming the pack's latest joke I still believe he might choose me.

And that delusion makes me the most pathetic creature in the entire territory.

Timothy's POV

"Did you see that creepy little Omega last night?" Madison's voice cuts through the steam in my private shower stall, in a mocking tone. She's perched on the bench outside, filing her nails like she owns the place. "The one who was watching us?" she adds with a cruel laugh.

I grunt noncommittally, scrubbing harder than necessary. Truth is, I can't get Penelope Hale's face out of my head the way her eyes went wide with shock, then crumpled with devastation. Something about her expression bothers me more than it should.

"I posted the video," Madison continues, her voice dripping with satisfaction as she examines her manicure. "It's already got three thousand views." She pauses, letting the number sink in. "Poor thing probably doesn't realize how obvious she's been."

"You posted what?" The words come out harsher than intended, my jaw clenching.

"The stalker video." She sounds pleased with herself, nail file clicking against her teeth. "Someone needed to put her in her place," she says with a dismissive wave. "These Omegas get delusions sometimes, thinking they can aim above their station."

Kael snarls in my mind, but I push him down. Madison's right—it's better this way. Better that Penelope learns the reality of our world before she gets hurt worse. Still, the image of her tear-streaked face as she ran makes my chest tight.

"Timothy?" Madison's voice turns pouty, bottom lip jutting out. "You're not actually feeling sorry for her, are you?"

"Of course not," I snap, turning off the water with more force than necessary. "Just thinking about tonight's game."

But that's a lie. What I'm really thinking about is the way Penelope looked at me—not with the calculating interest of pack daughters hoping to climb the social ladder, but with something pure and desperate that made Kael sit up and take notice.

I wrap a towel around my waist and step out, forcing my trademark grin. Madison immediately gravitates toward me like a magnet, all curves and expensive perfume.

"Good," she purrs, running her hands over my chest with practiced moves. "Because I have plans for us after you destroy Bloodfang tonight."

I let her kiss me, let her hands wander, but my mind keeps drifting to a pair of hazel eyes and the strangled sob I heard echoing through that tunnel.

********

The crowd's roar washes over me as I step onto the ice, but tonight Kael won't shut up. My wolf keeps insisting there's something important I'm missing, some scent or presence that should matter. I shake it off—probably just pre-game nerves. This championship means everything to Dad, to the pack, to my future.

I spot Madison in the VIP section, giving me her sultry smile. She'll be perfect for unwinding after we win no strings attached as usual, no emotions, just the physical release I need. Kael growls his disapproval, but he'll get over it. We always do.

"Blackthorn!" Coach Thorn's bark cuts through my thoughts. "Get your head in the game," he shouts from behind the bench. "Bloodfang's looking hungry tonight."

He's right. Across the ice, Liam Vaughn is warming up with his team, and the bastard's got a murderous eyes. We've been rivals since junior league, but lately there's been something different about our competition. It has gotten personal and vicious.

"What's eating you, man?" Ethan skates up beside me, concern written across his features as he adjusts his helmet. "You've been weird all day."

"Nothing." I slam my stick against the boards, harder than intended. "Just ready to wipe that smirk off Vaughn's face."

Ethan doesn't buy it. He's known me too long, seen too many of my moods. "This about that Omega girl?" he asks quietly, glancing around to make sure no one else hears. "Madison's been bragging about some video all day."

"Drop it, Cross." My voice carries a warning edge.

"Look, I get it," Ethan continues, ignoring my tone. "You had to shut her down. Can't have pack members thinking"

"I said drop it." The words come out with enough with an Alpha command to make Ethan step back, hands raised in surrender.

But he's hit too close to home. Because the truth is, I didn't just shut Penelope down I destroyed her. And for what? To protect my image? To keep Dad happy? To maintain some stupid social order that puts people in boxes they can't escape?

The puck drops and instinct takes over. This is my element, where nothing matters except speed, power, and winning. I barrel down the ice, shouldering past two Bloodfang defenders like they're made of paper. Their crowd boos, but our fans scream my name.

"BLACKTHORN! BLACKTHORN! BLACKTHORN!"

The chant should fill me with pride, but tonight it feels hollow. Like I'm performing in a play where I've forgotten my lines.

Vaughn appears out of nowhere, body-checking me into the boards with brutal force. Stars explode behind my eyes, but I stay upright out of pure stubbornness.

"Heard you broke some poor girl's heart," he snarls, close enough that only I can hear, his breath hot against my ear. "Real classy, Blackthorn."

"Stay out of my business, Vaughn." I shove him back, but he doesn't budge.

"Hard to do when your business makes headlines." He circles me like a predator his stick ready for another strike. "Maybe it's time someone taught you about consequences," he says with a cold smile.

Something in his tone makes Kael go absolutely feral. My wolf wants to shift right here on the ice, pack laws be damned. The urge is so strong I have to grip my stick harder to keep human form.

"You threatening me?" I bare my teeth in what might pass for a grin to the cameras.

Liam's grin is all teeth but patient. "Just stating facts," he says, backing away slowly. "What goes around comes around, Alpha boy."

The referee blows his whistle before I can respond, but Vaughn's words echo in my head. What does he know about Penelope? Why does he care what happens to some random Omega?

The game becomes a blur of violence disguised as sport. Every check feels personal, every goal feels like a declaration of war. By the third period, both teams are playing angry, and the refs are losing control.

I score the winning goal with thirty seconds left, but the victory feels empty. The crowd erupts, Dad beams from his private box, and Madison blows me kisses from the stands. Everything's exactly as it should be.

******

In the locker room afterward, champagne flows and teammates celebrate like we've won the Stanley Cup. I play my part grinning, trash-talking, letting Madison drape herself over me for photos. But inside, Kael is pacing like a caged animal.

"Earth back Timothy." Ethan waves a hand in front of my face, concerned creeping back into his voice. "You're spacing out again."

"Just tired," I lie, forcing another smile.

"Right." He doesn't believe me, but he lets it slide with a shake of his head. "Madison's waiting outside," he says, nodding toward the door. "Something about those plans she mentioned?"

I look at Madison through the glass partition, I see her perfect smile and calculated poses for her social media followers. She's beautiful, willing, and completely safe exactly my type. No emotional complications, no messy feelings, no risk of getting hurt.

Madison appears in the doorway, all legs and cleavage exposed in that sultry dress. "Ready to celebrate the champion?" she asks, striking a pose that's clearly meant to drive me wild.

I paste on my best smile, the one that's graced magazine covers and made panties drop across three states. "Always ready for you, babe."

But as she leads me toward her car, her heels clicking against the concrete, Kael's words echo: You'll regret this Timothy.

Penelope's POV

Walking into school Monday morning feels like walking into a firing squad.

The whispers start the moment I step through the front doors. Groups of students cluster around phones, pointing and giggling as they watch the video of my humiliation on repeat. I keep my head down, clutching my replacement textbook, and pray I can make it to first period without completely falling apart.

"Hey, Stalker Girl!" someone calls out, and the hallway erupts in laughter.

My cheeks burn as I hurry past, but there's nowhere to hide. The video is everywhere playing on phones, shared in group chats, turned into memes with cruel captions. In every version, I look exactly like what I am: a desperate, pathetic Omega who doesn't know her place.

"Penelope, wait up!" Isla Quinn's voice stops me just outside my physics classroom, she is a new student. She transferred this semester from some pack up north, and for reasons I can't understand, she's decided we're friends.

"I saw the video," she says bluntly, falling into step beside me. "That was brutal."

I want to deny it, make excuses, pretend it's not as bad as it looks. Instead, my eyes fill with tears. "Everyone thinks I'm a freak."

"Everyone thinks lots of stupid things," Isla replies, tossing her auburn hair. "Doesn't make them true."

*****

We settle into our seats just as Professor Williams calls for attention, but I can feel eyes on me from every direction. When Timothy walks in thirty seconds late because star athletes can do whatever they want the room goes silent.

He doesn't look at me. Doesn't acknowledge my existence in any way. He just slides into his usual seat in the front row, in his usual all casual confidence and designer clothes, while I shrink deeper into my chair in the back.

"Today we're discussing quantum entanglement," Professor Williams announces, and I almost laugh at the irony. The universe's idea of a joke learning about impossible connections while sitting ten feet from the boy who'll never see me as more than an embarrassment.

Timothy raises his hand. "Professor, what happens when two particles are entangled but one is fundamentally incompatible with the other?"

My heart stops, the question feels loaded as if it was directed at me. Around me, students shift uncomfortably.

"Well," Professor Williams adjusts his glasses, "that would be to break the entanglement so that the particles would become separate entities again, with no connection."

"And the incompatible particle?" Timothy presses, still not looking my direction. "What happens to it?"

"It returns to its original state," the professor replies. "Alone."

The word hits me like a punch. Alone. That's what Timothy is telling me without saying it directly that whatever impossible connection I imagined between us is exactly that. Imaginary.

Lyra whimpers in my mind. He doesn't mean it. Something's wrong I can feel his wolf reaching for us.

But I don't trust Lyra's instincts anymore. Hope has made me delusional enough.

Class drags on forever. Every second feels like torture, knowing Timothy is so close but might as well be on another planet. When the bell finally rings, students flood toward the door, chattering about weekend plans and upcoming parties I will never be invited to.

I'm shoving my books into my bag when a shadow falls across my desk.

"Penelope."

Timothy's voice sends shivers down my spine. I look up slowly, afraid of what I will see in those storm-blue eyes. He's even more beautiful up close sharp jawline, perfect features, the kind of bone structure that belongs on magazine covers.

"We need to talk," he says quietly, glancing around to make sure no one's listening.

My heart leaps foolishly. Maybe I was wrong. Maybe the physics lecture wasn't a message. Maybe

"Meet me at Moonlight Lake after the ceremony tomorrow night," he continues, his voice businesslike. "And come alone."

Then he's gone, leaving me staring after him with my mouth hanging open like an idiot.

The rest of the day passes in a blur of humiliating encounters. Someone has printed screenshots from the video and taped them to my locker. A group of Alpha daughters corners me in the bathroom, making snide comments about knowing my place and reaching too high.By lunch, I'm hiding in the library, too mortified to face the cafeteria.

Isla finds me there, slumped over my untouched sandwich.

"Rough day?" she asks, dropping into the chair beside me.

I gesture weakly at my phone, where notifications keep pouring in. The video has spread beyond our school now, shared in pack group chats and social networks. Comments range from mockingly sympathetic to downright cruel.

"Look," Isla leans closer, lowering her voice. "I don't know what's going on between you and Timothy Blackthorn, but."

"Nothing," I interrupt quickly, my voice cracking. "There's nothing going on. That's the whole problem."

"Are you sure about that?" She studies my face carefully, tilting her head. "Because the way he was looking at you in physics class didn't seem like nothing."

My heart leaps foolishly. "You think so? You really think he was looking at me?"

Isla's expression turns concerned. "Penelope, I'm not sure that's."

"He was, wasn't he?" I lean forward desperately, grabbing her arm. "I felt it too. There's something between us, something real. The Moon Goddess doesn't make mistakes."

"The Moon Goddess?" Isla's voice grows gentle, like she's talking to someone fragile. "Honey, you don't even know if you're mates."

"But we are," I insist, my words tumbling out in a rush. "I can feel it. Lyra can feel it. When he looked at me in the tunnel, there was recognition in his eyes like felt the bond too."

Isla opens her mouth to respond, but I barrel on, lost in my desperate fantasy.

"He wants to meet me tomorrow night," I blurt out, then immediately regret it. "At Moonlight Lake after the Moon Ceremony."

Isla's eyes widen with alarm. "Penelope, that's that's where wolves go to discuss serious pack business. Or."

"Or what?" I ask breathlessly, hope blooming in my chest.

She hesitates, biting her lip. "Or to reject mate bonds."

The words should crush me, but instead I shake my head frantically. "No, you don't understand. If he wanted to reject me, he would have done it already. This is different. This is him choosing a private place where we can talk honestly."

"Penelope" Isla starts, but I'm already lost in my delusion.

"Maybe he has to be with Madison publicly because of pack politics," I continue, my voice growing stronger with false conviction. "But privately, he knows we're meant to be. That's why he looked so conflicted in physics class."

"I'm such an idiot," I whisper, burying my face in my hands. "I thought maybe.God, I actually thought maybe he felt something too."

"Hey." Isla's voice turns fierce. "Don't you dare talk about yourself like that. If Timothy Blackthorn is too blind to see how amazing you are, that's his loss."

But I can't accept the comfort she's offering. Not when the evidence is overwhelming. Not when every logical part of my brain is screaming that I've been living in a fantasy world.

The final bell rings, and students begin filtering out for the day. I watch them go laughing in groups of friends, casual couples, people who belong somewhere.

"I should go," I tell Isla, gathering my things. "Mom's working late, and I need to help with dinner."

"Want me to walk with you?" She offers genuine concern showing her features.

"Thanks, but I'm okay." Another lie to add to my collection. "I'll see you tomorrow."

The walk home takes me past Timothy's neighborhood, a detour I usually avoid because it only feeds my pathetic obsession. But tonight, I can't seem to help myself. Maybe I need to practice what I will say to him tomorrow night. Maybe I need to prepare for the most important conversation of my life.

I stop across the street from the Blackthorn mansion, hidden behind a cluster of pine trees. Through the enormous windows, I can see glimpses of a life I'll never touch chandeliers, expensive furniture, the kind of luxury that comes from generations of Alpha blood and political power.

"Okay," I whisper to myself, my breath fogging in the cold air. "Tomorrow night, I will tell him how I really feel."

I clear my throat and try again, louder. "Timothy, I know this is complicated, but I think the Moon Goddess has a plan for us."

A jogger passes by, giving me a strange look for talking to myself. I duck deeper into the shadows, but continue my pathetic rehearsal.

"I don't care about pack politics," I practice, gesturing to empty air. "What we have is bigger than rank or status. You feel it too, don't you? The connection?"

Even as I say the words, part of me knows how insane they sound. But hope is a disease, and I'm terminal ill.

My stomach suddenly cramps violently, doubling me over. The stress, the heartbreak, the crushing weight of tomorrow's meeting it's all catching up with me at once. I barely make it behind the trees before I'm retching, my body rejecting everything as surely as Timothy will reject me.

When the nausea passes, I'm left shaking and weak, clutching a pine trunk for support. This is what love does to someone like me it destroys me from the inside out.

Timothy's black sports car sits in the circular driveway, and I wonder if Madison is inside with him right now. Probably planning their future together while laughing about the pathetic Omega who thought she had a chance.

My phone buzzes with another notification. Someone has created a meme using a screenshot from the video my face photoshopped onto a picture of a homeless dog peering through a restaurant window. The caption reads: "When you're an Omega but think you deserve Alpha attention."

The comments are even worse:

"Omegas these days have no shame."

"Someone should teach her some respect."

"Timothy should press charges for harassment."

I delete the app before I can read more, but the damage is done. This isn't just school gossip anymore it's pack-wide humiliation. By tomorrow night, every wolf in Frostfang territory will know about my shameful obsession.

Standing in the shadow of Timothy's perfect life, clutching my secondhand jacket against the cold, I practice my speech one more time.

"I know you're supposed to be with Madison," I whisper to his darkened windows, "but what if the Moon Goddess has other plans? What if we're meant to change everything?"