Damon Peter wanted me to go to a community college with him instead of a top werewolf academy.

He claimed his wolf was still unstable and that he'd be ostracized at a competitive, top-tier academy.

He was my fated mate, so of course, I agreed.

But right before I hit submit, I overheard a conversation that shattered everything.

One of his companions drawled, his tone laced with amusement, "I've got to hand it to you, Damon. Faking your wolf's instability just to trick her into going with you?"

Another voice hesitated. "But you're fated mates. Are you really going to play her like that? Just for..."

Damon cut him off, his voice flippant. "So what? She's spent her whole life waiting to be my mate. I'm sick of it. This way is kinder, don't you think?"

I didn't push open the door. I simply turned and walked away.

Back in my room, I reopened the application form.

I changed my school of choice back to my original one—the academy my parents had insisted on years ago.

I am the sole heiress of the Celine Pack. I was always meant to be trained at a top academy.

And without me, Damon, an Alpha's illegitimate son, would never inherit his father's title.

One day, he would realize he hadn't just thrown me away—he had thrown away his entire future.

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1

The moment I heard that conversation, my inner wolf roared with fury.

For a solid month, Damon Peter had been feeding me the same sob story: how the students at the top academy would mock him, isolate him during training, and humiliate him.

The reason? At eighteen, his wolf was still unstable and frequently spiraled out of his control.

It made him a laughingstock.

I believed every word.

Time and again, I had shielded him from every taunt, every shove.

But I couldn't always be there to protect him.

When he was finally on the verge of breaking, I was the one who suggested something drastic.

"Go to a community college," I'd told him. "There are other wolves like you there. You'll be under far less pressure."

That day, he stood before me, drenched, after someone had doused him with a bucket of ice water laced with wolfsbane.

He was trembling all over as he reached for me.

"I can't face strangers at another school alone," he said, his voice hoarse.

We were fated mates, and I had always loved him with a fiery devotion.

So, I answered without a second thought.

"Don't worry, Damon," I promised softly. "If you go, I'll go with you."

Only now did I understand.

It was all a meticulously planned trap.

One of his friends chortled. "You faked your wolf's instability just to trick her into going to some second-rate community college with you?"

"The girl's completely devoted to you. Aren't you worried she'll see you as a coward?"

Damon's reply was immediate and laced with arrogance. "Her? Don't make me laugh."

"She'd take a bullet for me without a whimper. You really think she's ever going to give up on me?"

Someone mumbled uncertainly, "But she doesn't seem like the type you can just mess with."

Damon scoffed, utterly unconcerned. "Our school is full of heirs and wolves from top-tier bloodlines. Has she ever given any of them a second glance? She only has eyes for me."

Then, his tone shifted, dripping with undisguised irritation. "Honestly, her bloodline and status are suffocating."

He paused. "I'm doing this for Mila. I can only relax when I'm with her. Rosalie will just have to step aside."

All the pieces clicked into place.

Damon's "instability" had started right around the time he should have mastered his wolf—coincidentally, just two weeks after Mila Hayes transferred to our school.

But he never managed to rein it in, and that was when the so-called "ostracism" began.

"Damn, Damon, you move fast," another laughed, the sound sharp and mocking. "The new girl barely arrived and you've already got her wrapped around your finger."

Another voice chimed in, full of contempt. "She has that soft, fragile quality. The kind that makes you feel like a hero just for standing beside her."

Then, he sneered, "Not like Rosalie. She's always so untouchable. Too sharp, too proud. Sure, she's gorgeous, but she never makes a guy feel needed."

Their laughter grew louder.

Damon let them continue.

For a split second, I nearly shoved the door open, ready to confront him.

Why would you do this to me? Don't you feel a shred of guilt as they mock me like this?

Then, my mother's words echoed in my mind. Stop. The moment someone makes you question your own worth is the moment they forfeit the right to cause you pain.

I realized instantly that demanding answers wouldn't bring me peace; it would only grant him one final, satisfying victory.

So I turned my back on him for good.

As I walked away, my mind raced, replaying every moment with Damon.

What shattered me most was how he had twisted our sacred mate bond, making me believe his manipulation was love.

At the bonfire last week, he had pulled me into a secluded corner.

The firelight danced across our faces, and the air was thick with the scent of pine and simmering teenage hormones.

My wolf had awakened long ago, and the Moon Goddess had gifted him to me—my fated mate.

I had told myself there was no need to search; our love was preordained.

So when Damon's fingers traced my cheek with a suggestive touch, I finally asked the question I'd been holding back for years.

"Damon," I murmured, my heart hammering against my ribs, "what are we now?"

He smiled, a warm, indulgent expression, and pressed a promising kiss to my forehead. But his answer was a deliberate evasion.

"What else could we be?"

Cheers erupted from the party around us. Everyone was celebrating their bright futures.

A few days later, I learned just how foolish that question had been.

That vague assurance, then, was never about love. It was just a leash. A tool to ensure I would leave quietly, without a fight.

But he had made a fatal miscalculation.

He was the illegitimate son of the Peter Pack's Alpha. The Alpha tolerated him, even indulged him, but had never formally acknowledged him.

His entire status was built on fragile goodwill and empty promises.

And I was the sole heiress of the Celine Pack, raised from birth to lead it.

Perhaps because we were fated mates, he had mistakenly believed we were equals.

The truth was, we had never been on the same level.

Whether in lineage, bloodline, or ability, we were a mismatch.

My tears soaked the application, blurring the ink into an ugly smear.

I printed a new one.

When I reached the section for my choice of academy, I contacted my mother.

"Mom," I said, my voice steady, "about Apex Academy... which one was it again?"

I added calmly, "I'm going alone."

After I finished the new application, a knock sounded at my door.

I lived alone. My private villa was protected by a Celine bloodline ward, and only a select few could pass through it unhindered.

I opened the door to find Damon standing there.

"You didn't come to the farewell party," he said softly. "I was worried."

"I'm not going," I replied flatly. "I don't feel well."

It was then that I sensed a second presence.

Mila Hayes.

She stood half a step behind Damon. The moment our eyes met, her body tensed, her shoulders hunching as if bracing for the weight of my bloodline to crush her.

Damon noticed and instinctively pulled her into his arms, his own aura flaring protectively.

"Rosalie," he murmured, his tone laced with displeasure. "You're scaring Mila."

A cold void opened in my chest. "I've told you before. I don't like outsiders in my home."

Damon's brow furrowed. "Mila is not an outsider," he said firmly. "She came because she was concerned about you."

Before I could respond, Mila spoke, her voice trembling, her eyes already glistening with tears.

"I'm sorry," she whispered. "I know I'm not worthy of being around high-born wolves like you. I shouldn't have come."

She lowered her head, wringing her hands. "My parents sacrificed themselves in the border purges. That's the only reason I was granted special permission to be here. I know I'm different."

Damon's expression darkened as he glared at me. "Rosalie, Mila's parents died protecting this pack, and you have the nerve to bully her? You should be ashamed of yourself!"

Mila gently tugged his sleeve, her expression a mask of gentle forgiveness. "Damon, please don't fight," she whispered. "After all, you and Rosalie are fated mates. Someone like me could never compare to that bond."

"Enough," Damon said instantly, cupping her face with unmistakable tenderness. "You need to see your own worth."

His gaze snapped back to me, sharp and cold. "Mila isn't feeling well. I'm taking her home."

He paused, then added, "Make sure you get that application submitted."

I nodded.

After the door clicked shut, I stood for a moment before raising my wrist and pressing my thumb to the bloodline sensor on the doorframe.

The Celine ward flashed red.

Damon's access was purged from the ward.

He was right. I needed to reflect.

Reflect on how I ever fell for such a fraud.

The next morning, I took the new transfer application to the administration building.

The registrar stamped my documents.

Just as I turned to leave, someone stepped in front of me.

Damon. His brow was slightly furrowed, an expression that once would have triggered an instinct in me—an urge to soothe, to yield, to take responsibility for his discomfort.

Now, that instinct was dead.

"Rosalie," he said, his voice tight with annoyance, "did you do something to the ward on your house?"

He spoke as if nothing had changed between us. "I came back to check on you last night after I took Mila home," he continued. "I couldn't get in."

I cut him off. "Yes, I reset it."

He paused, his jaw tightening. He was irritated but not yet alarmed.

"Then update my access," he commanded. "It'll be easier for me to come take care of you."

"There's no need," I replied. "I won't be living there after graduation."

His gaze finally dropped to the folded papers in my hand.

"Oh. Right," he said dismissively. "I almost forgot. Don't worry, I'll come by tomorrow to get mine stamped."

The sight of us walking together had become a rarity since Mila Hayes arrived.

I closed my eyes, needing one final confirmation.

I asked softly, "What exactly are we to each other, Damon?"

He froze. For a split second, it looked like he might finally tell the truth.

"Rosalie, the truth is, I..."

"Damon."

Mila Hayes appeared behind him, her Omega scent carefully suppressed, soft and unobtrusive.

"Didn't you say you'd help me study today?" she asked gently. "I was waiting for you, but you disappeared."

She handed him a notebook. "I saw the tutoring plan you made for me a month ago," she added, "so I organized my notes to match."

Then she smiled, a little shy, a little thoughtful. "I hope you don't mind that I looked. I know I only got the chance to be here by special permission from the committee, and I don't want to waste it."

Her words were flawless.

"Of course I don't mind," Damon replied instantly.

He glanced at me as he spoke, a flicker of guilt crossing his face. But when he saw my stony lack of reaction, that guilt soured into unease.

I kept my expression neutral, even as bitterness coiled in my gut.

"You two talk," I said, turning to leave. "I'm going."

Only then did Mila look at me, feigning surprise. "Rosalie."

She hesitated, then said with practiced care, "Are you upset that Damon is helping me study?"

She lowered her eyes. "I don't have bloodline tutors or private teachers like you do. If I've overstepped, I'm so sorry."

There was no accusation. Only insinuation.

I ignored her. "Move."

Damon's restraint snapped. He seized my wrist, his claws digging in just enough to sting.

"Rosalie Celine," he said coldly. "Watch your tone."

He yanked me forward, forcing me to face Mila. "Apologize."

A cold calm settled over me.

Without a flicker of hesitation, my hand cracked across his face.

The sound was sharp and loud, echoing in the hallway.

The students around us froze, their heads whipping in our direction.

"Damon," I said calmly, meeting his stunned gaze without flinching. "You're the one who needs to apologize."

"Not to Mila Hayes," I continued flatly, "but to me. And to the sacred bond you defiled."

This time, his wolf didn't rise in fury.

It recoiled.

Damon stood there, stunned, as if something he had always taken for granted had just been ripped away.

Without a backward glance, I strode past him.

The hallway fell into a dead, shocked silence.

No one dared to move.