Olivia POV

The days following the Gala dissolved into a feverish haze of darkness and pain.

They say the rejection of a Fated Mate kills the weaker wolves. Since I couldn't even shift, the entire Pack had placed their bets on my death. I lay in my bed, staring at the ceiling, feeling the hollow, aching cavern in my chest where my heart used to be.

It didn't kill me. But it irrevocably changed me.

When the fever finally broke, I sat up. The room was deafeningly quiet. The sun was shining through the window, which felt like a personal insult.

I moved slowly, my limbs leaden and uncooperative. I walked to my desk and opened the bottom drawer. The jersey. The pen. The charcoal drawing of the black wolf.

I didn't cry. I had no tears left to shed.

I found an old wooden crate in the corner of my closet. One by one, I placed the items inside. I didn't handle them with reverence anymore. I handled them with the caution one reserves for hazardous waste—toxic remnants of a life that no longer existed.

I picked up the drawing. For a moment, I remembered the golden eyes I had sketched with such devotion. Now, all I saw was the monster who had looked at me with pure hatred.

I dropped it into the box and nailed the lid shut.

"Olivia?"

The door creaked open. It was Elder Martha, the Pack Healer. She was a kind Omega who had known my mother. She held a bowl of soup, her hands trembling slightly.

"You're awake," she said, relief washing over her lined face. "We thought... the Alpha's punishment..."

"I'm fine, Martha," I said. My voice sounded raspy, foreign to my own ears.

"Your father tried to come," she whispered, setting the soup down on the nightstand. "Marcus... Alpha Marcus has forbidden him. He says you are in disgrace."

"I know."

"Why didn't you explain?" she asked gently.

I looked at her, my eyes dry. "Would he have listened?"

She looked down, unable to meet my gaze. We both knew the answer. An Alpha does not listen to a Runt. Especially not when a beautiful Beta is whispering in his ear.

*

Three days later, I was in the garden behind the Elder's quarters. I needed air. I was kneeling in the dirt, pulling weeds with a ferocity that startled me.

"You're up."

I froze. The scent of cedar hit me, but it was dull now. Muted. Broken.

I didn't stand. I didn't bow. I just kept pulling weeds.

Marcus walked into my peripheral vision. He looked tired, though he tried to mask it.

"I didn't expect to see you... recovering so quickly," he said. His tone was stiff. "The Gala... it was unfortunate. Emotions were high."

*Unfortunate.* He called the destruction of my soul *unfortunate*.

"I am arranging a stipend for you," he continued, adjusting his cuffs. "Once you are well, you will leave the Pack. Go to the city. Live as a human. It’s for the best."

He was kicking me out. But he was dressing it up as charity.

"The Alpha's command," I said quietly, ripping a dandelion out by the root, "is absolute. How dare I disobey?"

He paused. He didn't like my tone. It lacked the fear he was used to.

"Your father is hosting a gathering at the lake house this weekend," he said abruptly. "Family only. He begged me to let you attend before you... transition out."

I felt a flicker of hope ignite in my chest. My dad.

"I agreed," Marcus said. "I will be escorting you."

I looked up then, dirt smudged on my cheek. "You?"

"People are talking, Olivia. They say I was too harsh. If I am seen escorting you, treating you with... benevolence... it will quiet the rumors."

It was a PR stunt.

"I'd rather stay here," I said.

He stepped closer, his shadow falling over me, blocking out the sun. "That wasn't a request."

He reached into his pocket and pulled out a small, black velvet box. He held it out to me.

"Take this."

I wiped my dirty hands on my dress and took the box. It was heavy. "What is this?"

"It's a diamond necklace. Custom made."

For a second, a stupid, traitorous part of my brain thought he was apologizing. That he realized his mistake.

"Give it to Izzy at the dinner," he said. "Ideally in front of your aunt. She’s been critical of Izzy. If you, the 'aggrieved party,' present it to her, it will legitimize Izzy's position."

The air left my lungs as if he had punched me. He wanted me to bless the woman who framed me. He wanted me to hand over a gift I could never afford to the woman sleeping in the bed that fate had designed for me.

I looked at the box. I wanted to throw it in his face.

But I was a Runt. And he was the Alpha.

"As you wish, Alpha," I said.

*

The dinner was a nightmare.

My father looked aged by ten years. He hugged me so tight I thought my ribs would crack, but he couldn't say anything. Not with Marcus watching.

Izzy sat at the head of the table, next to Marcus. She wore white, looking every bit the innocent Luna. She didn't smell like him. There was no Mate Bond. But she touched him constantly—a hand on his arm, a whisper in his ear.

And Marcus... he was devoted. He filled her glass. He cut her steak.

"Izzy, you must try the tart," my Aunt Sarah said, her voice tight. She looked at me with pity, then back at the happy couple. "It’s a family recipe."

"Oh, Marcus knows I hate cherries," Izzy giggled.

"Of course," Marcus said, signaling a server. "Bring her the chocolate mousse."

I looked down at my plate. Marcus knew Izzy hated cherries. But he had knocked my chopsticks off the table five minutes ago and hadn't even noticed. He didn't know I was allergic to shellfish, which was currently sitting on my plate. If I took a bite, my throat would close up, and I doubted he would even look away from Izzy to notice me dying.

"Oh, Olivia has something for you, darling," Marcus announced, turning his cold gaze on me.

The table went silent.

I stood up. My legs shook. I walked around the table, the velvet box burning a hole in my hand.

I stopped beside Izzy. She looked up at me, her eyes dancing with triumph.

"Congratulations," I said. My voice was dead.

She opened the box and gasped. "Oh, Marcus! It’s stunning!"

She leaned over and kissed him. A deep, wet kiss that made my aunt look away.

"You see?" Marcus said to the table, his hand resting possessively on Izzy's back. "Even Olivia supports us. The Pack is united."

I walked back to my seat. As I sat down, I looked at Marcus. He wasn't looking at me. He was looking at Izzy, watching the diamonds sparkle against her neck.

He didn't see me. He never had.

And in that moment, the last tiny thread of hope that had survived the rejection finally snapped.

I wasn't just rejected. I was erased.

Olivia POV

The dinner felt like an eternity, dragging its claws through the night. Wine flowed like water, and for the first time in his life, I saw Marcus losing his iron grip on control. He usually kept a clear head, a sign of his legendary discipline. But tonight, with Izzy draped over him like a trophy, he was knocking back glass after glass of red wine as if trying to drown something inside him.

By the time the guests began to filter out, Marcus was swaying on his feet.

"Get him to his room," Izzy snapped at a guard, then flicked her gaze at me. "You. Help them. I need to say goodbye to the guests."

I didn't argue. I just wanted this night to end.

I took Marcus's other arm. He was heavy, his body heat radiating through his suit like a furnace. The scent of him—cedar and rain—was soured by alcohol, but it still made my traitorous instincts flare.

We hauled him up the stairs to the guest suite. The guard dumped him on the bed and left immediately, eager to get away from the unpredictable drunk Alpha.

I turned to leave, but a hand shot out and clamped around my wrist.

"Don't go..."

I froze. Marcus pulled me down. He was strong, even in his stupor. I fell onto the edge of the bed.

He blinked, his golden eyes unfocused and swimming. He reached up and touched my cheek. His thumb traced my jawline.

"Izzy..." he whispered.

I went rigid. "I'm not Izzy."

"My Izzy," he slurred, ignoring me. "I waited so long... so long to find you again."

Ice flooded my veins. "Again?"

"I hate hiding it," he mumbled, closing his eyes. "Hate pretending... with her."

"With who?" I whispered. My heart was hammering against my ribs like a trapped bird.

"The Runt," he groaned. "Olivia."

I felt like I had been punched in the gut. "What about Olivia?"

"She looks like you," Marcus murmured, a sick smile spreading across his face. "Her eyes... her nose. Just like you, Izzy. That's why I kept her around. A placeholder."

I stopped breathing.

Placeholder.

"But I had to punish her," he continued, his voice dropping to a dark growl. "She thought she was my Mate. Stupid thing. Only you... always you."

He rolled over, burying his face in the pillow. "We'll name the baby Izzy... or Marcus... doesn't matter. As long as the Runt is gone."

Then, silence. He passed out.

I sat there, frozen. The silence in the room was deafening.

It wasn't just a rejection. It wasn't just about strength or bloodlines.

He had used me. He had watched me grow up, watched me worship him, and he had tolerated it only because I looked like the woman he actually wanted. I was a doll. A substitute. A shadow.

I stood up. My legs felt surprisingly steady. The pain that had been consuming me for days suddenly vanished, replaced by a cold, hard clarity.

I wasn't sad anymore. I was furious.

I walked out of the room. As I passed the study, I heard voices. The door was cracked open.

"You told him too much," a female voice hissed. Izzy.

"He's drunk, he won't remember," a guard replied.

"He better not," Izzy said. "If he remembers admitting that he’s been obsessed with me since we were teenagers, it ruins the narrative. We are Fated, remember? That’s the story."

"And the girl?"

"Olivia?" Izzy laughed. It was a cruel, sharp sound. "She’s broken. She’ll leave, or she’ll die. Either way, she’s not a threat. She thinks it's the Mate Bond causing her pain. She doesn't realize Marcus has been playing her for years."

I didn't stay to hear the rest.

I went to my room. I didn't pack clothes. I didn't pack money.

I grabbed the wooden crate from the closet.

I walked out to the fire pit in the backyard. The embers from the party were still glowing orange in the darkness.

I opened the crate. I took out the jersey. The pen. The dried flowers he had once handed me absentmindedly.

I threw them onto the coals.

Then I took the drawing. The masterpiece of my devotion. The black wolf with the golden eyes.

"I, Olivia Hayes," I whispered to the night air, "reject you, Marcus Thorne."

I tossed the drawing into the fire. The paper curled, the charcoal wolf turning to ash before disintegrating completely.

I watched it burn until there was nothing left.

I went to my father's study. He was awake, sitting by the window in the dark. He looked at me, and he saw the change. The girl who had walked into the room was gone.

"I'm leaving, Dad," I said.

He didn't argue. He didn't even look surprised. He stood up and went to his safe with a heavy resignation. He pulled out a thick envelope and a set of keys.

"There's a cabin," he said, his voice shaking. "In Montana. It’s off the grid. No Pack jurisdiction. Take my truck."

He handed me the keys. His hands were warm, but trembling.

"Don't tell me where you're going," he said, tears spilling over. "If Marcus uses the Alpha Command on me... I can't betray you if I don't know."

I hugged him. "I love you, Dad."

"Run, baby," he whispered, holding me tight. "Run and be free."

I left the note on his desk. Just one line.

*Dad, I have never wanted to be free more than I do right now.*

I climbed into the truck. As I drove away from the Moonstone Pack, I didn't look back. The bond in my chest was dead. The love was dead.

But as the tires hit the highway, I felt something stir deep inside my gut. Not the weak, pathetic whimper of a Runt.

It was a growl.

Olivia POV:

I managed to survive for three days.

I was hiding in a dilapidated motel on the outskirts of the territory, gathering supplies before the long drive to Montana. I thought I was safe. I thought I was invisible.

But you can never really run from an Alpha.

I was loading the last box into the truck when darkness descended. A rough burlap bag was thrown over my head. Calloused hands grabbed me, fingers digging into my bruising flesh.

I smelled the distinct, rotten stench of Rogues—wolves without a Pack, feral and dangerous.

I fought, but I was weak. A needle pricked the tender skin of my neck, and the world went black.

When I woke up, I was hanging by my wrists.

My shoulders screamed in agony, the joints stretched to their breaking point. I was suspended from a rusty beam in an abandoned factory. The air smelled of mold, stagnant water, and dried blood.

"Look who's awake."

I blinked, trying to focus through the haze of the drug. A Rogue with a scarred face stood in front of me. But he wasn't alone.

Tied to a chair next to me was Izzy.

She looked perfect, of course. Her hair was barely tousled. She was crying, but it looked practiced, like a scene from a bad movie.

"Olivia!" she sobbed. "Oh god, they took us both!"

The heavy metal door banged open.

Marcus burst in.

He looked frantic. His eyes were wild, scanning the room until they landed on... Izzy.

"Izzy!" he roared, his Alpha power shaking the dust from the rafters.

"Marcus!" she screamed. "Save me! Save our baby!"

Marcus froze. "Baby?"

"I'm pregnant!" she wailed. "Please, don't let them hurt our pup!"

It was a lie. I knew it. I could smell the deceit on her like cheap, acrid perfume. There was no second heartbeat thrumming inside her.

The Rogue leader stepped forward, holding a detonator in one hand and a jagged knife in the other.

"Welcome, Alpha," he sneered. "Simple game. You have the cash?"

Marcus threw a duffel bag on the floor. "Take it. Let them go."

"Ah, not so fast," the Rogue laughed, his voice grating. "I only have one key for these chains. And the building is rigged to blow in two minutes."

He pointed the knife at us.

"You choose, Alpha. The Runt? Or your pregnant Mate?"

Marcus didn't even look at me.

Not once.

He didn't hesitate. He didn't struggle.

"Izzy," he said, his voice breathless. "Give me the key for Izzy."

The Rogue tossed him the key. Marcus rushed to her, unlocking the chains with trembling hands. He scooped her up into his arms, burying his face in her neck.

"I've got you," he murmured. "I've got you."

"What about her?" the Rogue asked, pointing at me with the tip of his blade.

Marcus looked at me then. For the first time.

His eyes were void of emotion. "She's just a Runt."

Just a Runt.

The Rogue laughed. "Right you are."

He walked over to me. Marcus was already turning away, carrying Izzy toward the exit.

"Hey!" the Rogue shouted.

Marcus paused, glancing back.

The Rogue winked at me. "Sorry, sweetheart. Nothing personal."

He cut the rope holding my wrists.

I dropped. But not to the floor.

I fell backward, through a gaping hole in the floorboards.

Below me, the dark, freezing waters of the industrial river churned.

I hit the water with a bone-jarring smack. The cold was instantaneous. It paralyzed my lungs, stealing my breath. The current grabbed me, dragging me down into the blackness.

I looked up. Through the distorted surface of the water, I saw Marcus walking away. He held Izzy tight. He didn't look back.

I was dying.

My lungs burned. My heart slowed. The darkness crept in from the edges of my vision.

*He left me. He chose her lie over my life.*

The sorrow washed away, replaced by a pure, white-hot rage.

*No.*

The voice didn't come from my head. It came from my blood.

*NO!*

A power, ancient and terrifying, exploded in my chest. It wasn't the weak spark I had felt before. It was a supernova.

My bones snapped.

Usually, shifting takes minutes. It is a slow, grinding agony.

This was instant.

My body tore apart and reknit in a fraction of a second. Fur sprouted, thick and waterproof. My senses expanded a thousand times over. I could smell the fish in the deep, the rust on the metal, the fear of the Rogue above.

I kicked my legs, but they weren't legs anymore. They were powerful paws.

I burst through the surface of the water, gasping for air.

I wasn't a Runt.

I looked at my reflection in a patch of calm water.

I was massive. Bigger than any female wolf I had ever seen. My fur was pure, blinding white, glowing faintly in the gloom. My eyes were violet—the color of the Moon Goddess herself.

I was a White Wolf. The rarest, most powerful shifter in existence.

I paddled to the muddy bank and hauled myself out. I shook my coat, sending icy spray everywhere.

I looked toward the factory. I could hear Marcus's car speeding away.

A low growl rumbled in my chest. It wasn't a sound of despair. It was a promise.

I turned my back on the Moonstone Pack. I turned my back on Marcus Thorne.

I ran.

My paws ate up the ground. I was faster than the wind. I was a ghost in the forest.

I was free.