When My Alpha Chose Her

The crystal chandelier cast a warm, heavy glow over the long mahogany table. It was the welcome banquet for Reese Hudson. She was the daughter of the Silverfang Beta, returning from a five-year pack exchange in Europe. But to everyone in this room, she was something much more important. She was the fated mate who had rejected our Alpha, Tristan Cole, when they were eighteen.

I sat beside Tristan, right where I always sat. I wore a dark silk dress he had picked out for me. My neck, as always, was bare. Five years of sharing his bed, running his pack house, and smiling at his side through every tedious political dinner, and I still didn't have his mark. I used to touch the smooth skin of my neck in the mirror and tell myself he just needed time. I told myself the bond we built was real, and the mark was only a formality.

Then, the heavy oak doors of the dining hall swung open.

Reese walked in.

Tristan stopped mid-sentence. His wine glass froze halfway to his mouth. Beside me, I felt the sudden, crushing weight of his Alpha aura surge into the room. It was thick, possessive, and suffocating. But it wasn't directed at me. I turned to look at him and saw his eyes flashing a bright, predatory gold. His inner wolf was clawing at the surface, desperate and howling.

The entire dining hall went dead silent. You could hear a pin drop on the marble floor.

A heavy floral scent rolled into the room, cutting through the smell of roasted meat and expensive wine. White jasmine. It was thick, intoxicating, and completely undeniable.

Tristan didn't even look at me. His eyes were locked on Reese as she walked down the steps. He leaned forward slightly, his chest rising with a sharp, ragged breath.

"It was always her scent," he murmured.

His voice was low and rough. He spoke as if he were completely alone in the room, totally unguarded. "The one I've been chasing."

The words hit me like a physical blow to the stomach. But I didn't gasp. I didn't flinch. I just sat there as the scattered puzzle pieces of the last five years suddenly clicked into a brutal, humiliating picture.

My own scent carried faint, underlying notes of jasmine. I had always thought he just liked my perfume. Whenever he buried his face in my neck, I thought he was looking for me. Now I understood. He was never looking for me. Five years of devotion, five years of waiting for a mark that was never going to come. I wasn't his mate. I was a scent-shadow. I was just a placeholder kept warm in his bed until the real thing decided to come back.

I placed my linen napkin on the table. My hands didn't shake.

"Excuse me," I said quietly.

Tristan didn't even blink. He didn't notice me speak. He didn't notice me stand up. He didn't notice me walk