After My Groom Rejected Me at the Altar

The crystal chandelier above me cast fractured rainbows across the polished marble floor of the Franklin estate, but all I could focus on was the heavy leather portfolio in my hands. It contained six months of my life—market research, donor analysis, and a complete restructuring plan for the Franklin Foundation. It was my dowry, in a sense. Proof that while my blood might be "new money," my brain was an asset Zachary couldn't afford to lose.

"Zachary," I said, stepping up to him. The gala was in full swing, the air thick with the scent of expensive champagne and the underlying, metallic tang of shifting wolves suppressing their aura. "I finished the proposal for the Foundation. It's ready for the board meeting tomorrow."

Zachary Franklin, the future Alpha of this decaying but proud pack, turned slowly. He looked impeccable in his tuxedo, his jawline sharp, his eyes cool. But he didn't reach for the portfolio. Instead, he signaled to someone behind me.

"Shelby," he called out, his voice smooth as silk. "Come here, darling."

Shelby Dunn, his "cousin"—a term used so loosely in their pack it made my skin crawl—glided over. She wore a dress that cost more than most omegas made in a year, a shimmering silver thing that clung to her like a second skin. She smiled at me, a tight, predatory expression that didn't reach her eyes.

"Valerie," she purred. "Always working. You really should learn to relax."

Zachary took the portfolio from my hands. I felt a spark of pride, waiting for him to acknowledge the work. Instead, he handed it directly to Shelby without even opening the cover.

"Shelby will be handling the presentation," Zachary said, his tone dismissive. "And the Foundation."

The noise of the party seemed to drop away. "Excuse me?" I managed, my voice steady despite the sudden coldness in my chest. "That was our agreement, Zachary. When we mate, I take over the philanthropic arm. I know the numbers better than anyone."

Zachary chuckled, a low, condescending sound that drew the attention of the nearby elders. "Numbers are for accountants, Valerie. The Franklin Foundation requires... grace. Heritage. Shelby has the breeding to understand the nuances of our image. A common wolf wouldn't understand."

He didn't just dismiss my work; he dismissed *me*. My wolf, usually calm, bristled beneath my skin, growling at the insult. But I had spent three years suppressing her, learning to be the perfect, silent doll Zachary wanted. So, I swallowed the rage. I nodded, once, stiffly. "I see."

Shelby hugged the portfolio to her chest like a prize. "Don't worry, Val. I'll make sure to mention you helped with the paperwork."

***

Two days later, the morning sun felt like a mockery. Today was the Mating Ceremony. The day I would officially bind my soul to a man who thought I was nothing more than a glorified accountant.

My bedroom in the Weaver Pack house was chaos. Stylists from the Franklin pack—sent by Zachary's mother—were pulling at