Rejected by Fate After His Betrayal

Everyone says I am Alpha Ford Dixon’s cherished mate, his heart’s desire. Yet, with just a single word from his beloved Luna Carmen Robinson, I was branded a shameless plagiarist accused of stealing her song.

To ease Carmen’s mind, he exiled me to a remote village in the Swiss countryside, supposedly to recuperate. Three years passed with no word from him.

I endured broken legs, lost a child, and finally, I surrendered and pleaded, “Please, Alpha. I won’t compete with her for you anymore. Just let me return to my pack.”

But when he saw the scars on my body, the usually composed and dignified Alpha of the Silver Moon Pack lost his mind completely.

* * *

After three years in Little Hollow, Alpha Ford finally remembered me and sent his Beta, Rayden Larson, to bring me back.

When Rayden found me, I was carrying a bucket of scraps to feed the pigs. He covered his nose, frowning in disgust.

“I heard you turned down everything Alpha Ford offered you. So it’s true?” he sneered, his tone laced with disdain. “And now you’re putting on a show because you know he’ll come personally to get you? Hurry up and get changed. You’re filthy and reeking, you pitiful Omega.”

After three years of cruel treatment under the watchful eye of Elouise Perez, the cruel Omega tasked with supervising my exile, I had long since lost my former spirit. I nodded meekly, terrified that any delay in my response would bring the wrath of a shovel aimed straight at me.

Rayden looked puzzled, as if he wanted to say more, but in the end, he kept silent. He opened the car door, and when Alpha Ford saw me, his expression darkened immediately.

“You’re wearing this?” he demanded, incredulity and anger mixed in his voice. “I sent you here for some peace and reflection, and you come back looking like this? After all this time, you still want to play games with me? Where are the things I sent you? Why aren’t you using them? Still holding a grudge against me?”

I was utterly confused, having no idea what he was talking about. In the first year, he had traveled over nine hours to ask me just one question: “Are you going to apologize to Luna Carmen or not? You’re just a musician. How could you have created such a song? It’s clearly plagiarism!” he accused.

I had stubbornly denied it. I had done nothing wrong; it wasn’t me who plagiarized. Why should I apologize to her? He didn’t come in the second year. Instead, he sent someone, and I had groveled at that person’s feet, begging for forgiveness. “Tell Alpha Ford I was wrong. I’ll apologize to her,” I pleaded. “Beg him to let me come back.”

The person had promised, but there was no further response. I had lost all hope by then. Now, I instinctively clutched the thin clothes on my body—the best I had. To prevent me from