Rejected by the Alpha, Moon Ceremony Betrayal

The ceremonial preparation hall buzzed with excited energy as seamstresses fluttered around me like devoted butterflies. The annual Moon Ceremony was only three days away, and the pristine white dress they'd crafted for me hung like a cloud of silk and moonbeams against the ornate wooden frame.

"Miss Bella, you look absolutely radiant," gushed Mrs. Henderson, the head seamstress, as she adjusted the delicate silver embroidery along the bodice. "Alpha Anakin will be so proud to have you as his Luna."

I forced a smile, though something twisted uncomfortably in my chest. Lyra, my wolf, had been restless all morning, pacing anxiously in the back of my mind. *Something feels wrong,* she whispered, but I pushed her concerns aside. This was supposed to be one of the happiest moments of my life—the final preparations before I would officially become Luna of the Silvercrest Pack.

The heavy oak doors suddenly swung open, and Hope James glided in like she owned the place. Her honey-blonde hair cascaded perfectly over her shoulders, and she clutched a bottle of deep red wine against her chest, her lips curved in what I'd learned to recognize as her signature fake smile.

"Bella!" she exclaimed, her voice dripping with manufactured sweetness. "I just had to come see you in your gorgeous dress. And I brought wine to toast your upcoming Luna ceremony!"

Every instinct I possessed screamed danger. Hope had never shown me genuine kindness in the three years I'd lived in Silvercrest territory. But the seamstresses beamed at her apparent thoughtfulness, and I couldn't voice my suspicions without seeming paranoid.

"That's very thoughtful of you, Hope," I managed, though Lyra snarled in the depths of my mind.

Hope moved closer, the wine bottle swaying slightly in her grip. "I'm just so excited for you, Bella. You've worked so hard to be the perfect mate for our Alpha." Her green eyes glittered with something that made my skin crawl. "Here, let me just get a better look at this stunning dress."

She stepped forward, and everything seemed to happen in slow motion. Her foot caught on absolutely nothing, her body lurching toward me with theatrical clumsiness. The wine bottle flew from her hands, its contents arcing through the air like a crimson curse.

The red wine hit my dress with a splash that echoed through the sudden silence. Dark stains bloomed across the pristine white fabric like blood on snow, spreading and seeping into every delicate thread. The silver embroidery disappeared beneath the growing crimson tide.

"Oh no!" Hope gasped, pressing her hands to her mouth in mock horror. "Bella, I'm so sorry! It was an accident—I must have tripped!"

But I had seen the calculated gleam in her eyes the moment before she "fell." I had seen the deliberate way she'd angled the bottle. This was no accident.

"You did that on purpose," I said, my voice shaking with barely contained rage. The seamstresses gasped, their faces pale with shock.

Hope's eyes immediately filled with crocodile