Rejected Mate's Scarlet Redemption

My mate, Alpha Boston Cruz of the Silver Fang Pack, was obsessively clean.

In the three years of our bond, I was never able to get close to him; I couldn’t even hand him a paintbrush without wrapping it in paper first. Even then, he’d take it and meticulously sanitize it with disinfectant. If I accidentally touched his fingertips, he’d punish me by making me kneel naked in the sun, claiming it was to disinfect me and purify my filthy body.

Things changed one day when I tripped over a paint bucket and fell into his arms. I was surprised when he didn’t make me kneel outside, and I naively thought he was finally willing to accept me. But the next day, my nude sketches were up for auction at an underground exhibition.

Some wealthy rogues inquired about the price with obvious ill intentions. Alpha Boston stood expressionless, spraying alcohol over himself.

"A filthy Omega, riddled with germs, dares to touch the clothes Beta Clare gave me?" he sneered, his Alpha tone cutting through the room like a whip.

"Alpha Boston’s been trying to preserve those precious gifts from Beta Clare. We can’t let someone like Selena defile them. She needs to know her place!" one of the Deltas chimed in, his voice dripping with mockery.

Alpha Boston chuckled softly, "Maybe that would be a reward for her."

"That kind of shameless Omega probably wishes she could strut around naked all the time!" another Delta added, his laughter echoing in the room.

The pack’s laughter rose like a storm, piercing my ears.

"If Beta Clare weren’t so disgusted by her that she felt sick every time she saw her, Alpha Boston wouldn’t need to clean himself constantly."

"This auction might fulfill her exhibitionist fantasies. She should be grateful to Alpha Boston!"

Each mocking word pierced my heart, suffocating me until I almost fainted. For three years, whenever I tried to approach my mate, he would shout at me to keep my distance, always pushing me away.

He claimed I had a scent that made him sick. Even though I couldn’t detect it, I believed him and obsessively tried different perfumes to mask any odor. But with excessive use, I developed painful rashes, my skin drying and cracking all over.

Alpha Boston accused me of carrying a disease, isolating me to a separate room, forbidding me from moving freely in the pack house. I once asked him to explain the supposed scent, but he never did. I even went to the pack healer for a complete check-up, and the reports showed no issues.

Despite showing him the results, Alpha Boston refused to believe them, saying, "Just because the healer didn’t find anything doesn’t mean you’re healthy."

I’d long felt insecure because of this, avoiding close contact with others for fear of making them uncomfortable. I never realized that all these inhumane treatments weren’t due to any scent on me—but because Beta Clare didn’t like me and used any excuse to mistreat