Rejection Beneath the Champagne Tower

Three years ago, Cynthia and I stood before the Moon Goddess's altar, our souls bound by sacred tokens. But the moment before we could seal our marriage vows, she publicly changed her mind—claiming my "brother" Kevin had been kind to her, and she needed to "repay" that kindness. Three years of bearing him a pure-blood heir.

Tonight marked the end of those three years—the homecoming banquet where she would supposedly honor her promise to marry me.

The city's elite had gathered to witness her fulfilling that vow.

Alpha Carter, patriarch of the Carter family, sat at the head table with his wife. Kevin stood beside him like a victor savoring his triumph.

And I—the "nobody Alpha" they believed would starve without their protection—had been positioned in the most humiliating spot possible, waiting to be degraded once more.

Crystal chandeliers bathed the grand hall in light bright as daylight.

Cynthia stood center stage in a silver-white gown.

She lifted her chin with practiced regret: "Three years ago, I promised three years of... service. Now I must inform you—regrettably, I have not yet conceived a pure-blood heir."

Snickers rippled through the crowd. I heard every cruel whisper, yet didn't so much as twitch an eyebrow.

She paused, then raised her voice like she was reciting sacred law: "Therefore, Ethan, you must wait another three years. For the Carter family's glory, for our noble bloodline—you should pledge your continued devotion to me."

Countless eyes bore into me, expecting me to swallow this humiliation as I always had.

I simply stood at the crowd's edge, my collar perfectly straight.

Anger was a waste of body heat.

"Nothing to say?" She stepped closer with a smile. "Or have you forgotten how desperately you once begged for my hand?"

I remained silent.

Kevin ascended the stage, pressing a hand to his chest in mock guilt: "It's all my fault. My body was damaged, my fertility compromised... Cynthia has had to mate with me day and night just to increase our chances of conception."

He turned to me, his smile gentle as a blade: "I'm sorry for the inconvenience. Can you wait just a little longer?"

The hall erupted in louder laughter.

Contempt, pity, entertainment—they interpreted my silence as surrender.

Alpha Carter rose from the head table like an old wolf draped in formal wear.

His voice silenced the room: "Ethan. Your silence is an insult to the Carter family."

He approached step by measured step: "Kneel. Show gratitude. Then swear to wait another three years for my daughter."

Cynthia's mother chimed in, her lips curled in disgust: "Does he even deserve her? A subordinate Alpha who thinks binding with Cynthia gives him status? Kevin is the only man capable of giving this family pure-blood heirs."

Every word reminded me what I was in their eyes—not a person, but a tool.

Finally, I smiled.

Barely.

Like watching people celebrate around a bonfire, unaware they were about to fall into an abyss.

I swept my gaze across the stage: Cynthia's arrogance, Kevin's false piety, Alpha Carter's tyrannical authority, her mother's disdain.

Then I reached into my jacket.

They expected me to produce a pledge of loyalty, or perhaps some groveling gift.

Instead, I withdrew a silver-black token—etched with moon patterns and wolf fangs, symbol of sacred mate bonds.

The hall fell silent.

Satisfaction flickered in Cynthia's eyes: Finally accepting his fate.

I flicked my wrist.

The token arced through the air, striking the champagne tower at the hall's center.

Crash—splash!

Glass collapsed in cascading layers, champagne flowing like golden blood across marble floors.

The token sank into the foam like discarded trash.

Chaos erupted.

Cynthia's expression hardened before she forced a smile, like watching a clown's tantrum: "Pathetic rage? Ethan, what exactly can you do without the Carter family? Become a street vagrant?"

She pointed imperiously: "Now kneel. Pick up that token. Apologize."

I didn't move.

I simply raised my eyes, voice calm: "Are you finished with this performance?"

Alpha Carter's gaze turned murderous: "You dare defy your Alpha's command?"

I retrieved the token from the champagne foam, thumb tracing the moon pattern like wiping away a stain from my past.

Cynthia sneered: "Drop the dramatics. You can't bear to let go, can you? You're just hoping I'll coddle you—"

I cut her off, my tone clinical in its cruelty: "I came here tonight for one purpose."

I gripped the token, meeting her gaze.

In that instant, moonlight seemed to pierce through nonexistent skylights. Invisible threads of power thrummed in the air. Deep in my bloodstream, our mate bond whimpered like dying chains.

I spoke in the ancient, absolute words of rejection:

"I reject the mate bond."

Sever. Destroy.

My soul echoed with the sound of tearing—according to werewolf law, a lower Alpha's unilateral rejection would trigger backlash: vomiting blood, shattered bones, mental collapse, ultimately crawling back to beg forgiveness.

The assembled elite smiled with sadistic anticipation.

Kevin whispered to Cynthia: "Watch. He won't last three seconds."

Cynthia crossed her arms, looking down at me: "When you're writhing in agony, you'll crawl back begging forgiveness. Then maybe I'll consider... letting you continue waiting."

One second.

Two seconds.

Three seconds.

My breathing remained steady. My heartbeat, normal.

The backlash crashed against ancient bloodlines within me like waves against bedrock—not even a ripple disturbed my composure.

I stood unharmed.

Laughter died as if strangled.

Deathly silence pressed against eardrums. Someone instinctively stepped back, dropping their glass—the crash rang out like gunfire.

Cynthia's smile froze, pupils contracting: "Impossible... How could you—"

Alpha Carter's face turned ashen.

Rejection without backlash had only one explanation—bloodline authority high enough to ignore the Moon Goddess's punishment.

But in their perception, I was merely a dog to be kicked aside at will.

Their worldview shattered.

Alpha Carter's fury exploded in a bestial roar.

Pure Alpha pressure crashed down like a sledgehammer, collapsing the air itself. Tablecloths whipped upward, candles extinguished, wine glasses overturned.

Lower-ranked werewolves instantly prostrated themselves, faces pressed to marble, moaning in agony. Some vomited blood.

"KNEEL!" His voice thundered. "You dare humiliate the Carter family? I'll crush your knees to powder!"

That mental force targeted my joints like iron pincers.

The entire hall held its breath, waiting for the sound of breaking bones.

I merely adjusted my cuffs, like straightening an ill-fitting garment.

I released no counter-pressure.

No retaliation.

No submission.

That crushing force—enough to render Betas unconscious—fell upon me like wind caressing stone. It didn't even stir my clothes.

I stepped forward, crushing glass shards underfoot, walking toward the exit.

Each step steady as ascending a throne's stairs.

The prostrated elite looked up with newfound terror: I was walking unaffected through an Alpha's dominance display.

Kevin's face went paper-white, lips trembling as he stammered: "You're... you're bluffing! You're nothing but—"

Before finishing, the pressure's residual force drove him to his knees in disgrace.

Cynthia shrieked after me: "Ethan! Walk through that door and I'll destroy you across all of North America! I'll use our family's influence to—blacklist you completely!"

I didn't look back.

I pushed open the doors. Cold wind rushed in, slicing through the hall's corruption like a blade.

Outside, my phone vibrated.

An encrypted number appeared on the screen.

I answered flatly: "Speak."

My secretary's voice carried reverent fervor: "Your Majesty, the Supreme Luna has arrived at the airport. Your son and daughter accompanied her—they'll reach your estate in twenty minutes."

I listened with the detachment of hearing a schedule update.

The secretary paused, then lowered his voice: "Additionally... in that Carter banquet hall, you didn't even use one percent of your power."

"Should I unseal your first bloodline restriction now?"

I stood in darkness, gazing back at that brilliantly lit mansion where people still believed the word "blacklist" could determine my fate.

My voice was ice: "Not yet."

"Let them keep dancing."

The response was immediate: "As you command, my King."