Chapter 3

Ripley's Point of View

The bass from the party thuds faintly behind the office walls, a steady, muffled rhythm pulsing through the Stormfang pack house like a heartbeat. But in here, behind the thick oak door and the scent of leather bound books, it is all tension and silence.

I stand with my arms crossed over my chest in front of the massive desk, my jaw tight, refusing to look away from the man seated behind it.

Alpha Darius Parker, my father, he stares at me with the cold intensity he is known for, silver streaks cutting through his dark hair, his shoulders square, his eyes sharp as blades.

“You are twenty years old, Ripley,” He says, his voice like gravel ground beneath boot heels. “And you are still acting like a damn pup.”

My fingers tighten around my bicep. But I keep my mouth shut for a beat too long, long enough to let the words hang there, heavy and sharp.

“I am not acting like a pup,” I finally say, keeping my tone even and lowering my arms to my sides. "I showed my face at the ceremony last week. I have trained every day, and I...”

“You showed up late,” My father snaps, cutting me off like a blade through rope. “You flirted with the Crescent girl in front of her Alpha. You did not speak to a single elder. You are not a child anymore, Ripley... you are the future Alpha. Start acting like it.”

I clench my teeth. My father’s words bite deep, but the worst part is the look on his face, not disappointment, not even anger. Just cold indifference. Like my existence is something to manage, not something to believe in.

“I am doing the best I can,” I mutter.

He just leans back in his chair with a low, humorless scoff. “Then maybe your best is not good enough.”

The silence that follows is like a slap.

I stand there, my fists curling slowly at my sides, my heart pounding with things I cannot say. Not here. Not to him.

He waves a hand in the air, already turning to a folder on his desk. “You’re dismissed. Go do whatever it is you do when you are not wasting your potential.”

I do not reply. I do not even nod my head or say goodbye.

I just turn and leave his office.

The door clicks shut behind me with a soft finality, and the noise of the party hits me immediately, loud, alive, careless. The complete opposite of what I just walked out of.

For a second, I just stand there in the hallway, breathing in the music, the warmth, the chaos. Then I shove my hands into my jacket pockets and head towards the back doors, towards the lights and bodies and noise.

If my father thinks I am wasting my potential…

Fine. Maybe tonight, I will waste it a little more.

The second I step out into the backyard, the noise hits like a wave. The music is thumping, people are laughing and all around me bodies are moving in rhythm under the glow of the string lights.

But none of it touches the storm in my chest.

I head straight for the drinks table, ignoring the people who nod their heads or call my name. I grab the first cup I see, something fruity and too damn sweet and down it in one gulp. It barely burns. Barely scratches the surface.

It is not enough.

Not nearly enough to wash away the weight of my father's words.

"Maybe your best is not good enough."

I clench my jaw, eyes scanning the table again until I find something stronger, a half full bottle of whiskey tucked between empty cups and sticky mixers. I grab it without hesitation, twist the cap off, and take a hard swig straight from the bottle.

The heat slides down my throat, familiar and sharp. But it still does not numb the fire under my skin.

I take another swig.

But it does not make a difference, I need a distraction. A release. Something to shut it all off, even if it is just for a little while.

As if summoned by that thought, a girl I do not recognize, with long legs and a bright smile. Curves that scream for attention steps into my path. Her perfume is sweet, and she is already smiling like she knows what she wants.

"You are Ripley, right?" she says, voice soft and sultry.

I do not answer her. I just raise an eyebrow, my lips twitching into something that might resemble a smirk.

She takes that as permission and steps closer, trailing her fingers up my arm. "Dance with me," she whispers. "Or... we could go somewhere quiet and... talk."

Normally, I would brush her off. Normally, I would find a reason to walk away.

But tonight, with my father's voice echoing in my head and the whiskey burning in my veins... I do not want to be alone.

I tip my head towards the house. She grins and follows without question.

We do not make it far, just up the stairs, down the hall. I push open the first door to an empty room I find. The door swings halfway closed behind us, but I do not bother to shut it. I do not care.

My mouth finds hers before either of us says another word. Her hands are already tugging at my shirt, my hands sliding beneath her shirt. She giggles as I pull her closer, then she lifts her arms as I drag her shirt over her head and toss it aside.

None of it means anything. Not her name. Not her face. Not the moment.

It is not about her.

It is about not feeling like I am failing. Like I am not enough.

And in this moment, pretending is easier than dealing with the truth.

Her hands grip my shoulders. Her lips are trailing kisses along my neck. The music from outside thuds faintly through the walls, almost in time with the rhythm of our bodies.

It is automatic. Thoughtless. A haze I have willingly pulled over myself to drown out everything, my father’s voice, the pressure, the emptiness.

The girl moans something in my ear. But I do not quite catch it. I do not really care.

Then... it hits me.

A scent.

Sharp and wild, rich like pine and something floral and sun warmed. My favorite scent in the world, and I have never smelled it before. It wraps around me in an instant, crashing through my haze like a jolt to the chest.

Mate.

My heart slams in my ribs. My breath catches.

She is here. My mate is here.

Everything inside of me stills.

The girl underneath me does not even notice. She is too lost in the moment, too unaware of the change in me. But I feel it, I feel her.

And then… the door creaks open.

I lift my head, already knowing who it is.

There, in the dim sliver of hallway light, stands a girl with long, dark waves and storm blue eyes that lock onto mine like they are made of lightning.

Olivia Bennett.

I know her name. Everyone does.

Future Alpha of Moonshade. Wild. Fierce. Untouchable.

And now, standing in that doorway, broken and burning all at once, she is also something else.

Mine.

But the look in her eyes is not wonder. It is not recognition laced with joy or disbelief.

It is hurt.

And then she says it.

Her voice is steady. Cold even.

“I, Olivia Bennett, reject you as my mate.”

The words slice through the air like a blade. I do not move. I cannot move.

Something snaps in my chest, the bond, the fragile string of fate that has just begun to pull us together. It tears halfway, not cleanly, not fully. Because...

I do not accept her rejection.

She turns and walks away before I can say a word. Before I can even move.

I stay there in the silence, my body still tangled with someone I no longer want, my heart twisted in ways I did not know it could twist.

The scent of my mate fades with every step she takes away from me, but the burn she leaves behind… stays.