He Begged Me Back After His Rival Marked Me

Clarissa's POV

Ten years ago, on the day my family was destroyed, Ezra Ashford promised to marry me.

Ten years passed. He refused to honor that promise, and he refused to mark me. The feral instincts in my blood were growing wilder by the day, pushing me to the brink of madness—yet he turned around, announced his engagement to Ophelia, the beloved daughter of the Silvermane Pack, and casually sold me off to Rhysand, a scarred, half-burned monster who cleaned corpses for a living.

On his wedding night, Ezra actually abandoned Ophelia, kicking down my door in his tailored tuxedo.

Only to freeze in his tracks.

I sat naked on the edge of the bed. Rhysand, the supposedly lowly corpse cleaner, had me wrapped in his arms. The bite mark on the back of my neck was still bleeding.

—

Ezra sat in the center of the leather sofa in the VIP booth, his legs crossed. Ophelia curled around his neck like a tame cat, giggling softly.

Surrounding them were Alphas from neighboring packs.

Seeing me walk in, he swirled the bourbon in his glass, not bothering to hide the mockery in his eyes.

"Clarissa, perfect timing."

"I heard that corpse cleaner lives in a basement. He’s so broke he doesn’t even have a decent mattress, and his place reeks of rotting flesh."

"We’ve lived under the same roof for ten years, after all. If you need furniture, just ask. Consider it a wedding gift from the Ashford family."

He let out a low chuckle, twirling a strand of Ophelia’s blonde hair.

"How about I pay to rent you an apartment in the slums? When you pop out kids with that corpse sweeper, they can’t exactly sleep in the alley behind the morgue, can they?"

I took a deep breath, forcing down the feral ache in my blood. Without a mark, it was getting harder to control.

"End this farce," I looked at him calmly. "I’m not marrying him, got it?"

A flicker of something crossed Ezra’s eyes, but he quickly shoved it down. He sat up straight, staring at me with a smirk. "No can do. Unless you can offer me terms I'm satisfied with."

Just days ago, the very woman in his arms had cornered me in a private dressing room.

"Clarissa, Ezra only has me in his heart. The whole city knows he’s going to make me the Luna of the Ashford Pack."

"You’re just clinging to a useless scrap of paper from ten years ago. Trying to trap him with an old contract? You don’t even have the right to bear his mark. Don't you find yourself pathetic?"

She wasn't wrong. Last month, for her birthday, Ezra booked an entire penthouse restaurant and swore in front of the press that Ophelia was the only woman who would ever wear his ring.

He must have forgotten that ten years ago, on the day my pack was slaughtered and the Ashfords took me in, he was the one who promised he would marry me and give me a safe home.

"Our engagement is permanently voided," I said, meeting his gaze, speaking every word clearly. "I will voluntarily leave the Ashford territory, and I won't interfere with your marriage to Ophelia."

"Are these terms to your liking?"

Dead silence fell over the room. Ophelia’s fingers tightened on his shoulder.

Ezra’s smile vanished, his fake gentleness turning into ice. He shoved Ophelia aside and slammed his glass onto the marble table.

"Who do you think you’re negotiating with?" He stood up. "I never go back on my word. I gave you to that corpse cleaner, and you will marry him."

He took a step forward, looking down at me.

"Look at yourself. Boring, rigid, entirely devoid of passion. The whole city knows you’re my sloppy seconds."

He pointed a finger in my face. "A flat, lifeless thing like you should be falling to your knees to thank me that some mortician is willing to take you in. And you have the nerve to bargain with me?"

"Yeah, she should be glad anyone wants her at all!"

"A mortician and a used-up stray. A match made in heaven!"

The Alphas behind him immediately agreed, their laughter practically blowing the roof off.

Ezra stared at me, his chest heaving. He was waiting. Waiting for my eyes to turn red, for me to cry from the humiliation and beg for his forgiveness, just like I used to.

I just stood amidst the mocking laughter, watching him with absolute calm.

That dead, hollow calm made his expression shift. His Adam's apple bobbed, and a flicker of unexplainable panic crossed his eyes.

"Fine. I’ll marry him."

The laughter in the booth died instantly.

He grabbed my arm, his grip so brutally tight it felt like my bones would snap.

"Are you insane? You’d rather let that filthy freak pin you to a bed in a moldy basement than be my mistress?"

He dropped his voice, taking on a tone of patronizing temptation.

"Clarissa, this is your last chance. Apologize. Admit you can’t live without me—"

He paused, locking eyes with me.

"I’ll have the wedding canceled immediately. You don't have to marry him. You can stay in the Ashford Pack as my mistress."

I looked down at the hand crushing my arm.

My stomach churned with disgust.

Inch by inch, I pried his fingers off me and looked up.

"Ezra, once the wedding is over, we are strangers. Don't look for me. I never want to see you again for the rest of my life."