Unwanted mate:The Alpha’s priceless Luna

Sera’s Point of View

“Now this is entertainment! The Alpha’s daughter, fetching drinks like she’s earning her keep. What’s next, shining our shoes?” a woman laughed.

Then another replied to her comment. “Well, isn’t this rich? Alpha Thorne’s little girl reduced to serving wine. Should we tip her, or would that be insulting royalty?”

My face burned, but I didn’t turn around. Just kept walking, careful not to spill.

Goddess, those chandeliers. Way too freaking bright—felt like they were drilling holes straight into my skull.

Music blasted from hidden speakers, bass shaking the floor. Laughter, perfume, expensive fabric rustling. The ballroom glowed gold and white, glittering like a dream. Just not mine.

I wove through the crowd, clutching another bottle of wine, filling glass after glass while people spun around me. Lydia Axton’s birthday party. Of course.

My sister—my perfect sister—was glowing in silk and diamonds. Every time she moved, the room followed. She didn’t have to say a word to own the place.

And me? I got to be the help. The servant.

The uniform itched. The neckline was uneven, the fabric stiff. It hung off me like a curtain someone forgot to iron. Every time I caught my reflection in the mirrored wall, I wanted to disappear.

Twenty-two years old and I’ve never had a birthday party. Not one. Not even a candle on a cheap cake.

“Wine!” someone barked near the buffet table.

I went, keeping my eyes down. It was easier that way. Don’t look too long, don’t speak unless spoken to. That was how you survived nights like this.

The man waiting was Beta Councilor Rorick. His face was red, his smile mean. “Well, if it isn’t Alpha Thorne’s little embarrassment,” he said, grabbing my wrist as I tried to pour. His breath hit me like spoiled fruit. “Serving drinks now? Guess even your father figured out you’re not good for much else.”

His fingers dug in, sharp and bruising. “You should be grateful I’m even talking to you, girl like you.”

My stomach twisted. “Please, Councilor Rorick, let go.”

He leaned closer. “Maybe you should sit with me instead. Could do you some good.”

I yanked my arm back. The bottle tipped. Wine splashed over his sleeve—dark red blooming across the white fabric.

Shit. Shit. Shit.

For one heartbeat, everything froze. Then his face turned a deep, furious crimson. “You little—”

“What the hell is going on here?” a woman’s voice snapped.

His mate. Elegant, sharp, and furious.

Rorick turned toward her instantly, panic flashing across his face. “She—she tried to throw herself at me!” he barked, pointing right at me. “The Alpha’s brat was practically begging for attention.”

Her eyes went wide with outrage before narrowing into slits. “You filthy little slut,” she spat. “You think you can seduce my mate? In my presence?”

“No, I didn’t—” I started, but she cut me off.

“How dare you!” she screamed, her voice slicing through the music.

Before I could get a word out, she grabbed her half-full glass and threw it at me.

Cold splash. Right across my chest. The wine soaked through instantly. Sticky and wet and humiliating. The crowd went silent for a beat—just long enough for the music to sound fake.

“You disgusting thing,” she hissed, loud enough for everyone to hear. “Throwing yourself at mated men? I knew you were desperate, but this—” She gestured at my soaked shirt. “This is pathetic.”

The whispers started like sparks.

“She’s so shameless…”“Poor Alpha Thorne, imagine the embarrassment…”“Does she even have a wolf? No wonder nobody wants her…”

The air turned heavy, hot. My throat locked up. I couldn’t even swallow. My hands shook so badly I almost dropped the bottle.

Rorick smirked like he’d just been handed a show. “Maybe she’s hoping someone will pity her.”

A few people laughed. Actually laughed.

I caught my father’s gaze across the room. Alpha Thorne stood near the dais, arms crossed, expression carved from stone. Disgust. Cold and familiar. That look that said: don’t make this worse.

Something inside me folded in on itself. I wanted to scream that it wasn’t my fault. That I hadn’t done anything. But what was the point? Nobody would believe me anyway. They never did.

The whispers grew louder. I could hear my name, hear Lydia’s too—people comparing us like always.

“At least Lydia turned out right.”“She’s the real heir. The other one’s just… sad.”

My cheeks burned. My eyes stung.

Lydia was still at the center of it all, dancing with her friends, pretending not to notice. But I saw the way her lips curved. That tiny, satisfied smirk when she finally looked my way.

She knew. She always knew.

Then suddenly, she left the venue and ran somewhere.

I wanted to leave too. To run. But my father’s presence pinned me in place like a collar around my neck. The laughter, the whispers, the music—all of it blurred together until my head was spinning.

“Out of my sight,” Rorick’s mate snapped, waving a manicured hand. “Before I tell Alpha Thorne what his little mistake’s been doing.”

That broke me loose.

I ran.

My shoes slapped against the marble, heartbeat echoing in my ears. The hallway was darker, quieter—only faint music bleeding through the walls. I didn’t stop until I hit the bathroom door and shoved it open.

Cool air. Blessed quiet. I gripped the counter, breathing hard.

The mirror was merciless. Wine down my front, hair sticking to my face, mascara smudged like bruises. I looked pathetic. Weak. Exactly what they all said I was.

I grabbed a handful of paper towels and started scrubbing. The stain just spread, deeper red against the pale fabric. “Come on,” I muttered. “Come on, come on.”

Didn’t work.

A sharp laugh from the ballroom filtered through the door, muffled but cruel. Probably some women with mates voice. I couldn’t tell anymore.

My hands trembled harder. I pressed the towel against my chest, trying to stop the shaking.

I shouldn’t cry. Crying would make it worse. Crying meant weakness. And weakness got you kicked lower than you already were.

So I swallowed it. The tears, the anger, the ache that sat in my chest like a stone.

The paper towel ripped apart in my hands. “Shit.”

I turned to toss it in the trash, and that’s when I heard it.

A low sound. From one of the stalls.

A moan.

I froze.

The kind that wasn’t pain.

I stood there, not breathing, staring at the row of doors. The sound came again, softer this time. A man’s voice followed, low and rough, a whisper of breath that made my blood go cold.

“Fuck… you taste so good. Ahh…”

Kade Black.

My heartbeat stuttered. No, I was imagining it. I had to be.

But then came another sound—a faint gasp that was still his. Familiar. Too familiar.

“How can you make my cock go crazy… Ugh! Shit…”

I couldn’t move. Couldn’t breathe.

The world tilted.

The paper towel slipped from my hand and hit the tile, soundless.

No.

Please, no.