Chapter 3 Luna #2
“I’m the political heir. People expect things from me, and…
I need a mate who reflects that. Someone flawless, someone who can stand by my side without—” He cuts off, his eyes lingering on my scars.
“I’m sorry, Luna. This… is not what I wanted.
You must understand my position requires certain… standards. It’s complicated.”
“Complicated,” I echo, the word tasting bitter. My heart, once soaring, now plummets into an abyss. I watch helplessly as my hope shatters into a million irretrievable pieces.
“Please understand,” Conrad insists. “I can’t have people’s first thought be pity when they see my mate.”
“Understand?” My voice quakes. “Sure, I totally get it. Society’s scoreboard is more important than what’s real. Bravo, Conrad. You’re a true politician in the making.”
For a moment, something flickers across his face; uncertainty, maybe even regret. His mouth opens like he might say something else, take it back, or choose differently.
But then his jaw hardens with resolve.
“I’m sorry, Luna, but I, Conrad Clawford the Third, reject the match,” he says, and it feels like a shard of ice is plunged into my heart.
Something vital tears away inside me, and my wolf keens in pure agony.
MATE. HURT. WHY?
She doesn’t understand rejection, doesn’t understand conditional love. For her, mates love unconditionally.
He straightens, turning away.
“No,” I say, louder than the murmurs and the click of countless cameras capturing my ruin.
Conrad hesitates. “No?”
“That’s right,” I step forward, anger coiling in my veins.
“I, Luna Woods, reject you. You’re a coward.
I wouldn’t have blinked twice if you had been scarred, crippled, or even didn’t have legs.
I would’ve been there for my scent match.
I would’ve loved you as you are.” I lift my chin.
“You don’t deserve my love, loyalty, or respect. I reject you.”
The rejection stings, its venom seeping through my veins, cold and unrelenting. Turning on my heel, I take a step, but the physical pain is so intense, bile rising in my throat, that I double over, falling to my knees.
This is what dying feels like.
The intake of breath from the crowd is audible as I collapse on the floor, followed by murmurs and giggles from a cluster of females near the refreshment table. Marcy’s voice cuts through clearly. “Pathetic.”
“This is going straight to InstaShifter,” a male voice says gleefully.
“Someone help her up,” another voice says, but no one moves.
It takes everything to get up. My legs shake as I force myself to stand and stride out of the grand ballroom with my head held high, even as more laughter follows me. Each step feels like tearing myself in two, but I refuse to look back.
As soon as I am out of sight, I sprint to my room. A desperate whine escapes me, embarrassingly loud. Years of burying my emotions, of never letting anyone see how badly I’m hurt, collapse in an instant.
I have no strength left.
I fling myself onto the floor, slamming the door behind me. Tears come unchecked, my body trembling with sobs I’ve held in for far too long—anger, heartbreak, shame.
How could I have been so naive? For one fleeting moment, I believed a scent match might transcend appearances. That Conrad would be different. But he’s just like everyone else—measuring me by my scars and nothing more.
I should’ve known it was too good to be true.
Handsome, charming Conrad wanting someone as damaged as me? Pure fantasy. And now my heart lies shattered like shards of glass.
I peel the swimsuit off, letting it fall to the floor. My scars stare back at me, each one a reminder of why I’m never chosen.
Scarred. Unlovable. Repulsive.
I catch my reflection in the small mirror across the room. The girl staring back at me looks hollow, a face streaked with tears and mascara. She looks like she’s been broken one too many times.
“Why?” I whisper, my voice cracking. “Why does nobody ever want me?”
Not even my scent match could bear to be with me. Am I truly so abhorrent?
My wolf stirs within me, confused and hurt. She doesn’t understand why our mate rejected us. She felt the connection; the pull was real. But now she’s retreating, shrinking back into that dark corner where she’s hidden for years.
“No, please,” I sob, clutching at my chest as if I could physically hold her there. “Don’t go. Don’t leave me alone again.”
All my life, I’ve been told I’m not enough. Not pretty enough. Not whole enough. Not worthy enough.
I built walls so high and thick that I thought nothing could breach them. But today, those walls came crumbling down with just one look of disgust from the person who was supposed to see beyond them.
All they see are these scars. But there’s more to me than this.
I hate myself for still wanting it. For still wanting him to want me… but I do.
“Why doesn’t anyone love me?” The words tear from my throat, raw and primal. They hang in the air of my empty room, echoing back to me in the silence that follows.
My wolf whimpers, a soft sound that resonates through my chest. She’s barely there, clinging to the edges of my consciousness.
“I’m sorry,” I tell her, my voice barely audible through my tears. “I’m sorry I couldn’t be better for you. I’m sorry I couldn’t give you the mate you deserve.”
She pushes back against my consciousness. I want you, she seems to say. I’m here. I won’t leave you.
“I love you,” I whisper to her, reaching out with my mind to touch her presence. “Thank you for staying.”
She responds with a warmth that spreads through my chest, and even in this broken moment, one thing is sure.
I’m no longer alone.
My wolf is with me, and that’s all that matters.
It has to be.
Exhausted, I crawl into bed, cocooning myself under the blankets. Sleep eludes me for hours, Conrad’s cold eyes haunting my mind. Finally, fatigue claims me, but rest is fitful. Every awakening drags me back into the same crushing reality: I’m still at the Institute. Still scarred. Still unwanted.
But tomorrow is a new day.
Soon, my wolf and I will run free.