Chapter 3 The Sister He Really Wanted

Christina's POV

"Don't you think I look like a hooker? Do I really have to wear this?" I said, tugging at my extremely short skirt that would show my panties if I so much as sneezed.

"Sweetheart, it's not vulgar-it's daring sexy," Ysolde said, dressed like a mafia queen and standing tall against the icy wind in her five-inch heels. "Plus, don't cheapen yourself like that."

"But isn't this a little too-" I didn't even finish before a brutal gust of wind slapped me across the face. I immediately wrapped my sinful fur coat tighter around myself and curled up like a frozen prawn.

Ysolde let out a groan."Chrissy, come on. We're going to Highrise City's most exclusive pack club, not an Arctic expedition."

"I'm just glad I won't be hospitalized for hypothermia tonight, thanks," I snapped back.

She rolled her eyes. "Don't you already have a fur coat? You know, the one that comes naturally?" she said, clearly questioning why a werewolf was complaining about the cold.

I bit back, "Because I'm in human form right now!"

I'd thought we'd have to wait in line like everyone else. That was the whole reason I wore this fur coat. But clearly, I had underestimated Ysolde.

She had no intention of following the rules.

With the ease of someone who'd done this a thousand times, she slipped a rolled-up bill into the bouncer's hand, her palm casually grazing his rock-hard chest like a Bond girl who'd forgotten her martini.

Ten seconds. That was all it took. We were in.

Ysolde was the kind of beautiful that made men forget their names and girlfriends in two seconds.

We sailed into Luna's Eclipse. It was the most exclusive club in Highrise City where rich werewolves played politics over overpriced drinks.

The place was thick with heat, perfume, and the effervescent scent of champagne.

I ripped off my coat the second we stepped inside, only to be met with a glare from Ysolde that said it all: Are you trying to humiliate me?

She handed her coat off to a passing server with a flick of her fingers, like she'd personally hired the man.

I tried to copy her moves. Failed miserably. Nearly dropped my purse.

"Moon Goddess!" I gasped, eyes glued to the menu like it was robbing my credit card.

Ysolde gave me a sideways glance and scoffed. "Wait, Niall never spent money on you? What a cheapskate."

"Relax. Tonight's on me."

I breathed a sigh of relief.Considering I'd been rejected by my mate, had my wedding canceled, and my parents were planning to banish me from the territory to become a rogue, I needed a fortune to buy scent-masking spray to prevent Niall from hiring someone to kill me.

Price tags aside,the view was elite-rising young Gammas, handsome future Alphas, and a swarm of finance bros who looked like they gave TED talks on dominating Wall Street in custom suits.

Honestly, it was a room full of show-offs and wannabe flirts, all hiding under the dim lighting.

We found a table near the bar and a bartender locked eyes on us.

Well. He was hard to miss-tall, sculpted features, sleeves rolled to the elbows just enough to show off well-trained forearms.

He shouldn't be mixing drinks. He should be shooting Dior fragrance ads or modeling sexy men's underwear. Or at the very least starring on the shifter romance novel cover.

Maybe that's why this club was so expensive,even the staff had to be perfect.

"Two 75s, whiskey," Ysolde ordered before I could even find the cheapest drink on the menu. "Make it strong."

And of course, she didn't forget to show her perfect smile,chin tilted just enough to say "Oops, didn't mean to flirt."

The bartender reached effortlessly for the gin. "Rough night?"

"More like a rejection-level disaster," she said, casually pointing her thumb at me. "And it's wrapping up real soon."

I glanced at her. "Thrilled that my personal life is now public broadcast."

She patted my hand."Sweetie, this place runs on romantic catastrophes. Without bad decisions, no one would be buying drinks."

Then she turned away and melted into the crowd, flipping into Social Queen Mode like someone had hit a switch.

In under ten seconds, she completed a visual sweep before spinning back around and pointing toward the edge of the dance floor.

"Okay, listen. You need a rebound. Target A: Six-foot-two Manhattan finance bro, suit worth more than your monthly rent, haircut that speaks 'my therapist costs more than your car.' He'll wine and dine you, then ghost you for his stock portfolio."

I shook my head. "Nope."

Her eyes flicked to a new direction. "Target B: tortured Parisian artist type. Looks like he subsists entirely on cigarettes and existential dread. He'll write poetry about your eyes, then ask to 'borrow' money for art supplies that somehow always end up being weed and takeout.'"

"Pass."

She sighed, then pointed again."Fine. Target C: sensitive musician with a 'promising EP dropping next month.' Translation,you'll be supporting him financially while he finds himself through his craft for the next decade."

I groaned into my hands. "Ysolde, please."

She didn't back down. "Chrissy, you cannot sit here like a decorative wall gecko. Tonight is about rebooting your life, not stitching up emotional wounds."

Just as she geared up for a fourth round of rebound recommendations, she suddenly froze. It was like someone had hit mute on her entire system.

Then, far too casually, she said, "Hey, want to hit the bathroom?"

I narrowed my eyes. "No?"

"...Or maybe let's move tables? The vibe here's weird." Her smile was tight.

Weird vibe? We'd only been sitting for ten minutes, and we just ordered drinks.By Ysolde's standards, we were barely warming up.

Then I followed her gaze.

A half-private booth.

Niall.

He had his arm draped around a woman. Her head rested on his shoulder, makeup flawless, smile polished and effortless.

But that wasn't the worst part.

They were kissing. Deep, hungry kisses.

The woman was perched on his lap, her dress riding up, their hands roaming each other's bodies as if they were seconds away from tearing each other's clothes off right there in the club.

My stomach lurched. The sight was revolting, obscene.

I didn't need more details about who she was.

That face, I would never forget it.

Four years ago, the woman generously "gifted" me her boyfriend as my fated mate, left a heartfelt letter, and disappeared overseas.Now here she was, brazenly draped across my mate's lap, turning the whole club into their personal cheating stage.

I had told myself I was over it. We'd broken up. It was done. Time to move on.

Until I heard what came next.

"Honestly, I didn't think she'd completely break down over a picture frame." Beatrice's voice dripped false pity as she pulled away from their kiss.

"I put that photo where she'd see it. She still doesn't know about your 'business trips' to Europe for me. Time she got a hint, don't you think?"

She looked up at Niall adoringly. "Darling, your performance was perfect. Even I almost believed you cared about the photo instead of covering our affair."

Niall chuckled. "I had to act upset. She spends every day trying to be perfect for me. If she knew all her effort still couldn't compete with you, she'd completely lose it."

Beatrice laughed softly, patting his chest. "Don't worry. Knowing Chrissy, she's probably still trying to fix things. She always believes if she just tries hard enough, people will see her worth."

"The harder she tries, the more pathetic she looks." Beatrice smiled. "And I just 'happened' to return home. My parents don't know anything. She ended things herself, so you're blameless."

Niall nodded. "I talked to your parents. The wedding's still on-just a change of bride."

Beatrice smiled triumphantly. "Perfect ending, right? I never gave up on you. Just waited for her to step aside."

She leaned closer. "You know how she tried copying everything about me? The bleached hair, the style changes, even how she talks? God, it was hilarious watching her pathetic attempts."

Niall snorted. "Like a discount knockoff."

"Though I thought fated mates were supposed to be deeply in love?" Beatrice's voice turned curious. "Aren't you two supposed to be...?"

Niall's face darkened.

My hands shook so badly I could barely hold my drink. The pieces were falling into place, and Akira whimpered inside me.

"He's been cheating long before the rejection," she whispered weakly. "That's why we're in such agony."

The realization hit me like a punch to the gut. When there's infidelity after being marked, intimacy with another outside the mateship causes extreme pain to the partner. But distance can mask immediate betrayal pain,it festers in the bond instead.

All those "business trips" abroad. All those times he visited Beatrice. The mate bond had been slowly deteriorating, accumulating damage we couldn't feel because of the distance.

When Niall rejected me, that rejection pain combined with months of accumulated betrayal trauma. It was destroying us both.

No wonder I felt like I was dying. I wasn't just dealing with rejection.

I was dealing with months of hidden betrayal finally surfacing all at once.

Beatrice noticed Niall's dark expression and quickly backpedaled. "I'm just teasing, silly. I know I'm the only one in your heart."

The words stung like humiliation dressed up as banter. It was the kind of punchline you'd expect at a comedy club, not from your sister and your mate. Funny, isn't it? How the people who know you best are the ones who can cut the deepest.

Akira stirred inside me, her growl low and hungry for payback.

Ysolde was pleading with me to stay calm, to not do anything stupid. But her voice was nothing but background noise.

I wasn't the same Christina who swallowed her pride for praise anymore.

I slipped free from Ysolde's grip and turned to the bartender."Your best champagne. Put it on Niall Granger's tab."

The bartender handed me the bottle.

With the bottle in hand, I strode straight toward Niall and Beatric-their embrace so tangled, so theatrical, it looked like a scene from a midday drama.

I raised the bottle and smashed it, with all my strength.

The glass shattered with a sharp crack. Niall's forehead split instantly, a thin line of blood tracing down between his brows.