Rejected by My Fated Alpha, Reborn for Revenge

Aine Salazar POV:

"I, Cornelious Maynard, reject you, Aine Salazar, as my mate."

I stood frozen in the center of the Grand Hall as his quiet declaration silenced the crowd. Cornelious-the fated mate I had loved for years-faced me with nothing but disgust in his cold gray eyes, while my adopted sister, Isela, clung possessively to his arm.

"If you hadn't stolen Isela's rightful place as my mate, she would never have been forced to live as my mistress," he said, each word laced with contempt. "She should have been my Luna from the beginning. You were nothing but a mistake forced on me by the Moon Goddess."

Each word was a hammer blow against my soul.

An indescribable agony erupted from the bond between us, a metaphysical tearing of spirit. My inner wolf let out a piercing howl, a sound no one else could hear. No!

My legs trembled, threatening to give out. The whispers around me swelled into a tidal wave of mockery and cruel amusement. I saw the undisguised contempt on their faces. I was nothing but a shameless, low-born Omega who had dared to reach for the sun.

I forced myself to look up, to search his eyes for a flicker of doubt, a hint of regret.

There was none. Only resolution.

And beside him, clinging to his arm, was Isela. My adopted sister. She was draped on him in a posture of victory, her head resting on his shoulder.

Her light brown eyes, filled with a performance of sympathy, met mine. But beneath the pretense, the triumph in them was a venomous snake striking true. Her lips moved, forming two silent words I could read perfectly.

"You lose."

According to the ritual, I had to respond. The words were ash in my mouth, a poison I had to swallow.

"I, Aine Salazar, accept your rejection."

The pain doubled. My vision blurred. It felt like I was spitting out my own heart.

I thought that would be the end of my humiliation. Instead, Cornelious raised one hand, and the guards stationed around the hall immediately stepped forward.

"Accepting my rejection does not absolve you of your crimes," he announced coldly. "For months, you abused your position as my mate to threaten Isela, intercepted her letters, and bribed servants to spy on her. Three days ago, you ordered a maid to put wolfsbane in her tonic. The remaining poison was found among your belongings."

Shocked gasps erupted around us. Isela shrank against him, her eyes filling with carefully summoned tears. "Please don't punish her too severely, Cornelious. She only did those things because she was afraid of losing you. I don't want her to die because of me."

"That's a lie!" I forced the words through the agony tearing through my chest. "I never threatened her, and I never ordered anyone to poison her!"

But the accusations had been constructed to look like the truth. That morning, guards had "discovered" a vial of wolfsbane hidden in my wardrobe, while two servants loyal to Isela claimed they had heard me give the order. I understood too late that Cornelious and Isela had prepared these charges before the rejection ceremony. They didn't merely want me to surrender my place as his mate. They wanted me disgraced, silenced, and stripped of any chance to expose them.

Cornelious looked at me as if my denial only proved my guilt. "Attempting to murder the woman I have chosen as my Luna is treason against the Maynard Pack. You will remain in the dungeon until the Pack tribunal passes judgment. If Isela chooses to plead for your life, I may consider sparing you."

Cornelious didn't even grant me a final glance. He turned, wrapping a protective arm around Isela, shielding her as if she were a priceless treasure and I was the filth on the floor.

At his signal, the Pack guards grabbed me. Their hands were rough, their grips unforgiving. My struggles were pathetic, weak. They dragged me from the hall and down a long flight of stone stairs toward the dungeons where accused traitors awaited judgment.

The heavy stone door slammed shut behind me, sealing me in darkness. It cut off the light, the sound, the world. I collapsed onto the cold, damp floor, the twin agonies of my body and soul making it impossible to breathe.

I don't know how long I lay there.

The door creaked open again. It wasn't Cornelious.

It was Isela. She held a small oil lamp, the flickering light casting dancing shadows on her sweet, cruel smile.

"Sister, you look so pathetic," she cooed, crouching down. Her innocent eyes roamed over my broken form. "Cornelious isn't coming for you. He's with me now."

I had no strength to speak. I could only glare, pouring all my remaining life force into the hatred in my eyes.

She laughed, a light, tinkling sound that grated on my raw nerves. "Don't look at me like that. If you have to blame someone, blame yourself for being in the way. Did you really think you deserved to be the future Luna of the Maynard Pack? You may have Salazar blood, but you'll always be a filthy little Omega from the mountains."

Her foot, clad in delicate silk, pressed down on the back of my hand. She ground her heel into my knuckles.

"A weakling who can't even keep her own mate."

The sharp crack of bone was followed by a surge of white-hot pain. A choked scream escaped my lips.

"That hurts?" Isela's smile widened. "This is just the beginning." She pulled a long, thin silver needle from her sleeve.

My pupils contracted. Silver.

For a werewolf, silver is a death sentence. It burns our skin, silences our inner wolf, unravels our very being.

She grabbed a fistful of my hair, yanking my head back. "Did you know? Mother Annice has always loved me more. She said you were like a debt collector, that your very birth was a mistake."

I was Lady Annice Salazar's true-born daughter, the rightful heiress of the Salazar family. But war had broken out on the night of my birth, forcing my mother to flee the family estate and seek shelter in a remote farming village. Raiders attacked before dawn, and amid the bloodshed and chaos, I was accidentally switched with the newborn daughter of a poor farming couple.

From that moment on, our lives were stolen from their rightful paths. I grew up as an impoverished girl in the mountains, while Isela took my place and became the cherished daughter of the Salazar family, surrounded by wealth, privilege, and love.

When I was twelve, the Salazar family finally uncovered the truth. They brought me home and restored my name and status, but Lady Annice couldn't bear to part with the child she had raised for twelve years. Isela was allowed to remain in the family. And somehow, even after I returned, she was still the beloved daughter-while I was treated like the intruder who had come to steal her life.

Her words were another blade, sharper than the silver. All my life, I had craved my mother's love. It turned out that in her eyes, I was just an error.

Isela plunged the needle into my shoulder.

Searing, electrifying agony convulsed through me. I could feel my strength draining away, my inner wolf whimpering in torment.

She left one puncture mark after another, admiring her work as if I were a canvas and my pain was her art.

"There," she said, dropping the needle. She stood, looking down at me. "Now you can't threaten me anymore. Enjoy what little time you have left, my dear sister."

She turned and left. The stone door boomed shut once more.

Lying in a pool of my own blood and despair, my consciousness began to fade. The memories of my life flashed before me.

The disgust in Cornelious's eyes. The triumph on Isela's face. The cold, indifferent back of my mother, Annice.

Before the endless darkness swallowed me, I used my last breath to forge a vow in the depths of my soul.

If... if I had one more chance...

I would never again love Cornelious Maynard.

I would make Isela Salazar pay for her crimes in blood.

And I would make every single person who belittled me, who humiliated me, who hurt me, suffer a thousand times over!

Aine Salazar POV:

Death did not release me.

For reasons I couldn't understand, my spirit lingered after my body was abandoned in the dungeon. I was bound to Maynard Keep, unseen and unheard, forced to watch the living carry on as if Aine Salazar had never existed.

I watched Cornelious take Isela's hand before the entire pack and formally install her as his Luna. She wore the ceremonial silver circlet and received every honor that had once been promised to me.

Willa, the only maid who had remained loyal to me, tried to expose Isela's role in my murder. Isela accused her of treason, and the pack executioners tore her limb from limb in their wolf forms.

My foster parents-the poor farming couple who had raised me with all the love my true family had denied me-came to the capital demanding the truth about my death. Isela branded them agents of an enemy pack and sent them to the gallows before they could speak my name in public.

I screamed. I begged. I tried to reach them, to warn them, to save them. But the living couldn't hear the cries of the dead.

For years, I remained trapped within Maynard Keep. I watched the kingdom descend into chaos, the old King lose his throne, and a new ruler raise his banners over the capital.

Then, on the day Gideon Owen was appointed High Commander of the Realm, he came to Maynard Keep with the new King's soldiers. Cornelious and Isela tried to resist him, but his sword flashed twice, cutting them both down before my eyes.

My entire spirit trembled with joy.

At last. My enemies were dead. My revenge had finally been served.

I stared at the man responsible. Gideon wore a black cloak over his armor, his striking features cold and severe. Blood dripped from the sword in his hand, and the lethal authority surrounding him made even the most powerful wolves lower their heads.

It took me a long moment to recognize him as the reckless young nobleman from my memories-the notorious wastrel who had once spent his days gambling, racing horses, and brawling in taverns.

I followed Gideon through the keep until he entered the neglected family chapel. In a shadowed corner, he found a small, cracked funerary plaque engraved with my name, its surface buried beneath years of dust.

He picked it up and carefully wiped it clean with his sleeve. An emotion I couldn't understand filled his eyes as his fingers traced the letters of my name.

Before I could make sense of it, Gideon pressed the plaque against his chest, turned, and carried it away.

That plaque bore my name. It was the only thing left in this world to prove I had ever existed.

Alarmed, I hurried after him. But the moment my spirit drifted beyond the gates of Maynard Keep for the first time, a violent gust tore through me. My incorporeal form shattered beneath its force, scattering into the night like mist.

The endless darkness rushed in again... but this time, something was different.

The freezing emptiness of death, the wind tearing my spirit apart-it all receded like a tide.

I gasped, my eyes flying open. My heart hammered against my ribs as I took in a huge, shuddering breath.

I was no longer a bodiless spirit trapped inside Maynard Keep. I was sitting in an ornate but unfamiliar carriage.

I looked down at my hands. They were small, the hands of a child, with smooth, unblemished skin.

I pulled back the curtain on the window. Trees blurred past. I remembered this scene. This was the road I traveled when I was twelve years old, brought from the countryside to the main Salazar estate for the first time.

I... was reborn?

The thought sent a tremor through my entire body. This was not a dream. The agony of my death and the years I had spent trapped as a wandering spirit were too vivid, the bone-deep hatred still burning in my blood.

I was reborn. The Moon Goddess had given me a chance for revenge.

My small hands clenched into tight fists, nails digging into my palms. The pain kept me grounded, kept me sane.

Cornelious Maynard. Isela Salazar. And my dear mother, Lady Annice.

I remember every single debt you owe me.

In this life, I will no longer foolishly crave your pathetic love or affection.

I only want revenge.

The carriage slowed to a stop. I heard a stern woman's voice from outside. "Miss Aine, we have arrived. Please exit the carriage."

Aine Salazar POV:

I took a deep breath, forcing down the maelstrom of hatred churning inside me. I buried every emotion beneath a calm, placid surface. From this moment on, I was Aine Salazar, a twelve-year-old girl, timid and curious, brought back from the countryside.

I remembered the woman who had spoken. Mrs. Gable, a respected Elder in the Pack, responsible for teaching etiquette to the young ladies. She was rigid and severe, but fair. In my past life, I had resented her strictness and caused her no end of trouble.

This time, she would be a crucial ally.

I didn't push the door open impatiently as I had before. I waited.

The footman opened the door and lowered the step. A pair of tidy leather boots stopped in front of the opening. Mrs. Gable's voice came again, tinged with impatience. "Miss Aine, please get out."

I gathered my skirts and carefully peeked out. I deliberately adopted a frightened, hesitant posture, my eyes darting to the magnificent manor before me before quickly looking down, my hands twisting the fabric of my dress.

I felt Mrs. Gable's gaze on me, assessing me. The "wild girl from the country."

Without looking up, I spoke in a voice as soft as a mouse, laced with timidity. "Good day, Mrs. Gable."

I sensed a momentary stillness in the air. I guessed she hadn't expected me to know her name and use the proper title.

In my past life, I had been rudely calling her "that old woman" for a month after my arrival.

"You know of me?" Mrs. Gable's voice held a note of surprise.

I fidgeted with my fingers, whispering, "The men my father sent... they told me about you. They said you were the most respected Elder on the estate." I cleverly attributed my knowledge to a non-existent source.

Her tone softened slightly. "It seems you are not entirely savage." She held out a gloved hand. "According to protocol, you should be assisted from the carriage by me or your personal maid, not jump down on your own."

This was her first test. In my past life, I had ignored her hand, jumped down, and was immediately labeled "rude and ill-mannered," sealing her poor first impression of me.

This time, I didn't hesitate. I placed my small, cold hand into her warm, dry palm.

I felt her fingers stiffen. She clearly hadn't expected such compliance.

"Thank you, Mrs. Gable." I used her support to step down from the carriage, my movements graceful and steady, each step conforming to the strictest aristocratic etiquette. These were things I had spent ten years of my previous life learning; they were now etched into my very bones.

When I stood before her, I saw the undisguised astonishment in her eyes. She had probably expected a clumsy country girl, not a... lady with impeccable posture.

"Your etiquette... who taught you?" she couldn't help but ask.

"There was a disgraced lady in the village, a former noblewoman. I watched how she walked." I offered another half-truth, a plausible explanation for my "talent."

Mrs. Gable didn't press further, but the way she looked at me had changed completely. The scrutiny and disdain were gone, replaced by a flicker of curiosity and inquiry.

I knew I had succeeded in the first step.

"Now that you're here, you must pay your respects to the Matriarch, Lady Beatrice," Mrs. Gable said, turning to lead the way.

Lady Beatrice. My grandmother. The only person who had shown me any warmth in my past life, only to be disappointed by my foolishness. This time, I would not let her down.

I followed Mrs. Gable, my eyes sweeping over the bowing servants. Their faces held a mixture of curiosity, contempt, and pity.

I saw the faces of those who had bullied me and the few young servants who had been dismissed for showing me kindness.

A needle of pain pricked my heart, but I quickly regained my composure. It wasn't time for that yet.

Just then, a scene in my peripheral vision caught my eye. A man in a senior servant's uniform was roughly shoving a small Omega boy who looked no older than ten.

The tray the boy was carrying crashed to the ground, the silverware clattering loudly.

The man raised his hand, about to slap the boy across the face.

"Please wait," I said. My voice was not loud, but it was enough to halt all movement.

Every head turned toward me, including the man with his hand frozen in mid-air.