Fated Mates but Rejected

ALLEGRA RIDDLE’S POV:

With a bang—the massive oak doors of the main hall slammed inward, pushed open by two guards. The welcome ceremony the Luna had prepared for her returning Alpha officially began.

Standing beyond the doors was my fated mate, Carson Welch, gently holding another woman, Finley, on his arm, his gaze tender and loving.

Finley’s hand rested lightly on the slight swell of her belly. She was pale-skinned, with watery brown eyes and soft flaxen hair. She looked back at Carson Welch, and the two of them stood there like a perfect couple.

The entire estate froze. The servants’ eyes turned to me, some with pity, more with mockery.

“Look, the Alpha has finally brought home a real Luna,” one maid whispered behind her hand, just loud enough for me to hear.

For the past five years, according to the marriage treaty, I had been married into the Welch family as the widow of Carson’s older brother. Later, out of duty, I had been forced to marry Carson—my fated mate. But he had never liked me. I had always played the role of Luna. I managed the household, paid off debts, and kept all kinds of secrets. And in all that time, he had never once looked at me the way he looked at her.

Carson’s blue eyes, as cold and clear as a winter sky, swept across the hall. His gaze passed over me as if I were nothing more than a piece of furniture in the room—a grey stone on a grey wall.

His gaze fixed on Finley. He helped her over the threshold as if she were made of fragile glass.

Carson’s mother, Eleanor, gasped beside me, a blade cutting through the silence. She took half a step forward, her face pale. “Carson… what is the meaning of this?”

Eleanor had always been kind to me, and I believed she would seek justice for me.

Carson finally looked at his mother, his jaw set like granite. “Mother. This is Finley Leach. She will be staying with us.” His voice was a command, not a request. Finley Leach was not merely a guest; she was an announcement.

He ignored me completely, not even acknowledging my existence. At my mate’s homecoming, I was like a ghost.

I remembered how, just a few hours earlier, I had dressed up and tugged at the front of my plain grey dress, looking at the flawless display in the hall—the floors polished to a mirror shine, the welcome banner hanging straight and proper, the scent of pine and cinnamon from the hearth still lingering in the air. Now I felt like a fool.

My loyal attendant, Holly, gave my arm a reassuring squeeze. Her warmth was a small anchor in the storm of my anxiety. She and Eleanor were among the few in this grand house who saw me as more than a political tool.

Finley gave Eleanor a small, trembling curtsy, her eyes downcast. She looked like a frightened deer caught in a hunter’s light.

I felt my hands clench into fists at my sides, my nails digging deep into my palms. In a world that had just lurched off its axis, that pain was distant, yet grounding.