𝘋𝘢𝘥𝘥𝘺 𝘐𝘴𝘴𝘶𝘦𝘴

𝑳𝒐𝒗𝒆 𝒊𝒔𝒏′𝒕 𝒓𝒂𝒏𝒅𝒐𝒎—𝒊𝒕′𝒔 𝒄𝒉𝒐𝒔𝒆𝒏.

𝑼𝑵𝑫𝑶𝑼𝑩𝑻𝑬𝑫𝑳𝒀, 𝒍𝒐𝒗𝒆 𝒃𝒆𝒍𝒐𝒏𝒈𝒆𝒅 𝒕𝒐 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒇𝒐𝒐𝒍𝒔.

Fools who surrendered to its allure, unaware of how deeply it could wound, how merciless it was in its cruelty. It clung to the heart like a disease, feasting, festering, swelling, until finally becoming an ache that time never truly heals.

For love was a master manipulator, a ventriloquist pulling our strings while we, its marionettes, danced mindlessly to its whims.

We were reduced to mere vessels of hormones, driven to commit the most foolish acts or make heart-wrenching sacrifices all in the name of love.

And still, we celebrated it.

With grandiose celebrations, love was glorified, adorned in white gowns and grand altars, marked by the simple exchange of vows.

“I do,” they would say, as if those two words could bind their lives and souls together in eternal bliss.

It was meant to be a joyous occasion; one filled with hope and promise.

So why, then, was I on the sidelines, crying?

Tears streamed from my bloodshot eyes, my chest heaving as I stifled my silent sobs with trembling hands.

I tried so desperately to contain myself, to quiet the storm inside that screamed at me to stand up, to shout, to object.

This union—their union—was a joyous celebration for everyone but me.

For me, it marked the end of an era.

I was drowning in sorrow, grieving the loss of a life I would never get to live.

It was a grief so crushing that it felt as though the ground beneath me had crumbled, threatening to pull me into an eternal abyss from which I could never escape.

But I should be happy for them.

I should be smiling and offering my congratulations, but the tears that soaked my cheeks told a different story.

They weren’t tears of joy—they were the bitter remnants of a past that no longer existed.

Through my blurred vision, I watched them, their arms entwined, the perfect picture of a fated pair. She stood beside him, radiant in her victory. She had won—not just his heart, but his future, his life.

And I was left with nothing.

For there was no way to sever the bond created by fate, no way to break the primal connection between an Alpha and his Omega. It was an unshakable truth of this world, one that I could never touch, never understand.

Because I was neither.

I was a simple beta.

Neither Alpha nor Omega—just caught in the middle, in the void between.

With no destiny or fate to ever draw me to a partner, no overwhelming desire would ever connect me to someone the way it connected them.

Five years—that’s how long we were together.

Five years of shared moments of building a life that felt like it could last forever. We had everything: a home, a life, and countless memories that tied us together.

But none of it mattered once he found out she was his fated mate.

It was in that moment I realized I would always be the outsider, standing on the fringes of a life that was never truly mine. For all the love I thought we had, for every intimate secret and dream we shared, I was never truly his. Not in the way that mattered.

No matter how deep our relationship seemed to run, or how entwined our childhoods had been, I was always just... temporary.

A phase in his life because I could never be enough.

His needs, his desires—those primal urges that defined him as an Alpha—could never be fulfilled by me.

That role, the one I so desperately held onto, now belonged to her. His wife.

His Omega wife.

She hadn’t just stepped into his life; she had claimed him completely, heart, body, and soul.

And I was left behind, suffocating in the emptiness of a broken relationship that no longer had room for me. The love we had built felt like an illusion, fading away as if it had never been real.

What was once “ours” had never truly been mine to keep.

I swallowed the thick lump lodged in my throat, a constant reminder of the ache gnawing at me during the ceremony. My hands trembled, gripping the champagne flute like it might steady the whirlpool of emotions inside me.

I was pathetic.

I wanted to be happy for him—truly—but all I managed was a strained smile and glossy eyes brimming with selfish sorrow as I watched the happy couple. Each glance at them was like a knife, twisting deeper into my chest.

“Another one, p-please,” I stammered, pushing the empty glass toward the bartender. I needed the burn of a stronger alcohol to replace the bitter taste of romance lingering on my tongue, to numb the pain that clawed at me every time I saw them together, wrapped in the warmth of their love.

The reception hall teemed with blurred faces, most of them unfamiliar, all brought together to celebrate a love that had left me in ruins.

My eyes drifted across the room, taking in the opulence that surrounded me. Crystals hung delicately from the ceiling, shimmering with a soft, ethereal glow, scattering prisms of light that danced across the room. Blush pink roses graced every table, their soft petals a perfect reflection of the bride’s beauty, but they paled in comparison to her glow.

She glided across the floor in her gown of pure white, radiating joy, her every movement a testament to her perfection. As she twirled, carefree and blissfully unaware of the storm raging inside me, as if my suffering was a mere shadow beneath the brilliance of her day. How could she move so gracefully, so effortlessly, while I struggled to hold back the wave of grief crashing over me?

She hadn’t just captured his heart; she had stolen my future, my dreams.

With a single “I do,” she had snatched away the happiness I had so desperately longed for.

Was I selfish to feel this way?

“Rowan? You’re already leaving?” His voice, familiar and warm, cut through the haze of my thoughts. I didn’t lift my eyes, keeping them fixed on the floor as a sharp pain pierced my chest.

I tightened my grip on the coat I held, trying my best to keep my composure and my heart from thudding heavily in my chest.

Mason Callahan—the groom, my ex-stood before me, his voice gentle yet unrelenting. We had been in a committed relationship; one I thought would last.

But everything changed when his father died and his family demanded an heir from him. They forced her into his life—his fated mate.

In that moment, everything between us unraveled. I choked back the tears.

The ceremony had been beautiful, romantic, everything it should’ve been. And yet, I couldn’t bring myself to stay any longer. I couldn’t stand the sight of them—together.

“We haven’t even taken pictures yet... we haven’t even cut the cake,” he pleaded, his voice edging toward desperation.

But no matter how much he asked, deep down I knew I couldn’t stay.

Watching them, seeing their love on display, was like pouring salt on a wound that refused to heal.

Although we had ended rather amicably, just a month after our breakup, he told me he was engaged to her.

But even so I could not bring myself to hate him. I smiled weakly, blinking away the tears that threatened to spill once again. I wanted to look at him—just one last time.

His chestnut hair was slicked back, and his honey-brown eyes, always so full of warmth, were now shining with happiness as he stood beside her—his wife, Bianca R. Accardi-Callahan.

How could I ever compete with her?

“I’m... just tired. Thank you for everything. It was truly a beautiful ceremony. Congratulations.” The lie slipped from my lips before I could catch it, my voice strained but polite.

His eyes widened, concern flickering across his face. His lips parted, as if to protest, but no words came.

“It’s a shame, but if you really need to leave...” Bianca’s voice gently cut in, soft and sweet, like the perfect bride she was.

She reached out, her hand warm as it brushed against mine, her gaze kind and sincere. “Thank you for being here tonight. Please, get home safely.”

Her kindness made it even harder. How could I hate her? She was perfect—perfect for him. The warmth of her touch made me flinch, and I pulled away. She noticed but said nothing, instead wrapping her arms tighter around Mason’s, as if they had always been meant to be together.

That was the thing about Alpha and Omega pairs. Their bond was immediate, fated. Love at first sight, they called it—destiny pulling them together in a way no one else could ever understand. But as a beta, I was denied that kind of love. I would never experience the certainty of knowing someone was meant for me.

Instead, I was left to stumble through life, never sure if the person I loved would love me back.

I waited until their backs were turned, the sound of applause filling the room as they made their way to the stage. I stole one final glance around the banquet hall, the celebration blurring through the haze of my heartache.

Forcing a smile, I slipped out quietly, knowing that I couldn’t bear the weight of it any longer. The pain was too much, and staying would only continue to tear me apart.

I walked toward the hotel lobby, but instead of heading home to my now empty apartment, I veered toward the bar.

It was quieter there, away from the festivities. I could drown my misery in peace. Even after my twelfth shot, the pain hadn’t dulled. My vision blurred, and my speech slurred as I waved down the bartender for another round.

“A... another shof!” I slurred, my head spinning, the room tilting slightly.

A sudden tap on my shoulder snapped me out of my thoughts. I turned slowly, blinking at the man now standing behind me.

He was dressed impeccably in black, his posture rigid and authoritative. His smile was sharp—too sharp—and his eyes, dark and unreadable, seemed to strip away any pretense.

“Sir,” he said, his voice dripping with mock politeness, “I believe you’ve had quite enough.” The smile never left his face, but it held no warmth. “I would suggest you kindly refrain and make your exit.”

“Make me!” I barked, my voice hoarse and angry.

They did.

I was dragged out and thrown into the alleyway behind the hotel. The sudden movement churned my stomach, and I vomited the sushi I’d eaten earlier.

I slumped against the wall, my vision swimming, tears spilling down my cheeks as the weight of everything crushed me.

I had lost.

Lost my love.

Lost my drive.

Lost...everything.

“With tears like that, someone might mistake you for the mother of the bride,” a voice rasped from the shadows, low and rough like gravel.

I lifted my head, my vision blurred from the mix of alcohol and tears. A figure leaned casually against the wall, barely visible in the dim light, his face cloaked in darkness. The unmistakable smell of cigarettes drifted toward me as he took a long, lazy drag.

“Fuck off,” I slurred, burying my face back into the crook of my arm, hoping to drown out the world around me.

“I can’t. Your crying is ruining my smoke.” His voice was taunting, laced with amusement.

“Then go somewhere else!” I shot back, the words muddled by the lump in my throat. He laughed, a low, mocking sound that echoed in the quiet night. It sent a shiver down my spine.

Flicking his cigarette to the ground, he crushed it beneath his heel, his movements slow and deliberate.

“Pathetic,” he muttered, his tone sharp and cutting. “Crying over someone who doesn’t give a flying fuck about you.”

A knot tightened in my chest. How the hell did he know?

I lifted my head, squinting as I looked him over. The sharp lines of his suit, meticulously tailored, blended with the shadows.

His tie—a blush pink, perfectly matched to the wedding colors—stood out against the darkness. He was a guest, no doubt.

“Who says I was crying over her?” I muttered, my voice thick with bitterness and booze.

He chuckled again, this time darker, more amused. “I wasn’t talking about her,” he said calmly. “I meant the fucking groom.”

Mason. The mere thought of him sent heat flaring through me, but it wasn’t all anger.

Mason wasn’t a bad guy. He was just... oblivious.

But the way this stranger spoke about him, with such cold indifference, made my blood boil.

Without thinking, I lurched forward, shoving him hard against the wall. My fists gripped his collar, the fabric bunched between my fingers. “You wanna fight?” I growled, glaring up at him. He was taller, broader, and far too calm for someone about to get punched in the face.

He just smirked, unfazed by my outburst. “What if I do? What are you, his mother? His wife?” His eyes glinted with something wicked as he leaned in closer. “Or just his little bitch boy?”

The insult hit like a slap, anger surging inside me. But there was something about his smirk, that casual, careless arrogance, that made me hesitate.

He was an Alpha—I could feel it radiating off him, like the heat from a furnace, impossible to ignore.

“Wasting your time on someone like him... it’s not worth it,” he muttered, shoving me off with little effort.

“Yeah?” I spat, chest heaving with frustration. “And what the hell do you know about wasted time?”

His expression shifted, almost imperceptibly. His voice, when he spoke, was quieter now, edged with something raw. “Plenty.”

Something in his tone caught me off guard. Before I could stop myself, the words tumbled out. “Then... waste some with me.”

For a long moment, he didn’t respond. His eyes lingered on me, unreadable, while that infuriating smirk still played on his lips.