Rejected by the Alpha, Claimed by his Brother
Chapter 225: _ Seeing Luis Miguel

Chapter 225: _ Seeing Luis Miguel

The mouths of the gossip mongers opened, but I didn’t wait to hear the reply. I turned back around and marched on.

I continued to proceed ahead and soon exited the packhouse gates and into the pack itself. I knew

didn’t get far before a dumb thought tripped me like a stone in the road.

What if I found Luis Miguel?

I paused in my tracks, heart thudding. He should be the one with me when I go to see Gonzalo’s family. And the others’. He was their friend. I wouldn’t know how to handle this on my own.

And as much as I didn’t want to see him all broody, I knew he’d at least say something comforting. He was good at that... sounding charming even when he could literally make you want to separate his bones from his body.

The problem? I had no idea where he lived.

I sighed, glancing around the quiet pack streets. The sun was starting to rise, casting honey-colored light on the stone walkways and dusty wooden stalls. I passed a man hanging up meat pies and another uncrating apples that smelled of cinnamon.

Then I saw a small fruit vendor tucked between two larger shops. A woman with tight braids was placing mangoes into neat pyramids.

Perfect.

I stepped forward and cleared my throat. "Hi, excuse me..."

She didn’t hear me. Or maybe she did and just didn’t care. Her back was to me as she spoke to another vendor across the stall.

"...swear on the Moon Goddess, I saw her with my own eyes. She looked like a ghost. Pale as a sheet."

"Are you sure it was her?"

"I’d bet my best avocados. Don Diego’s Omega daughter. Swore she was dead or rotting in the woods. But no. She’s back. Limping around like a... like a cursed thing."

For the love of...

My mouth fell open instantly. Could they all just give me a break already?!

"I heard she got beat so bad that I can’t blame the Moon Goddess for not giving her a wolf."

The vendor laughed. "Don’t say that! That’s cruel."

"Well, maybe her wolf had good taste."

Okay. Rude.

I cleared my throat louder. "Hi... excuse me—I’m standing right here."

The woman froze with her gossip and turned, her smile falling. Her eyes widened. "Oh."

"Yeah," I said dryly. "Hi. The ghost’s alive. Now, do you know where Luis Miguel stays or not?"

She fumbled. "I... uh... maybe by the bakery near the east wing. Or was it along the public toilet? I can’t remember..."

"Thanks," I said before she could dig herself into a deeper hole, and turned on my heel.

Behind me, I heard her whisper, "She didn’t look cursed. She looked mad."

Good.

As I approached the area, the scent of bread wafted through the air along with the aroma of ripe fruits from nearby stalls. Children played nearby, their laughter ringing out, while elders sat on porches, observing the morning bustle.​

People began to notice me. Their eyes trailed on my dress which was a flowing garment that shimmered subtly in the sunlight. I overheard whispers:​

"Is that María José?"​

"She almost looks like the María José of before."​

"I thought she was... well, not as pretty anymore."​

A young man with a camera suddenly stepped into my path, snapping a photo without asking. "This is going straight to my blog," he announced, grinning.​

Look, I was done tolerating all o their bullshits. As Axel had said, I needed to start standing up for myself.

It wasn’t like keeping mute all these while had gotten me anywhere.

I marched up to the jerk, snatching the camera from his hands. He gasped, reaching out as if to reclaim it.​

"You think it’s okay to take someone’s photo without permission?" I snapped.​

He stammered, "I... I didn’t mean any harm."​

I considered smashing the camera on the ground, but a thought stopped me. If this photo circulated, it might reach my father and Rosa. Let them see me, see that I’m not hiding.​

Let them see that their scar did not do its deed. Let them see that despite seizing all of my cute dresses, I still wore a beautiful dress today.

I handed the camera back to him. "Next time, ask. It’s called basic decency."​

He nodded, eyes wide. Around us, people watched in stunned silence. I turned and continued on with my head held high.​

The houses here were modest, built from sun-bleached bricks with terracotta roofs. Flower boxes adorned windows, and the scent of jasmine was everywhere in the air. In front of one house, a woman and a teenage girl were tending to potted plants.​

I recognized them immediately: Luis Miguel’s mother and sister. His sister had also attended the same high school at once while his mother never ceased to visit the school every time he got in trouble which was literally ALL THE TIME!

My heartbeat accelerated as I approached.​

"Good morning," I greeted.​

The woman turned, her eyes widening in surprise. "María José? Is that really you?"​

I nodded. "I’m looking for Luis Miguel."

The girl scowled. "What are you doing here?"​

"Marta! That’s no way to welcome a guest!" Her mother admonished.​

I offered a small smile. "It’s okay. I understand."

The woman sighed. "Luis has been grieving. He hasn’t eaten in two days. He’s inside, but I don’t know if he’ll want to see anyone."​

I nodded, understanding the depth of his sorrow. "I’d like to see him, if that’s okay."​

She stepped aside, gesturing toward the door. "Of course, dear. Come in."​

As I entered the humble home, apprehension and determination warmed over me. I was here for Luis Miguel, to offer comfort and support. And perhaps, in doing so, find a bit of solace myself.​

As I entered the house, the scent of lavender and cooking soup enveloped me, grounding me for the conversation ahead.​

I had no idea what to say to Luis Miguel but he had been useful to me and the least I could do was to comfort him even though the deaths of the boys hurt me greatly as well.

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