Rejected by the Alpha, Claimed by his Brother
Chapter 236: _ For María José

Chapter 236: _ For María José

She said the ’good news’ like she already knew how I’d react. Like she’d spent hours rehearsing how it would land. And I... I had no idea what to expect.

I slipped out of the room before Camilla could rope me into another superstition meltdown, and leaned back against the hallway wall, sucking in air like I’d just escaped a minefield.

Good news, she said.

There was no good news coming out of that woman’s mouth unless it involved her spontaneously relocating to another continent.

And yet, I’d smiled. I’d hugged. I’d fake-swooned and charmed the designers so hard they looked ready to embroider me into the hemline.

I was the perfect fiancé.

And now I was stuck outside the lion’s den, waiting to find out if I’d just smiled my way into a trap.

.

.

I’d been out there five minutes, maybe ten. Anyway, it was long enough for the glossy marble wall behind me to leave a permanent imprint on my back and for my jaw to start locking from clenching it so damn tight.

I wasn’t sure what I was bracing myself for; Camilla’s shrill sobbing? A designer fainting from her perfume? Rosa coming out to announce she’d adopted a new demon, but the door remained shut.

Everything was too quiet. Like the calm before something deeply idiotic. I could feel it down in my guts that Rosa’s ’Good news’ was bad news.

Oh, Dios... save me from the clutches of this woman’s insanity.

And then, something weird started to happen.

The first one walked past. I mean, a maid. Short, round face, maybe nineteen. She looked me dead in the eye, smiled, and then did that weird thing girls do when they want to laugh but try not to: biting her lip like she’d just remembered a hilarious meme.

Another followed. This one was a little older. Her giggle actually escaped like a tiny hiccup of mischief—as she rushed down the hallway with her dusting rag clutched to her chest like a crucifix.

I scrunched up my face in total stupefaction.

Then a third maid. She passed me slowly—too slowly... and tilted her head at me like I was a juicy cut of meat at a buffet. Her eyes sparkled. She giggled too.

What the hell? I checked myself. Have I gotten something on me?

My hair was in place. Jacket smooth. Zipper zipped. I even sniffed my armpits.

Fine.

No blood. No exposed skin. No lipstick marks. Not even a trace of Camilla’s perfume on me. I looked too good to be laughed at, and yet, somehow, I was the butt of some inside joke.

"Whatever it is," I muttered under my breath, "I don’t want to know."

I folded my arms and leaned harder into the wall, fighting the creeping paranoia that Rosa had done something I wouldn’t discover until it was trending on Packbook. My ears were starting to buzz from all the forced smiling.

My head throbbed from the laughter echoing down the hall. This was the kind of scene that would’ve driven the old Axel to rage—storming into the room, throwing a chair, breaking something.

But not me. Not now. I was zen. I was mature. I was playing the long game for María José.

That was when I smelled him.

Don Diego.

His scent preceded him like the musk of a complacent old wolf doused in testosterone, cigar ash, and overpriced leather. I’d never hated a cologne more.

I stood straighter. Inhaled slowly and braced myself for his vain self.

The corridor tensed before I even saw him. Guards flanked either side of the marble passage, stiffening as the man himself came into view, all pomp and tailored fabric.

Don Diego walked like a king surveying a land he had inherited, ruined, and still expected to be worshipped for.

As soon as he spotted me, his mouth twisted into the kind of grin that made me want to commit a felony.

"Axelito!" he boomed.

A-Axelito?! What the fuck?

I forced a smile. "Don Diego."

He approached with the pace of a man who expected the earth to part before him. His guards trailed behind like loyal shadows.

They all had their faces grim with fake neck scars that probably made them feel important.

Don Diego clapped a hand on my shoulder with enough force to shift my spine. "I knew you’d be out here. A true gentleman. No peeking into the bride’s chambers, eh?"

"Of course not," I said tightly.

He nuzzled closer, and I resisted the urge to recoil. His breath was an assault of tobacco and arrogance.

"Did she cry yet?" he asked. "Rosa. Camilla always cries when she sees the final fittings but Rosa? I swear, that girl’s heart is made of rock."

Apparently...

"She was... moved," I lied vaguely.

Don Diego let out a wheezy chuckle. "Ah, women. So many emotions and nowhere useful to put them."

I wanted to slap the smugness off his face, but instead, I adjusted my sleeves and tried to remember that murder would delay my happily ever after.

"Well?" he asked, like I was keeping him waiting. "You have anything to report?"

My jaw tightened. "Report?"

He clicked his tongue and lowered his voice, as if we were discussing secrets and not standing in the middle of his mansion where walls had ears and egos had ears and maids clearly had group chats.

"About the Alpha. Your father," he whispered. "I know you’ve been keeping a close eye like you promised. I trust your loyalty."

Ah. So this was that. The follow-up to his very intimate demand that I spy on my own father. Of course, the idiot he’d said it to wasn’t actually me—it was the doppelgänger who’d been licking his boots like a whipped pup. But now I was here, and I had to play along.

Carefully. Because if I slipped up, he’d know.

I let out a slow breath and shrugged casually. "Not much yet. The pack’s still in chaos after the murders. Everyone’s running around like their tails are on fire."

He nodded thoughtfully, steepling his fingers like some self-appointed philosopher. "Yes, yes. I suspected as much. And the Alpha?"

I frowned, feigning irritation. "Father has been busy with pack affairs and the looming wedding to even get into your matter." He’s... overwhelmed. Honestly, reckless. He’s making decisions based on emotions."

Don Diego chuckled, like that was the sweetest music. "Typical. Your father has always led with his heart instead of his head. It’s why men like me exist. To clean up after men like him."

Oh, the delusion. Father led with his heart? I hadn’t heard something so absurd all year.

I stayed silent even though my fingers were itching.

The bastard then placed a dramatic hand on his chest and gave a little sigh. "But no matter. As Gamma of the pack, I ensure the safety of our people. The real work gets done under my watch, not his."

You mean while you’re safely holed up in your mansion sipping wine and spreading nonsense?

He kept going. "And this ridiculous rumor about witches?" He scoffed. "It’s a distraction. We both know it’s not some outsider. There’s no breach. There was no spell."

Hmm?

"Then... what do you think it is?" I asked, already knowing I wouldn’t like the answer.

He inclined closer again, his voice dropping conspiratorially. "It’s the Moon Goddess, boy. Her wrath. It’s her judgment upon us... for harboring a cursed one."

I blinked. "You mean..."

"María José," he spat her name like it tasted bitter. "That girl was a blight on this house. Ever since she came into my life by being born, things have crumbled. First her mother, then my fortune, and now this chaos. But she’s gone now. Disowned. Removed."

Really? He was going to blame María José for her mother’s death now?!

Don Diego smiled like that was an accomplishment.

I clenched my fists behind my back, nails biting into my skin. "You think... the curse is causing people to die?"

To even say the curse was heart-wrenching. It meant I was agreeing with this evil man that María José was cursed when I knew pretty well that she wasn’t.

Damn this!

"Of course. The girl carries a darkness with her. That kind of thing seeps into a home. It infects others. If someone is killing, it’s because they were possessed by what she brought into our walls."

Oh, Moon Goddess, no. What in the world of nonsensical theories was this?

So even after so much time, he still planned on following through with his stupid excuse—the one I overheard him and that corrupted elder discussing the other day about blaming María José for the mishaps just to save their own skins?

That was it. That was the line. The lie was so stupid it could choke a troll.

Don Diego doesn’t even deserve to breathe the same air as someone so angelic and holy as her.

He was blaming María José for murders she had no part in. For curses that didn’t exist. For the festering rot in his own damned soul.

And I had to smile. Had to pretend. For her.

No, no, no. I don’t think I can do this.

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