Rejected by the Alpha, Claimed by his Brother
Chapter 256: _ To Santa Leticia II

Chapter 256: _ To Santa Leticia II

I knew Axel must have fucked her. No one needed to tell me. A man and a plenty cute lady all alone in an apartment? At this hour?

The ache that bloomed inside me then was sharp and deep and stupid. I wanted to tear Mateo’s skin off my body, claw at it until I could bleed freely again—Luis blood, not this polished Mateo make-believe.

I wanted to storm the house and demand to know why she’d let Axel in again. But I couldn’t. Because I knew why.

The thought that I would also pin her on the wall, thrusting hard into her from behind until she was screaming: "¡Oh, sí, Luis! ¡Qué papi tan malo!" at the top of her lungs should have calmed me a little and compensated me, but now, I couldn’t even do that.

Why? Because I had been subjected to the absurd task of helping her marry another man.

Argh...

Get a hold of yourself, Luis. What does a little pain matter when victory is yours in the end?

But María José was to become Axel’s bride in four days? In the exactness of this moment, the tower clock chimes, signaling the commencement of a new day.

I nearly vomited. It was three. Three days to the wedding. Three days until Axel marries María José.

I didn’t realize until a tiny beady droplet splattered on my pinky when it struck me. A tear.

I, Big Bad Daddy Luis, had just shed a tear. My heart wrenched so bad, I wanted to rip it off tonight for a change.

But my master had promised. Promised me that this pain was the whetstone of power. That I would benefit most of all. That when the final pieces moved into place, she would not walk toward Axel in a white dress—but toward me. Luis. The real me.

Her king in the ashes.

For now, I had to let her believe the lie. That Mateo’s world was safe. That Axel was her path to freedom. That all of this was going somewhere golden and clean.

Even if I had to become the filth beneath her heels to get her there.

I slipped around the back, avoiding any creaking boards or nosy dogs. From this angle, I could see into the tiny kitchen window. A light flickered on. Her silhouette moved inside. She was barefoot, had changed into a soft robe, and had her hair loose.

Oh, sweet beauty in its most vulnerable form.

My knees nearly wobbled.

She was pouring water. Maybe for tea. Maybe just to drink. Her head tilted, lips moving, humming?

The war hadn’t started yet, not really. But I could already feel the thunder of it building in my veins. My role wasn’t to stop it. My role was to aim it like a loaded gun and pray I didn’t flinch when she pulled the trigger.

The robe she wore was made of soft cotton that pulled gently over her collarbone, loose enough to be decent but tight enough to strangle my self-control. I watched her through the fragment of the window, my hands pressed to the cold stucco wall, breathing through my nose like a beast caged in human skin.

She was humming again.

God.

That sound had no business rattling inside my ribcage like a prayer I didn’t deserve. It was hardly audible. It was light and warbly, like a lullaby sung to a cup rather than a child, but still—it took everything in me not to storm the door and tell her it wasn’t Axel she should be pouring water for.

It was me. Always me. But no. Luis couldn’t do that. Mateo could.

So I fixed my face. Rolled my neck. Shook out my limbs like a boxer about to walk into the ring of domestic warfare. And then—I rounded the house, walked to the front porch with the confidence of a man who didn’t just spy on a woman making tea in her robe like a deranged backyard stalker.

The door stood in front of me. Painted brown, chipped at the corners. Smelled like rain-damp wood and something faintly floral—her, maybe.

I adjusted my face one more time, checking for any lingering Luis-ness in my jaw or eyes. The smirk had to be just right. Mateo’s brand of idiot optimism. A little slanted. A little cocky. Like the world had never punched him in the throat.

Then I knocked.

One. Two. Pause. Then a lighter third, like a little afterthought to say, "hey, I’m charming and harmless."

The click of the lock had my stomach drop-kicking my lungs. The knob turned, creaked open, and there she was.

María José.

Barefoot. Robe slightly cinched tighter. Eyes—oh, those eyes.... They were wide and green like wet emeralds soaking in too much light.

She was beautiful.

Not in that usual, predictable "pretty girl" way that made songs and sonnets. No. María José had that ache to her. Like a bruise right before it bloomed. Like the world had cracked her open and forgot to close her back up again.

There was something tender about the way she looked at me—as if I could shatter her just by breathing wrong. And still, she stood there, spine straight, mouth tugging into a soft smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes.

"Mateo," she beamed, and her voice was dipped in warmth, but something underneath made me pause.

It was that breath she took when she first saw me. That sharp, involuntary suck-in. Like someone had fired a starter pistol and only she heard it.

For half a second... no, less—I saw it.

Fear.

Blink, and it vanished. She turned it into a glow. A bright, practiced smile. "You’re back! I—I wasn’t expecting you."

She even leaned in, reached gently to touch my arm in welcome, but my brain was still stuck on that flicker. That moment.

Something was wrong.

The fear in her eyes was just about right. After all, I hadn’t left the right impression the last time we met. It was the fact that she was trying too hard to hide it and appear so friendly with me was what sold her out.

And even if the real Mateo had let her into his home because they had somehow become close enough for that, the fear wasn’t supposed to be there.

Why live with him when you fear him?