Rejected by the Alpha, Claimed by his Brother
Chapter 268: _ Her Journal

Chapter 268: _ Her Journal

Mateo shrugged at my question. He had just said he wanted me to see things clearly.

"That you and Rosa... aren’t so different."

W-what the heck? I and Rosa aren’t so different? He’s got to be kidding me. We were different in every way possible.

"I would never...""

"You would," he interrupted, stepping closer. "You already have. Lied. Endured. Played the long game. Don’t tell me you’re not like her when you even slept beside me last night and pretending not to know I’m a stranger."

I slapped him.

I don’t even remember moving, but the crack of my hand against his cheek echoed through the cottage like a thunderclap. His face snapped sideways. A second of stunned silence bloomed between us.

And then he laughed, but it wasn’t like any normal man. Not even like someone amused. He laughed like I’d just kissed him. Like he’d been waiting for it.

"There she is," he whispered, dark eyes gleaming. "I knew you were in there."

I backed away, breathing shallowly. "You’re insane."

"No," he said, rubbing his jaw. "Just honest."

I turned, gripping the edge of the table to steady myself. The cottage seemed to close in around me. Every surface whispered of secrets and blood and false promises. I felt trapped in someone else’s nightmare.

"Let’s go," I said through my teeth. "We’ve seen enough."

"Have we? Because we haven’t even gotten to the good part."

Oh, shit. There was more.

I didn’t want to know what the good part was. I was done with secrets. Done with games. But I followed him anyway.

Because that’s what you do when the devil invites you deeper. You keep walking... hoping, just maybe, that there’s still a way out on the other side.

.

Mateo said nothing for a long second. It was suddenly starting to get awkward when he breathed out slowly, stood straighter, and gave me the kind of look you’d give someone just before handing them a live grenade.

"There’s one more thing," he said. "The last piece and the one thing that can cement your evidence. That, María José, is Rosa’s journal."

My eyebrows shot up so high they nearly flew off my face. The imposter Mateo had mentioned something about reading something off of Rosa’s jaw, but I didn’t think too much of it.

However, now... I didn’t know anything anymore.

"Rosa kept a journal?"

"Apparently so. Hidden. Protected. Which makes sense, because if I’d committed half the crimes she did, I’d want to write them down too—just to admire the list before bed." He grinned from ear to ear as if that was some subject of amusement and not dread.

He was crazy. Sick in the head.

I scoffed, then immediately felt guilty for it. "Where is it?"

He didn’t answer right away. Instead, he moved to the far wall, dragging a dusty iron hook from the floorboards to reveal a hidden groove beneath. With the theatrical flair of someone who had done this before—or someone who had spent way too much time pretending to be a stroked-out vegetable, he slid a hand into the groove and pressed something.

There was a hiss, then a click.

A narrow slot in the wall unlatched and creaked open like the mouth of some stone beast awakening after centuries of slumber. Dust danced in the air, swirling in golden shafts of light like powdered secrets.

Mateo reached in and pulled out... a book.

It was smaller than I expected. The cover was a worn burgundy leather, stained and scratched with age. It had no title or design. Just a cracked spine and a metal clasp that gleamed faintly, even in the dim light.

He walked over and held it out to me.

I took it like it was a bomb. And in many ways, it was. My hands shook slightly—enough for me to pretend it was the cold—and I swallowed as I stared down at the book that had once belonged to the sister who had made my life hell in every way but physical.

I tried to open it. Well, ’Tried’ was the key word here.

The clasp didn’t budge. I tugged harder. However, nothing worked.

"What the...?"

"It’s sealed," Mateo said, folding his arms. "Spell-locked. Her lover did it. Probably in case someone like us stumbled across it."

"Of course he did. Because normal locks are for amateurs." I groaned, slapping my forehead.

Mateo stepped closer. "Don’t worry. I know how to break it."

"Oh, great. And here I thought you were just good at stalking and dramatic monologues."

He ignored me—which was fair, and knelt beside me. He placed one hand on the book, the other hovering in the air. He muttered something under his breath. The temperature dropped in response, just enough to raise goosebumps on my arms.

Then—snap.

The clasp popped open like a bitten lip.

My breath ceased for one moment. The spell was broken. I could finally...

"Wait," Mateo said, stepping back. "Don’t read it here."

I blinked. "Why not?"

"Because we’ve spent enough time down here already. If Rosa’s lover comes sniffing around, we’re dead meat. Literally. You can read it at home."

Something tells me he was making that up because he was in a hurry. Hurry to go where or go do what? This impostor, who or what was he? Where did he come from?

He told me Rosa and her lover don’t come here during the daytime, and now, he was saying something else.

"But—"

"Trust me, you’re going to want space and privacy for what’s in there."

That stopped me cold.

The fact that this sick fuck had read a woman’s journal was so baffling that I didn’t even know what to do with him. Yet, I needed him. I didn’t feel threatened by his presence, either.

I clutched the journal tighter. The weight of it was strange. Heavier than paper should be. Like it knew it was about to ruin someone’s life. Or several lives.

Dios, help us.

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