Rejected by the Alpha, Claimed by his Brother
Chapter 272: _ The Wedding Preparations

Chapter 272: _ The Wedding Preparations

~Axel’s Point Of View~

The image was burned into my mind.

No matter how hard I tried to scrub it out, to reason with it, to distract myself from it—there it was again, replaying in crystal clarity like some sad film reel stuck on loop.

María José was in bed with him. That damn witch. Our enemy. The same one who wanted to turn her against me and have her for himself.

I kept telling myself it wasn’t what it looked like. It couldn’t be. Not her. Not sweet, innocent María José – the girl who trembled when someone raised their voice, who flinched from the pigs in the sty, who looked at the world like it was too cruel and she didn’t know how to exist in it without bruises. She wouldn’t do that.

She couldn’t to me... to us.

But the image kept slicing through my excuses like a dagger.

She had been in the dark room. Her hair was down, and her lips parted in a peaceful sleep. And he had been there; shirtless, his body shamelessly sprawled beside hers, like he belonged there. Like she wanted him there.

My fists clenched under the sheets.

Why? Why let him so close, María José? Why do that to me?

What were you thinking? That I wasn’t present to catch you in the act anyway? Was that it? True...

... It wasn’t like I’d caught them in the act, no. There was no frantic scrambling, no heated moaning, no sinful touches caught in motion. But the suggestion was enough to make my jaw ache from the way I clenched it all night.

The position. The goddamn intimacy of it.

She had been tucked against him, their bodies curled in the kind of tangle lovers had. His hand rested over her waist in the most possessive and natural way possible. Her face had been turned into his neck, like she’d fallen asleep smelling him. My stomach turned every time I thought of it.

No matter how many times I reminded myself that he was our enemy, a threat, a stranger...no matter how many times I told myself she would never, that she was too kind, too sheltered, too damn pure to willingly get in bed with the Devil’s favorite lackey, I couldn’t unknow what I saw.

And the worst part? The worst part?

I didn’t even confront her. I didn’t say a word. I wanted to, but seeing her asleep so peacefully, I couldn’t bring myself to disrupt that for her.

I just turned and left like a coward, like some love-struck idiot whose spine dissolved at the first touch of betrayal. I should’ve dragged her out, demanded answers, shaken her by the shoulders until she told me it was all a mistake, that she had been drugged, possessed—anything.

But instead, I staggered back to my room and collapsed into my bed like I’d been gut-shot.

And I stayed there all through the night, the next morning... And hours after.

I didn’t eat. I didn’t move. I barely breathed. I lay there with a boiling storm in my chest and that vision on repeat behind my eyelids. My jealousy was a living thing. It was hot, greedy, and poisonous.

I wanted to scream. I wanted to punch through the wall. I wanted to kill the bastard who’d touched her. I wanted to touch her myself just to erase him from her skin.

And still... I did nothing.

Because what if she had wanted it?

That thought alone froze me worse than any winter chill. If she wanted him, if she’d chosen him, then everything I’d felt for her—every quiet obsession, every night I spent dreaming of her voice, every slow glance she gave me that made my blood burn, meant nothing. It would mean I had lost her before I even truly had her.

By the time evening rolled around, I still hadn’t moved from bed.

The dusk warm rays filtering through the curtains like judgment. The hum of life below, preparations and chatter and footsteps, scraped against my nerves. Apparently, the estate was alive and buzzing. Apparently, there was a wedding tomorrow. Mine.

I hadn’t witnessed anything more absurd.

A soft knock rapped against the door before it creaked open. I didn’t look up, already knowing the scent.

Citrus and honey... My mother.

"Axel?" Her voice was controlled and worried.

I didn’t answer. Just shifted under the covers, jaw tight.

She stepped in like a queen inspecting a wounded soldier, eyeing me with the same mixture of concern and exasperation that had defined most of our conversations since I was ten.

"The estate is full," she said, her heels clicking softly against the floor as she approached. "The tailors are setting up the final fittings. Álvaro is preparing his vows. The florists are already screaming at each other. It’s chaos."

"Sounds delightful," I muttered into the pillow.

Her lips twitched. "Alphas from nearly all neighboring packs have arrived. This is the perfect time to network, Axel. Gain new allies. Show your face. Smile. Do something useful."

I rolled onto my back, eyes bloodshot from lack of sleep. "Not in the mood."

She narrowed her gaze. "Is this about the wedding?"

"No."

Yes. Gods. Everything.

She tilted her head. "It is about the wedding."

I ran a hand over my face and groaned. "Just drop it."

She crossed her arms. "I told your father this would happen. I said you’d never go through with it. And frankly, I agree. I never wanted you marrying a woman like Rosa, but here we are."

"Then stop it."

She raised a brow. "Stop what?"

"The whole thing," I snapped, sitting up finally. "The wedding. The pageantry. The charade. Gods, even if the Moon Goddess herself descends from the heavens and officiates, I am not marrying Rosa."

There, I said it.

The silence that followed was sharp enough to cut through my skin.

My mother stared at me, unblinking. Then, very softly, she said, "You’re not getting out of it. You had your chance before the wedding, and you couldn’t pull it off."

I laughed bitterly. "Watch me."

Even if it meant losing everything; the throne, María José, and becoming a rogue, I didn’t care.

I, Axel Montengro will not marry a woman like Rosa!