Rejected by the Alpha, Claimed by his Brother
Chapter 42: _ My Pretty Flower

Chapter 42: _ My Pretty Flower

A strange emotion welled up inside me just watching this pretty flower. It was one I couldn’t name. I’d spent my life looking down on people, toying with them, breaking them, and yet... I didn’t like this.

The pigs were restless, agitated by her presence. She tried to shush them, whispering something I couldn’t hear.

Her voice was so soft—like a lullaby meant to calm them. But it didn’t work. One of them shoved its snout against her arm, making her jolt.

I clenched my jaw.

For someone so breathtaking, so pure-looking, she didn’t belong in filth.

A bitter taste zinged in my mouth.

I had come here to feed the pigs.

Now, I was standing frozen, watching a girl who shouldn’t exist in my world, much less in this place.

I had to know why.

I stood there for a long moment, staring at the girl curled up in the filth like she belonged there.

Like she hadn’t just walked in here looking like something the gods hand-crafted on a particularly good day.

Like she wasn’t the softest, most delicate creature I had ever laid eyes on.

She was shivering. Miserable.

And yet, despite all of that—despite the bruises, the dirt smudged on her cheek, the fear in her wide, doe-like eyes—she was still the most breathtaking thing I had ever seen.

What the hell was she doing here?

I needed to know.

And for the first time in my entire life, I was about to make an introduction that didn’t involve threats, blood, or someone screaming for their mother.

I bent down and carefully placed Clara’s body somewhere behind a wooden crate, safely out of view.

The pigs would have to wait.

Then, dusting off my hands—as if I hadn’t just been carrying a corpse over my shoulder like a sack of potatoes, I uncloaked myself and turned and walked toward the pigsty.

The smell hit me instantly.

I gagged.

The girl—my beautiful, tragic flower—was trying to bury herself under the thin blanket, pressing her face into the fabric as if it could somehow protect her from the overwhelming stench.

This was wrong.

This was offensive.

This was a crime against beauty itself!

Why the hell was she doing this to herself?

I was halfway to vowing vengeance when I realized I had just been standing there, watching her suffer like some kind of creep.

Focus, Luis.

I cleared my throat. "Hi."

The reaction was immediate.

She shot up like she had just been electrocuted, clutching the blanket against her chest as she gasped.

Then, her eyes found me, and for a second, I forgot how to exist.

Up close, she was even more perfect.

Her face was a masterpiece—soft and angelic, even with the bruises marring her tender skin. Oh, such tenderness.

A nasty bruise spread across her cheekbone, another on her jaw, and a fading cut just above her eyebrow.

I clenched my fists.

Who dared to touch her?

I’d break their fingers one by one. Then I’d make them eat them.

But first—priorities.

"Who—who are you?" she stammered, pulling the blanket tighter around her.

Her voice was soft, vibrating, but still holding a bit of strength. I was glad to know that behind all that innocent beauty, behind all that softness was a fighting spirit.

Keep fighting, my girl. But don’t worry, your days of fighting were over for Big Bad Daddy Luis was here and he’ll protect you from all the worries in the world.

Now, she wanted to know who I was...

... I had to think fast.

A lie. A simple one.

If I told her the truth—that I was an Alpha heir, bloodthirsty, corpse-carrying sociopath who had just been planning to feed a woman to the pigs—I had a feeling the conversation wouldn’t go well.

So, I smiled—charming, harmless, very much not a murderer. "I’m one of the guards. My shift just ended, so I was retiring for the night."

Her brows furrowed. "You must be new."

Shit.

This wasn’t me. I was never one to move without a plan. How did I approach her without mapping out what to say to her first?

How on earth did she pull my feet on autopilot by just being miserable? Why in the hell did lying to her feel so wrong?

Oh, my sweet, pretty flower.

I shrugged, casually. "There are a lot of guards. You can’t possibly know all of us."

She tilted her head, still eyeing me like she was trying to place my face. "I do, actually. I mean, I don’t know all of you personally, but I know your faces."

I raised a brow. "Why?"

"Because my father hired you to protect us and you do," she said simply. "You take care of us."

I blinked.

She said it with such sincerity—like she genuinely believed it.

Like she truly thought all the men her father hired were here out of loyalty and not because they were being paid to shoot people in the face.

I was stunned into silence for the first time in my life.

Then, the pieces clicked together, and my mouth opened before I could stop it.

"Wait... Are you saying—" I paused, narrowing my eyes. "Are you one of Don Diego’s daughters?"

She looked almost surprised that I didn’t already know.

"Yes," she said, like it was damn obvious. "I’m María José."

By my master’s white mane!

No.

No fucking way.

This was her?

This was the María José Axel wouldn’t shut up about? The girl he had called too pure for this world? The one who, despite being Don Diego’s daughter, was somehow untouched by all the lies and power plays surrounding her?

I stared at her, stupefied beyond words.

Axel was right.

God help me, he was right.

She was beautiful. Innocent.

Completely, devastatingly out of place in this wretched world.

And I had just found her. My pretty flower. I promise, she was mine now. Mine to obsess over, mine to protect, and mine to keep.

Axel better back off with all his ’I stand for justice’ talks about her. I would never tolerate hearing her name from the mouth of any other man.

She was MINE now. Mine.