Rejected by the Alpha, Claimed by his Brother
Chapter 43: _ Nobody Hurts What’s Mine!

Chapter 43: _ Nobody Hurts What’s Mine!

I grinned from ear to ear sheepishly.

"María José," I repeated, testing the name on my tongue.

It suited her. Soft, delicate. A name meant to be whispered.

The name danced on my tongue like a prayer I had never learned to say.

María José.

Oh, by the devil, she was real. Right in front of me. Speaking to me. Looking at me with those big, soulful eyes that belonged to someone who had no idea how dangerous I was.

And damn—I felt alive.

More than I had in years.

I had spent my life in darkness, feeding off fear, power, and control. But standing here, in this filth-ridden pigsty, speaking to her like I was just another man ending his shift, I felt something foreign buzz beneath my skin.

She enchanted me.

And I—I, the predator, the villain, the man who had come here to dispose of a body—was utterly, hopelessly captivated.

She made me feel like the twelve-year-old Luis again.

I didn’t like it.

I loved it.

María José nodded hesitantly. "And you are?"

I almost gave her my real name.

Almost.

But then I remembered—dead woman, pigs, the Alpha’s paralyzed nephew, wheelchair... too many secrets.

"Mateo," I said smoothly.

She squinted. "I don’t think I’ve heard of a Mateo working here."

I smirked. "It’s a big villa, princesa. Hard to keep track of everyone."

She seemed to accept that, relaxing slightly, though she still watched me with wary eyes.

"You’re beautiful," I told her, because it was true and I wanted to see how she reacted.

She flushed.

Actually blushed.

It was faint, just the slightest pink dusting her cheeks, but I saw it. Pride bloomed within me.

And I wanted more of it.

"Thank you," she mumbled, lowering her gaze.

I stepped closer, intrigued. "Even with the bruises," I added, watching her closely. "They don’t take away from it—your beauty."

She swallowed. Her fingers clutched the blanket. I could tell she was used to this compliment. Subsequently, I could also tell she didn’t like it.

She didn’t want to be just beautiful.

I tilted my head. "How did you get them?"

The moment the question left my lips, her entire body tensed.

Bingo.

Someone had hurt her.

And suddenly, whoever it was had exactly ten minutes left to live.

When she tensed at my question, when her fingers clutched the blanket like it was the only thing holding her together, something inside me snarled.

I had spent my life breaking people. But right then, I wanted to unbreak her.

I took a slow step forward, tilting my head. "Did someone hurt you, princesa?"

She thought twice.

She hesitated.

That was all the confirmation I needed.

A slow, dangerous heat curled inside me, something dark and possessive. Whoever had dared to touch her—whoever had marked that perfect skin with bruises—was living on borrowed time.

Her throat bobbed as she swallowed. "It’s nothing."

Nothing.

I wanted to laugh.

I wanted to kill.

But more than that, I wanted to know who had put that quiet sadness in her eyes.

I wanted to rip their heart out with my bare hands and feed them to the pigs.

I had never cared about another person’s pain before. Not like this.

But María José wasn’t just anyone.

She was the flower blooming in the wrong place.

She was the prayer I had never known how to say.

And she was making me feel like my father.

You would be proud, Dad.

María José was so close now after I took a step closer. I could feel the warmth of her body despite the cold, the faint scent of flowers clinging to her even in this filthy place.

It was intoxicating. She was exhilarating.

I studied her, silently urging her to speak, to trust me. Her hands were still clutching the blanket, her knuckles white with uncertainty.

She wasn’t going to just hand me her pain—it was mine to coax out. And I would. I could be patient, I could be gentle.

For her, I would do anything.

I had to be careful. I couldn’t scare her.

Not when I had just found her.

Not when she was looking at me with those eyes, trusting me just a little.

I softened my voice, and let a smile emerge on my lips—the kind that made people lower their guard.

"You can tell me, princesa. About the bruises. About whatever’s weighing on you. I won’t judge."

That was a lie.

Oh, I would judge.

And then I would destroy.

She seemed reluctant for another moment, her eyes searching mine like she was looking for something.

Reassurance? Understanding?

Sweetheart, I was the least qualified person to provide either of those.

And yet, for her, I’d pretend.

"It’s just..." she sighed, dropping her gaze to her lap. "It’s been a long day. A lot happened today."

I tilted my head. "Tell me."

She let out another sigh, this one heavier. I almost believed that the weight of the world sat on her fragile shoulders.

"It all started when my father sent me to the butchery."

I arched an eyebrow. "The butchery?"

She nodded. "He thought it would be good for me to learn responsibility."

I fought the urge to laugh. Responsibility?

What the hell was Don Diego thinking? His tender, angel-faced daughter handling raw meat and carcasses?

That was a crime. Would she be fine with me teaching her father a lesson?

She continued, not noticing how hard I fought my anger. "And then... well, then there was Luis Miguel and his friends."

"Who the hell is Luis Miguel?" I blurted out in wonder.

Her lips pressed together. She shifted uncomfortably.

And suddenly, I wanted to kill a man I hadn’t even met yet.

"He... he was my high school classmate," she admitted.

Classmate.

High school.

A boy.

I could already tell I was going to hate him.

"Go on," I urged, keeping my voice light, even though my hands had curled into fists.

She looked down at the blanket, tracing the fabric with her fingers. "He... he used to have a crush on me. All through high school, actually."

Ah.

There it was.

That ugly, twisting sensation in my chest that I wasn’t ready to name.

"But I never liked him back," she continued. "I never gave him a chance. And ever since it was discovered that I was an Omega..." She trailed off.

I clenched my jaw.

Oh, I was going to enjoy this.

I was going to find this Luis Miguel.

And then I was going to introduce his face to the pavement.

Repeatedly.

I took a deep breath, forcing a calm smile. "Since you were discovered as an Omega... what?"

She let out a mirthless little laugh. "He’s been taking the chance to make me pay for ignoring him all those years."

Oh.

Oh, that was it.

That was the moment I knew Luis Miguel was a dead man walking.

I tilted my head, rolling the name over in my mind. Luis Miguel. Luis Miguel.

Yeah, he wouldn’t be Luis Miguel for much longer.

He’d be an obituary.

An exemplary tale.

A tragic accident waiting to happen.

And his friends?

I’d take care of them, too.

Slowly.

Painfully.