The Secret Mate Of The Lycan Alpha King

Daphne (POV):

The crystal chandelier illuminated the ballroom down to the finest detail. My partner Bryton Snyder had his arm around his latest fling, Tiffany Reed—his fingers casually tracing her bare shoulder.

"Bryton, darling, is this the Omega you always talk about? Looks…not very good." Tiffany's voice was like a honey-coated blade.

Giggles rose from all around.

I held my champagne glass, not looking up. My nails tapped lightly on the rim of the glass, once, twice. I was counting. On the seventh tap, Bryton finally spoke.

"Daphne, don't be so serious. I just want you to understand your place as my woman."

He paused, his gaze sliding from Tiffany's curves to me, with that familiar, condescending amusement.

"And, don't be so boring."

The crowd laughed.

I laughed too.

A small, almost self-deprecating laugh. I placed the champagne glass on the tray beside me, the movement slow and deliberate, the base of the glass tapping the silver saucer with a crisp sound—just enough to drown out the last burst of laughter.

“Brighton,” I began, my voice soft but clear enough to fill the now quiet space, “do you remember what you said to Caleb in the study three weeks ago?”

Caleb Hayes was his Beta. His smile froze.

“You said, ‘Once the Ironclaw wolves have taken over the woodlands of the Westerlands, Daphne will be useless. Wouldn’t it be better to find a more politically valuable marriage partner then?’” Caleb’s face turned deathly pale. Tiffany’s fingers froze on his chest.

I continued, my tone as steady as reading a financial statement: “You probably didn’t expect that the study door wasn’t closed properly that night. I was standing in the hallway, and I heard everything.” Brighton’s pupils contracted sharply. He took a half-step forward, his muscles tense, but several elders in the elders' seats already frowned.

"So," I raised my chin, letting the light fall on my face, "I've decided on this occasion." The air froze completely.

"I, Daphne Lindsay."

I smoothed my skirt with my fingertips and stood even straighter.

"I formally refuse you, Brighton Snyder, as my partner."

This was an ancient ritual. The severing of the most formal and irrevocable potential bond, recognized by the laws of the Wolf Clan. A gasp rippled through the onlookers.

His face turned from white to pale. "You dare!" he forced out broken syllables.

"According to the ritual, you must now accept my refusal," I stated, my voice devoid of emotion.

He glanced at the elders' icy faces, then at the curious and excited gazes of the guests. He knew he had no choice.

I saw Caleb silently mouth to him from the side, "Accept it!" The few seconds felt like an eternity. Brighton's jaw was clenched; I could even hear him grinding his teeth.

"I...accept." Each word felt like a crushed pebble.

A tearing pain ripped through my soul, but even more so, a sense of relief washed over me.

I turned without hesitation, walked through the crowd, back straight, steps unhurried. Reaching the door, I paused, turned my head, and whispered in Tiffany's direction—

"By the way, in the left pocket of the black coat at the very back of his wardrobe, there's a hotel receipt that wasn't completely erased. The date is last Wednesday. Have a good day."

The color drained from her face.

I pushed open the door and stepped into the night air.

In the rearview mirror, the lights of the banquet hall rushed past. I held the steering wheel with one hand, and with the other, I pulled my phone from my bag and dialed a number I'd saved for three months but never called. It was my father's friend, Walter Price, who had never been in favor of my relationship with Brighton. “Mr. Walter Price? This is Daphne Lindsay. I’ve made up my mind about that matter you mentioned to my father last time—the marriage proposal from that important figure in Silver Creek. Please arrange a meeting for me.” I hung up and turned onto the highway.

A relieved smile finally appeared on my lips.

I didn’t cry. Tears were something I’d long since run dry.