The Bet That Cost Him His Mate Chapter 08

The Bet That Cost Him His Mate Chapter 08

Wyatt didn’t stop coming.

Every Friday afternoon, his car would park outside the Sterling estate.

Sometimes he brought my favorite roses. Sometimes the coffee I used to drink. Once, he brought a Black Forest cake, leaving it there until it rotted, untouched.

At first, the guards reported his visits. But once they saw how little I cared, they stopped mentioning him.

“Your admirer is here again,” Leon would sometimes tease.

“He’s not an admirer.”

“True,” Leon shrugged. “Admirer sounds too flattering. He’s just a fool who briefly held a diamond and threw it away.”

I laughed and let it go.

After Harper was exiled from Crescent Ridge, she tried to find a new pack to take her in. But she quickly realized no pack would accept her.

That, of course, was my father’s doing.

Forced to become a rogue wolf, she lasted less than a month before she tried to play the victim.

She ran to the steps of the Werewolf Council, sobbing and claiming that I had destroyed her life over a harmless joke.

She said Wyatt was just like a brother to her.

She claimed I lied about being an ordinary wolf just to humiliate them.

At first, her theatrics caused a stir, and some wolves pitied her.

Then, my father’s lawyers stepped in.

Mountains of evidence exposing how she used Wyatt’s authority to bully and abuse other wolves were dumped before the Council. She became a despised, hunted rogue.

The next day, Wyatt showed up at my gates without flowers.

His hair was a mess, his face pale. “I didn’t know she was going to go crazy at the Council. I have trackers hunting her down. I’ll lock her in the silver cells so she can never speak ill of you again. I know it doesn’t fix anything…”

“You’re right. It doesn’t. Just like everything else you’ve done lately.”

“But I’m trying…”

“You’re too late.”

None of it affected me for long.

I was too busy becoming who I was meant to be.

At my first official banquet as Heir, the long table was filled with the Alphas of North America.

I could see the hidden contempt in their eyes regarding my little runaway phase.

I didn’t argue.

The first month, I seized control of the West Coast port logistics. The second month, I crushed three minor packs attempting a rebellion. By the third month, nobody called me the Runaway Princess anymore.

They called me their Future Alpha.

At the same time, Silas Thorne—the fated mate I had once rejected—quietly re-entered my life.

I no longer showed the intense resistance I once had.

But he didn’t push. He respected my boundaries.

He didn’t bring flashy bouquets or grand speeches. Instead, when I faced pack disputes, he sat with me and discussed strategy. When I was buried in paperwork, he quietly set a hot cup of coffee on my desk.

I knew my father still wanted the union. We were, after all, fated by the Moon Goddess.

Yet, the powerful Alpha of the Thunderstrike Pack never once used the mate bond to pressure me.

“I can wait,” he told me one evening by the rose garden, his hands tucked casually into his coat pockets. “And if your final answer is no, I will accept it.”

I gazed at him for a long time.

I realized that respect was quieter than passion, but it lasted far longer.

Maybe the Moon Goddess knew what she was doing after all.

That winter, at a summit for the elite packs, I saw Wyatt again.

With his pack suppressed by my father, his territory and influence had been slashed in half. He looked nothing like the arrogant, high-riding Alpha he used to be.

I had no intention of greeting him, but as I strolled past, he stepped forward and asked softly, “Are you… doing okay?”

“I’m great,” I said, my face perfectly calm.

His eyes shifted to Silas. Silas stood beside me, not touching me, giving me the space to handle it myself.

“Who is he?” Wyatt asked.

“I don’t think I owe you an explanation.”

A flash of raw grief hit his eyes. He looked down. “Did you find a new mate?”

I glanced at Silas, then back at Wyatt.

“I found freedom and power. That’s better than anything.”

As I strode away, Wyatt remained rooted to the spot, his hands hanging limp at his sides, watching a door close that he could never walk through again.