Rejected at My Own Birthday Celebration

During my birthday gathering, Erik Hawkins, the Lycan Prince and my mate, wrapped his arm around Gracie Shaw, his childhood crush and unattainable dream. He gently patted her belly and turned to me, his voice dripping with false concern. “She’s pregnant. What should we do, darling?” The room fell silent, the tension thick enough to choke on. No one at the table dared to stand up for me, nor did they worry I might make a scene. I stood calmly, my voice steady despite the storm raging inside me. “Congratulations.” Congratulations to him for achieving what he’d always wanted, and congratulations to me for finally letting go. Loving him had long since become a draining effort.

---

An hour had passed since the party was supposed to begin. The dishes were cold, and even the server, a young Delta from our pack, had asked multiple times if it was time to bring out the cake. Seated at the head of the table, I stared at the chat history between me and Erik, lingering on the last message I had sent him that morning: [Will you make it to my birthday?]

To my right, Alpha Ambrose Bell, my father, sat with his jaw clenched, his aura simmering with barely contained anger. To my left, Luna Layla Hawkins, Erik’s mother, maintained an amicable smile, though her eyes betrayed her unease. “He’ll be here soon. I called him, and he’s on his way,” she assured me, her voice soothing but strained. Erik hadn’t shown up for nearly two weeks now. Two months ago, he informed me that Gracie Shaw, a werewolf from our pack, had returned to the territory. He handed me a picture of her leaving Heathrow, his eyes gleaming with something I couldn’t—or didn’t want to—place. “She’s as captivating as ever. Time has been good to her,” he had said, his words heavy with unspoken meaning. Marrying me seemed a decision he regretted every day.

Suddenly, the door swung open forcefully, and Erik walked in with Gracie Shaw. My father, Alpha Ambrose, stood abruptly, his eyes wide with shock. My mother, Luna Sariyah Bell, clung tightly to his arm, though it wasn’t necessary. My father stammered, “Erik, this is...”

Erik, smiling lazily, pulled out a chair near the door and helped Gracie sit. Then he took his place beside her, resting his arm on the back of her chair in a casual, possessive gesture. “Alpha Ambrose,” he began, his tone light but laced with defiance, “hasn’t Elena mentioned it to you? I had a crush back in the day.”

It felt like my heart had been punched, leaving me struggling for air. Luna Layla’s expression turned stern as she fixed Erik with a piercing gaze. “There’s a time and place for this. Today’s Elena’s birthday.”

Erik’s smile widened as he placed his hand on Gracie’s belly, his eyes locking onto mine with a challenge. “It’s just that today everyone is here, perfect for clearing things up.” His voice was smooth, almost mocking. “She’s pregnant. What do you think we should do, darling?”

Gracie had been blushing from the moment she entered, keeping her head down and silent, as if playing the part of the reluctant bystander. My hands, hidden beneath the table, had already dug into my palms deep enough to draw blood, yet my expression remained neutral, betraying none of the turmoil inside me.

Erik relaxed into his chair, his gaze never leaving me, as if daring me to break. “You know what to do, don’t you?”

My father slumped back into his seat, his aura flickering with a mix of anger and helplessness. Everyone at the table looked at me, awaiting my reaction, not a single voice rising in my defense. I let out a small, bitter laugh, my voice steady despite the pain clawing at my chest. “Congratulations.”

---

Growing up, I wanted to be a police officer. I was sure of it until my father, Alpha Ambrose, risked his life diving into the water to save someone. Kneeling at his funeral, with the somber music echoing around me, I fought back tears and felt lost. That feeling of being adrift persisted until the Hawkins family appeared, promising to care for us as they knelt before my father.

Elena White, the high school girl my father saved. Her face was porcelain-like, and her eyes were clear, more doll-like than Gracie Shaw’s. I despised her, from the depths of my being.

Why wasn’t she the one who died instead?

After dealing with my father’s affairs, my mother couldn’t resist their insistence and moved into their grand house, where everything was meticulously arranged. But Elena grew even more unbearable.

Her eyes would cautiously follow me everywhere. I was merely testing if the sofa was genuine leather by picking at it a little. She immediately asked, “Don’t like it? Should we switch to a fabric one?”

I suspected she was pretending, showing off. It was infuriating that she survived while playing the role of a benevolent benefactor. I also suspected she was behind the decision to transfer me to a prestigious high school. Under the guise of being good for me, did I, as a boy, need protection and care? No, it simply made me a constant reminder of their family’s gratitude.

No one asked my opinion, and I could no longer see Gracie Shaw. She handed me the class yearbook, eyes red, and said, “Write in it early for me.” I didn’t take it; I had no idea what to write. I had planned to confess my feelings to her before graduation, but I knew deep down we wouldn’t be together.

Elena was infuriatingly annoying, and moments passed without me being irritated by her. Between study sessions, I found myself thinking about her more than Gracie Shaw. I kept wondering, what does she want? What is she planning?

She soon provided an answer.

When Gracie came to say goodbye, she cried even harder than when I was transferred. She said going abroad to study was the luckiest thing in her life. I knew it wasn’t luck; someone was pulling strings behind the scenes.

I was furious, storming over to confront Elena. Only when I arrived did I recall it was her graduation ceremony, inexplicably holding a bouquet of flowers. I was there to demand answers, yet I held flowers.

In front of everyone, I proposed to her and took the bewildered Elena to get a marriage license. My heart was pounding out of my chest. Everyone urged me not to rush, to prepare the wedding, notify the guests. But I feared regret, feared my own regret even more than hers.

I was terrified she’d suddenly realize how thoroughly I intended to exact revenge. When she signed, her hands trembling, I was more anxious than she was. Only when I held that marriage certificate did my years of turmoil settle.

For the rest of our lives, we’d torment each other like this. I constantly reminded her that all my unhappiness was her fault. Watching her become more silent, more timid and fragile in front of me, gave me immense satisfaction.

She couldn’t leave me. No matter what I did, she would stay. Because this was her debt to me.