Chapter 2

The world spun around Camille as she crumpled to the ground, the sharp scent of the packhouse mingling with the metallic tang of her own despair. Darkness clawed at the edges of her vision, but she fought to stay conscious, her fingers digging into the cold, tiled floor. She could still hear the laughter and chatter from the main hall, oblivious to her pain.

"Get up," a harsh voice snapped.

Camille forced her eyes open, blinking away the haze. Elara stood over her, arms crossed, a scowl etched deep into her features. The enforcer's eyes gleamed with disdain as she looked down at Camille.

"I said, get up. Do you think you can lie there all night? Pathetic," Elara hissed, nudging Camille's side with the toe of her boot. The impact jolted through Camille's already fragile state, but she pushed herself up on shaking arms.

The pain of the rejection still throbbed in her chest, a dull, insistent ache that made it hard to breathe. She wanted to curl up and disappear, to let the darkness take her away from this unbearable reality, but she couldn't. Not here. Not now.

"Move, or I'll drag you out myself," Elara threatened.

Camille swallowed hard and stumbled to her feet, leaning against the counter for support. Her head spun, and her vision blurred, but she forced herself to focus. She wouldn't give Elara or anyone else the satisfaction of seeing her break. Not again.

"Good," Elara said with a sneer. "Now, get back to work. The guests don't need to see you lurking around like some wounded animal."

Camille nodded, biting her tongue to hold back the retort that threatened to spill out. She didn't trust her voice, didn't trust herself to speak without breaking down completely. Instead, she turned away, her body moving on autopilot as she made her way back into the kitchen.

The noise of the party hit her like a wave-laughter, clinking glasses, the murmur of voices. It felt like a mockery now, each sound a reminder of the life she'd never have, the future that had just been ripped away from her.

Her hands trembled as she picked up another tray, focusing on the mundane task of collecting empty glasses and plates. It was a distraction, a small mercy that kept her from drowning in the sea of her own thoughts. She moved through the crowd like a shadow, unnoticed, blending into the background as she always had.

But she couldn't avoid the whispers.

"Did you hear? The Alpha rejected his mate."

"An omega, of all people. Can you imagine?"

"I can't believe she thought she was good enough for him."

The words cut deeper than any knife, each one a fresh wound that bled into her soul. Camille clenched her jaw, forcing herself to keep moving, to keep her head down. She wouldn't cry. Not here.

As she approached the far side of the room, she felt the weight of someone's gaze on her. She glanced up and met Joffrey's eyes across the hall. He was speaking to a group of pack elders, his expression composed, his stance relaxed. But his eyes... they were cold, piercing, as if he could see straight through her.

For a brief moment, their gazes locked, and she saw something flicker in his eyes. Regret? No. It was gone too quickly, replaced by that same icy indifference.

Camille dropped her gaze and hurried past, her heart pounding in her chest. She needed to get out of here. She couldn't breathe, couldn't think with the walls closing in around her, the weight of a hundred eyes judging her, pitying her.

She slipped through the back door of the packhouse and into the cool night air. The forest loomed around her, dark and silent, the trees whispering secrets to the wind. Camille pressed a hand to her chest, trying to steady her breathing, but the pain only seemed to deepen.

A sob tore from her throat, and she sank to her knees, burying her face in her hands. It wasn't supposed to be like this. She'd dreamed of meeting her mate, of feeling that unbreakable bond, that pure, untainted love she'd heard about in stories. Instead, she'd been rejected, cast aside like she was nothing.

The sound of footsteps behind her made her stiffen. She wiped her tears hastily, not wanting to be seen like this, but it was too late.

"Camille."

The voice was quiet, almost gentle. She turned and found herself looking up into the face of Ethan, one of the pack warriors. He was older than her, with kind brown eyes and a face that was weathered but not unkind. He crouched down beside her, his expression filled with sympathy.

"I heard what happened," he said softly. "I'm sorry."

Camille shook her head, unable to speak. The lump in her throat was too thick, the words trapped beneath the weight of her sorrow.

Ethan sighed, running a hand through his graying hair. "I know this doesn't mean much right now, but... you're stronger than you think, Camille. Don't let this break you."

She managed a weak, watery smile. "I don't have much choice, do I?"

He chuckled softly, though the sound was tinged with sadness. "No, I suppose not. But you're not alone in this. Remember that."

Before she could respond, he straightened, giving her shoulder a gentle squeeze before walking back toward the packhouse. Camille watched him go, a small flicker of warmth kindling in the cold emptiness inside her.

Maybe he was right. Maybe she was stronger than she knew.

The thought gave her a sliver of hope, just enough to help her stand, to take a deep, shuddering breath and lift her chin. She wouldn't let this destroy her. She couldn't.

But as she turned back toward the forest, ready to find solace in its shadows, she felt a familiar presence behind her. The hair on the back of her neck stood on end, and she didn't need to turn around to know who it was.

"Camille."

Joffrey's voice was a low growl, rough with something she couldn't quite place. Anger? Regret? It didn't matter. She didn't want to hear it.

"What do you want?" she asked, her voice sharper than she intended. She turned to face him, keeping her expression as neutral as she could manage.

Joffrey stood there, his hands clenched into fists at his sides, his eyes dark and stormy. For a moment, he said nothing, just stared at her as if he were trying to solve a puzzle.

"You shouldn't be out here alone," he said finally.

Camille barked out a humorless laugh. "Why? Worried I might get hurt? You made it pretty clear you don't care what happens to me."

Something flashed in his eyes, a flicker of emotion she couldn't decipher. He took a step closer, his jaw tense. "I care more than you think."

"Don't lie to me," she snapped. "You rejected me, Joffrey. You made your choice."

His expression hardened. "I did what I had to."

"No," she said, her voice breaking. "You did what you wanted to."

They stood there in the darkness, the silence stretching between them like a chasm. Finally, Joffrey turned away, his shoulders stiff.

"Go back inside, Camille," he said, his voice hollow. "It's not safe out here."

But she didn't move, didn't take her eyes off him. For the first time, she wasn't afraid.

"You're the one who's dangerous, Joffrey," she whispered. "And one day, I won't be afraid of you anymore."

He looked back at her, and for a moment, he looked almost human, almost vulnerable. But then the mask was back, and he walked away without another word, disappearing into the shadows of the forest.

Camille watched him go, the ache in her chest a little less sharp now. She wasn't sure what had just happened, but one thing was clear.

She wasn't going to let him break her. Not anymore.