The Campus Encounter

POV: Arabella

I bolt upright the second my alarm blares. I slap the snooze button, my chest heaving as I suck in a ragged breath. I need to escape this suffocating mattress. The sheets smell like him. Pine and rain. A scent I used to crave, now turning my stomach into knots. I throw the covers aside, my bare feet hitting the cold floorboards, and rush into the bathroom. I twist the shower dial past the safety catch, letting scalding hot water rain down over the tile. I step directly under the intense spray. I grab a rough exfoliating sponge and drag it across my skin. I scrub hard, my nails digging into the sponge. I need to wash him off. I need to wash away his lingering scent. I need to scrub away the violating memory of last night.

I close my eyes, but the darkness only brings back the visceral, sickening images. I feel the phantom weight of his body pressing me down into the mattress, his heavy chest crushing the breath out of my lungs. I remember the brutal, undeniable reality of his cock forcing its way inside my body, tearing past my dry friction. I remember the harsh, relentless thrusts driving deep into me until he reached his physical release, groaning my name as if he hadn't just shattered my soul. It wasn't making love. He took what he wanted to satisfy his primal urges, ignoring my frozen state and my silent tears. The hot water burns my shoulders, turning my skin raw and bright red, but the heat doesn't make me feel clean. Nothing will ever make me feel clean again. The mate bond feels like a rotting disease under my flesh.

I turn the water off, my hands shaking. I dry myself with quick, sharp motions and dress in a simple sweater and jeans for my morning classes. I map out my escape plan. I step into the kitchen, keeping my footsteps silent on the hardwood floor. I make a quick cup of black coffee, the bitter aroma filling the quiet space. I grip the warm ceramic mug, intending to slip out the front door before he even opens his eyes. I turn around, my coffee cup trembling in my grip.

My heart leaps into my throat.

Mateo stands right behind me. He makes no sound. He never masked his presence from me before; he always wanted me to know when he entered a room. He wears a pair of gray sweatpants, his broad chest bare, the muscles rippling under the morning light. He flashes that familiar, charming smile. I woke up to that exact smile every morning since he returned from his training. It was the foundation of the happy life I thought we were building together. Now, staring at the curve of his lips, the warmth feels sinister. The man standing in my kitchen is a terrifying stranger wearing my mate's skin. The beast he hid for years is finally visible, and it looks exactly like the boy I loved.

"You were going to leave without saying goodbye?" he asks. His tone is soft, deceptive, laced with a calm authority that makes my blood run cold.

"I didn't want to wake you," I lie, my voice tight as I clutch the mug. "I'm running late for my classes."

I try to step past him. He mirrors my movement, blocking the narrow aisle between the kitchen island and the fridge. He steps forward, closing the distance. He reaches out and gently takes the coffee cup from my trembling hands. He sets it on the granite counter with a soft clink. A pathetic display of appeasement meant to calm a volatile omega.

"Okay," he murmurs, resting his hands on his hips. "I made an exclusive dinner reservation for us tonight at the club."

The audacity strikes a raw nerve. It echoes the hollow emptiness settling deep in my chest. He hates rejection. He never had to hear the word 'no' from me before, and he expects me to fall in line.

"Do you really think going out in public would sit well with the pack days after your wedding?" I ask sharply, cutting him off.

Mateo tenses. His jaw clenches tight. "I'm trying to make it up to you. I didn't want this either, Arabella."

"I understand," I snap, grabbing my mug back from the counter, the coffee sloshing over the rim. "Which is why I'm telling you now that parading me around would be disrespectful to your new wife. It reflects poorly on us. I won't play the role of the favored mistress." I take a sip of the bitter coffee, holding his dark gaze. "I'll see you tonight. Right here in this apartment, where no one else can witness your dirty secret."

Mateo shifts his weight, stepping sideways. He puts his imposing frame between me and the front door, blocking my path. "I'm sorry," he murmurs, staring down at me with a pained expression. "Tell me exactly how to make this horrific situation right again."

I stare at his face, searching for a trace of genuine understanding. I find nothing. He treats this situation like a minor inconvenience, a puzzle he can solve with dinner reservations and apologies. He fails to grasp the sacred rules of our mate bond. Our bond shattered the exact moment he bowed to his parents' demands. He let them dictate his future as the alpha of Veridia City, accepting an arranged marriage for political power. He thinks he can keep me hidden here while ruling with Daphne by his side. But he won't get the comfortable, dual life he craves without eventually marking Daphne. The pack laws demand it. I swear to myself that hell will freeze over before I ever forgive his actions from last night.

"I just need some space," I state, taking a cautious step backward to put distance between us. "You didn't even give me a warning about the wedding, Mateo. I knew your parents stopped caring about me the moment you told them I was a wolf-less omega. I just never thought you would buy into it. Your willingness to accept this degrading arrangement proves you share their bigoted views. You think I'm a worthless omega too."

"I don't," he denies, his voice rising in sudden panic. "Bella, you mean everything to me. You are the love of my life. From the moment I laid eyes on you." He reaches out, crossing the space I just created. His strong hand grabs my wrist, a physical anchor meant to prevent my escape. "You have to know that."

"I did." I plant my feet and yank my arm out of his tight grip. "But I find it very hard to believe it's the truth anymore."

He stares at me. A quick flicker of vulnerability crosses his sharp features, replaced by a blank expression as he wars with his inner wolf. I look away, stepping around him and reaching for the doorknob.

"Do you still love me, Bells?" he asks. The one question I dread hearing.

The words hit me in the spine. I freeze with my hand on the brass knob. I refuse to give him the satisfaction of an answer. I pull the heavy door open, push past the threshold, and hurry down the stairs without looking back.

I lock myself inside my car and speed away from the apartment complex. My knuckles turn white as I grip the steering wheel. I drive to campus with a tight, suffocating feeling in my throat. The morning sun shines bright over the university buildings, a stark contrast to the dark storm raging inside my mind.

Sitting in the crowded lecture hall is pure agony. I don't possess heightened wolf senses, but I can hear the malicious whispers bouncing off the acoustic panels. The students sitting behind me lean closer together, their eyes drilling into the back of my neck. They gloat openly. The girls who hated me from the moment Mateo claimed me are thrilled. They whisper about how Mateo's arrogant mate has finally been put in her rightful place. They act as if my sole worth in this world was tied to standing beside a powerful alpha, as if I have nothing else to offer.

Envy is an ugly emotion when political power is involved. I never once desired the title of Luna. I never cared about pack politics, wealth, or commanding others. All I ever wanted was the boy who sat with me years ago. The boy with pretty sea-glass colored eyes and a sly smirk who comforted me after a rogue pack slaughtered my entire family. The boy who stayed by my side while my grandmother cried in the hallway. I spent two grueling years trapped in a sterile hospital bed, enduring painful reconstructive surgeries just to fix my broken body. I fell in love with the safety he provided when my world shattered. It was comforting to be vulnerable around him, to have someone to share my small, isolated world with. He was my best friend. But that boy left for a whole year to complete his alpha training, and big stretches of time change people. I was stupid to believe I would ever get the same person back. The boy I loved died, replaced by a calculating alpha who forces himself on me.

The professor hands out a pop quiz, snapping me out of my dark thoughts. I stare at the paper, letting the academic questions ground me. I fill out the answers with rapid, precise strokes of my pen. I finish the test before anyone else even flips their page. I walk the quiz to the front of the room and set it on the wooden podium. I know I will ace it. I am likely the only student in this room who will get a perfect score. But none of these gossiping cowards care about my intellect. My public misery is much more exciting to them. They want to see me break. They want something to make me smaller.

Professor Kensington watches me approach. She picks up my test, her eyes wide with stinging, unsolicited pity. It burns worse than the whispers.

"Ms. Varg," she murmurs softly, leaning across the desk. "If you need some time to process the public humiliation... I understand if you need a moment."

"I don't. I'm fine," I snap, cutting her off. I refuse to accept her pity. I spin around and march back to my desk. I gather my textbooks and shove my pens into my canvas bag. The air in this lecture hall is suffocating. I need to get out before I lose my composure.

I swing my heavy bag over my shoulder and stride toward the exit, desperate to escape the room. A girl from the third row steps into the narrow aisle, blocking my path on purpose. She crosses her arms, a smug smirk plastered across her face.

"Omega bitch," she growls.

The harsh insult hits my ears. My ingrained combat training triggers instantly. I don't miss a single beat. I pause right beside the front row desks. A heavy wooden chalkboard eraser sits near the edge of the table. I shift my weight to my left leg. I smoothly drive my right knee upward, slamming it hard into the underside of the desk. The impact jolts the heavy wood, sending the eraser launching high into the air.

I pivot on my heel. My body moves on pure instinct, a lethal sequence drilled into my muscle memory during years of brutal physical rehabilitation and combat practice. With a flawless, lightning-fast roundhouse kick, my sneaker connects with the airborne eraser. It flies across the aisle like a bullet. It strikes the girl directly into the center of her forehead.

Smack.

The girl stumbles backward. She clutches her face, shrieking in sharp pain and immediate humiliation. A bright red welt forms on her skin. The entire classroom erupts into chaotic laughter. The same peers who whispered about me a minute ago are now laughing at her expense, pointing at the mark on her head.

I step into her personal space. I drop my voice to a dead calm octave.

"I may be some omega bitch," I remind her, staring dead into her watering eyes. "But I possess the lethal training to end your life. Then you'd be the stupid bitch that some omega nobody killed."

Her jaw drops. Her eyes flash a bright, glowing amber. Feral rage bleeds into her irises as her wolf pushes to the surface, demanding violent retribution. She bears her teeth, letting out a low, threatening sound from the back of her throat.

I plant my feet shoulder-width apart. I stand my ground. I don't have a wolf spirit to rely on, but I radiate an unwavering, lethal confidence. I wait for her to make a move. I dare her to give me an excuse to beat the shit out of her right here in front of everyone. We stare each other down while the laughter dies off into a tense, heavy silence. Ten agonizing seconds pass. The embarrassment becomes too much for her to handle. The amber fades from her eyes. She backs down, tucking her imaginary tail, and slumps back into her seat without uttering another word. Some of the students snicker at her cowardly retreat.

Walking out of the building, I push through the heavy double doors and step into the main hallway. The cool morning air hits my flushed face. I feel a momentary rush of satisfied vindication. My pulse thrums a steady beat in my ears. I adjust the heavy strap of my bag, looking down at the scuffed linoleum floor as I replay the look of sheer terror on the bully's face. It feels good to remind them that I am not helpless.

I am not looking where I am going.

I suddenly slam face-first into a solid, unyielding brick wall of a chest. The impact knocks the wind straight out of my lungs. My bag slips from my shoulder. All my stacked textbooks spill, crashing onto the concrete floor with a loud, echoing clatter. Loose papers scatter across the hallway.

Startled, I take a step back, rubbing my sore nose. I expect to see a distracted professor or a pissed-off senior student. I look up.

An amused, handsome smirk is aimed directly back down at me. Broad shoulders block out the overhead fluorescent lights. He stands tall, an imposing male figure radiating raw, unquestionable authority and power. His dark eyes dance with intense amusement, taking in my defensive posture, the fire still burning in my eyes, and the scattered mess at my feet. He recognizes the combativeness rolling off me in waves.

"Bullying the little girls, Little Omega?" his deep voice rumbles with familiar, teasing laughter. He tilts his head, his smirk widening into a full grin as he looks at me. "Some things never change, huh?"