His Rejection at Altar Choosing Over The Alpha Chapter 6 – Unmasking Intentions
The next day, I requested a meeting with Quinn.
Not at his office. Not at the packhouse.
Neutral ground—a public café near the border where neither of us could pretend this was anything other than what it was.
A conversation that had been put off for far too long.
He arrived late, as expected. Dressed like always—neatly pressed shirt, shoulders squared, Alpha aura intact. But he looked tired, as if he’d sensed this wasn’t going to be routine.
I didn’t stand when he sat down across from me. I didn’t offer a smile.
He studied me for a second, frowning slightly. “You okay?”
“I’m fine,” I said flatly. “I just wanted to clear something up.”
He raised an eyebrow. “About the other night? I told you, Carmen and I—”
“This isn’t about Carmen,” I interrupted.
He tilted his head, wary now.
“I overheard her yesterday,” I said. “She’s not in love with you, Quinn. She’s using you. For position, for status. She said so herself. She’s playing the long game.”
He leaned back, arms crossed. “You were eavesdropping?”
“She was careless,” I replied. “But that’s not the point. The point is, you’ve built your pack around someone who doesn’t care about you—only what standing beside you gives her.”
He didn’t speak. His jaw clenched.
I leaned in slightly, my voice even. “You chose someone who tells you what you want to hear. Someone who never questions your decisions. Someone who reflects your power back at you, not your flaws.”
He blinked slowly. “So this is about your jealousy again.”
I gave a short laugh. “Quinn, if I were still jealous, I wouldn’t be here. I wouldn’t bother.”
Silence stretched between us.
Then, finally, I said the one thing I’d never let myself say aloud.
“You stopped seeing me a long time ago. You saw what I represented—your mate, your future, the girl you took to the elders—but not who I really was.”
He didn’t deny it.
“Every time I tried to talk to you, you shut down. Every concern, brushed aside. Every need, minimized. You had a script, and you stuck to it. Until I became predictable too.”
His gaze dropped to the table.
“And now?” he asked.
I stood up. “Now, I’m done being predictable.”
He looked up sharply. “What does that mean?”
“It means this is the last conversation we’re going to have about us,” I said, reaching into my bag and pulling out the small velvet box I’d kept tucked away in my drawer for years.
Inside was the silver ring he once gave me—an informal promise of our future. The one I foolishly wore for far too long.
I set it on the table.
“I’m returning what never truly belonged to me.”
He looked at it, but didn’t touch it.
I stepped back. “You don’t have to believe me. But soon, you’ll see her for who she is. And I hope, when that day comes, you remember this moment.”
Then I walked out.
And for the first time in seven years, I didn’t look back.
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