The world began to fall apart on Tyler’s nineteenth birthday. I, Lola, had been dating him for almost a year, a relationship built on the naive belief that we were destined mates. He was the Alpha’s son, and I, a young she-wolf, hung on his every word, convinced of our future.

That night, as he drove us to the party in his Mustang, the usual banter felt off. He criticized my black dress, called me “goth,” and complained endlessly about the Crescent Pack, dismissing their Alpha as “just a man.” My unease grew, a knot forming in my stomach.

Inside the thumping nightclub, surrounded by friends like Chelsea, I clung to Tyler, ready to finally give myself to him after months of waiting for us to officially become mates. But then, it happened. Tyler ripped himself from my side, drawn by an invisible pull.

My world crumbled as a tall, long-legged girl emerged from the women’s bathroom. Tyler and she locked eyes, running into each other’s arms like a scene from a bad romance movie. He had found his mate, and it wasn’t me. The familiar became foreign. With my body trembling and my mind fighting to process the unthinkable, I did the only thing I could: I ran.