Back home, I opened the pack’s group chat and typed a simple message: [The engagement is off. Tristan Callen and I are done.]
I should’ve left it there. But anger burned beneath my skin, urging me to add: [Congratulations to Selene Ashford. You won.]
The group chat exploded within seconds.
Tristan, ever the master manipulator, posted a picture of his computer. [Handling pack matters, as usual.] Then came the twisting of the knife: [Ember, you don’t need to throw a tantrum just because I didn’t buy you that dress. And I never brought up the fact that you used my credit card to party with your male friends.]
My mother jumped in immediately, her scolding sharp and public. [You ungrateful child! Tristan has done everything for you. Apologize now. Don’t ruin this. You’ll regret it.]
I didn’t bother replying. Just sighed and exited the chat, tossing my phone aside. What did I expect? They always believed Tristan. He was their Alpha. Their golden boy. And me? I was the girl who never lived up to anyone’s expectations.