Rejected by My Alpha Now He Replaced Me with a Copycat Luna novel Chapter 28

Chapter 28

Raven’s POV

The shower’s steam still clung to the bathroom mirror as I paced the length of my apartment, each step wearing grooves into the worn floorboards. My skin prickled with the phantom urgency of flight-muscles coiled, senses sharpened, every nerve ending alive with the need to

run.

Yet my feet remained rooted.

Duston had crept into my veins like slow poison these past months. Dante’s brotherly shoulder bumps, Joe slipping me an extra twenty “for groceries” when my tips were light, even Marty’s terrible flirting-they’d built something dangerously close to home.

I worried my cheek between my teeth until copper flooded my tongue. The Reapers were mercenaries, yes. But I’d seen the other side of their brutality when they’d torn through concrete and steel to pull Brian from hell. Monsters didn’t risk their necks like that.

Running would be the smart play.

Running would make me prey.

The floorboard groaned as I levered it up, dust motes dancing in the lamplight. The shoebox beneath held my usual comforts-emergency cash, forged documents, the switchblade from Nevada. But tonight, my fingers bypassed them all, closing around the matte black tablet at the bottom.

The hacker had taken three of my precious fake IDs as payment, her neon-green nails tapping against the device as she explained its labyrinth of firewalls and ghost networks. “Not even government spooks could trace this,” she’d promised.

As the screen flickered to life, I sent up a silent prayer that she hadn’t lied.

Because for the first time in eight years, I was choosing to stay.

And that meant facing the past head-on.

The ancient tablet wheezed to life with agonizing slowness, each loading screen testing what little patience I had left. My fingertips tapped an erratic rhythm against my leg-half anticipation, half dread. This clunky device was my lifeline, though its days were clearly numbered. The

thought of replacing it sent a pang through me; every dollar spent was one less between me and freedom.

Yet staying in Duston had its advantages. The ridiculously cheap rent above Jack’s, Joe’s fair pay-it was the closest thing to stability I’d had in years. If only I could convince those five relentless wolves that I was just another boring bartender with no secrets worth uncovering.

When the browser finally creaked open, I entered the URL with deliberate care. The old pack’s domain still existed, a digital monument to my father’s tyranny. Being invisible had been my greatest survival skill-the quiet, overlooked daughter who saw everything.

The head enforcer’s login came to me as easily as my own name. I’d watched him enter it a dozen times, the arrogant bastard never considering the mousey girl in the corner might be memorizing his every move. My father collected powerful wolves like rare coins, each “acquisition”

another notch in his belt.

My fingers hovered over the keyboard. The empathic abilities I’d hidden from him-the gift that would have made me his most prized possession and eventual ruin-were the very reason I’d survived this long. He’d have drained me dry within months if he’d known.

The tablet’s dim glow cast shadows across my face as I navigated through my father’s twisted digital kingdom. Michael Thorne didn’t just collect powerful wolves-he hoarded them like ammunition, stockpiling bodies to fuel his endless hunger for dominance. The sheer size of his pack had always been his pride, but it was also his greatest weakness. Too many moving parts, too many wolves to control completely.

My lips curled as I accessed the tracking system. The GPS implants he’d forced on his pack-meant to tighten his grip-had become my greatest weapon. The arrogant bastard never considered how this tool could be turned against him.

The “Pack Leadership” tab loaded with agonizing slowness. Of course Michael exempted himself from being chipped-the alpha couldn’t stomach the thought of being monitored like common pack. But his paranoia made him predictable. He never traveled without his four most

brutal enforcers and that snake Gavin, his beta.

My fingers trembled slightly as I checked each tracker. Most of them were in New Orleans. Nowhere near Duston, Kansas, With each confirmation, the vise around my chest loosened another fraction.

Then came the Beta, Gavin’s file.

The screen blurred momentarily as my vision tunneled. If Michael was the fist of his pack, Gavin was the knife-precise, cruel, and infinitely more creative in his torment. Their symbiotic sadism had forged something monstrous, a feedback loop of brutality that still haunted my nightmares.

My finger hovered over Gavin’s name for a heartbeat too long before tapping-just enough time for the memories to come rushing back. The scent of blood and sweat in the training room, the crack of bones under practiced hands, Gavin’s cold laughter as he carried out my father’s twisted lessons. A full-body tremor ran through me as the location loaded.

New York. Lower East Side.

The tablet slipped from my numb fingers, clattering against the floorboards. That particular neighborhood held too many ghosts-the tiny walk-up I’d rented under a fake name, the bodega where I’d bought my morning coffee, the alley where I’d first learned to throw a proper punch. All places Gavin could be walking past right now, breathing the same air I had six years ago.

I forced air through my clenched teeth, counting the inhales like the self-defense instructor had taught me. Four in. Seven hold. Eight out. New York was a city of millions. This could mean nothing.

But the rationalizations rang hollow as ice spread through my veins. My hands found their way around my knees, pulling them tight against my

chest-a futile attempt to contain the panic threatening to crack me open. All those years of training, all the weapons stashed in strategic locations, every carefully constructed identity… none of it mattered against the cold truth.

Michael didn’t just command a pack-he ruled an army. And against that kind of power, one woman with a knife and a duffel bag of fake IDs

stood no chance.

The warmth of Jack’s bar, the easy camaraderie with Marty, even Kael’s infuriating protectiveness-they were just borrowed comforts. When the reckoning came, I’d face it alone.

Just like always.

The tablet’s screen dimmed to black, Gavin’s mocking coordinates disappearing into the darkness. Outside my window, Duston slept peacefully, oblivious to the storm gathering on the horizon.

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