Rejected by My Alpha Now He Replaced Me with a Copycat Luna novel Chapter 33

Chapter 33

Dexter’s POV

The sound she made was halfway between a laugh and a scoff. “Hound Dog might be too generous for you. Maybe Jailhouse Rock instead?”

I clutched my chest like she’d shot me. “Raven Elizabeth Winthrop, that cuts deep.”

“Still not my name, Romeo.” Her eyes sparkled with mischief despite the dry tone.

“Had to improvise,” I said with a shrug, carefully avoiding mentioning how Nox had already dug through every database known to man trying to uncover the truth behind “Raven Thorne” – a ghost who left no paper trail.

“Winthrop? Really?”

“What’s wrong with a little old-world charm?”

“Nothing, if you’re a ninety-year-old duke,” she tossed over her shoulder as she walked away.

I watched her navigate the diner with that effortless grace until-

Clatter. Splash.

My amusement faded as I watched her approach Cecilia’s table. The moment played out in slow motion – Raven reaching to place the drinks, Cecilia’s “accidental” elbow jerk, the sickening splash of carbonated water soaking through Raven’s shirt..

Normally I’d have made some cheeky remark about the view, but white-hot rage flooded my veins instead. I was around the bar before I’d even decided to move.

Cecilia’s faux-contrite expression made my wolf snarl. “Oh my goodness, I’m so sorry! These clumsy hands of mine-”

“What you are,” I cut in, voice dangerously low, “is a bitch. You’re BANNED. All of you.”

Cecilia’s gasp was almost convincing. “Dexter, it was-”

“Bullshit.” My voice dropped to a dangerous register. “You had your warning.”

Danielle’s face went sheet-white. “Dexter, be reasonable! Where else are we supposed to get decent drinks around here? You’re the only bar in

town.”

Sherry nodded frantically. “We’ll behave!”

I crossed my arms. “Should’ve considered that before aligning yourselves with that walking entitlement complex.” My gaze locked onto Cecilia.

“Get.”

Raven’s voice cut through the tension, deceptively calm. “Dexter, leave it.” But I caught the razor’s edge beneath her words-not fear, but tightly leashed fury.

“Like hell.” I turned my glare on Cecilia. “You’re done here.”

She lifted her chin in pathetic defiance. “We’re still eating.”

“Not in my establishment.” The words came out in a growl. “Walk out now or I’ll have Grady escort you out. And if that apology ever becomes genuine? Maybe we’ll talk.”

Sherry was already scrambling up, face flushed with secondhand shame. “Let’s just go, Cici.”

Cecilia’s parting shot landed with all the force of a damp firecracker. “You’ll regret this.”

“Unlikely,” I muttered to her retreating back. The scattered applause from other patrons barely registered.

When I turned, Raven stood frozen, the sodden fabric of her shirt clinging to her frame, tray clutched like armor across her chest. My gut twisted to the soda dripping from Raven’s clenched fists, to the way she held herself too still, like someone who’d learned young not to react.

Nox’s dry observation cut through the moment. “Congratulations. You’ve officially made things worse.”

I flipped him off without looking. “Come on,” I told Raven, keeping my hands carefully at my sides. “Got spare shirts in back. Nox-you’re on bar.”

His protest faded as I guided Raven down the hallway, maintaining careful distance. The memory of her flinch when we’d first touched still burned.

The office door creaked as I pushed it open. Raven hesitated, eyebrows knitting together. “Joe’s going to love you commandeering his space.”

An unexpected laugh escaped me. “Considering it’s mine…”

Her nose scrunched in that adorable way that made my chest tighten. “Your…what?”

“Jack’s. My bar.” I rummaged through the side cabinet, tossing her a fresh tee. “Surprise.”

Raven’s mouth worked soundlessly before words finally emerged. “You couldn’t have mentioned this sooner?”

The corner of my mouth lifted. “You never asked, darling.”

The shirt left my fingers with a snap of fabric. Raven dumped her tray unceremoniously on the office couch before fixing me with that

razor-sharp glare. “Turn. Around.” Each word carried the weight of an executioner’s axe.

“Christ, woman.” I raised my hands in surrender, pivoting to face the absurd wolf-poker painting. “Didn’t realize I was taking orders now.”

The rustle of wet fabric filled the tense silence. I focused on the painted wolves-their smug card-playing expressions doing nothing to calm the

storm in my chest. “That shouldn’t have happened,” I ground out. “I’m sorry.”

A huff of breath behind me. “Last I checked, you don’t control grown women acting like spoiled brats.” The forced lightness in her voice didn’t

mask the edge beneath. “Though your taste in romantic is…questionable.”

My fingers tangled in my hair, pulling until my scalp burned. “It’s just sex. And not even the good kind.”

The sudden silence stretched too long before Raven’s quiet admission: “Sometimes hate sex’s the best kind of release.”

My head whipped around before I could stop myself.

The sight punched the air from my lungs. Raven stood half-turned away, the fresh shirt barely settled over her shoulders. And her back-gods,

her back-

A battlefield of scars.

Jagged lines. Puckered burns. Pale ridges that spoke of wounds reopened before they could properly heal. Each mark a story of pain, of survival, of someone who’d looked at this fierce, brilliant woman and thought-what? That she was theirs to break?

Blood roared in my ears. My vision tinted red at the edges as my wolf surged forward with a snarl.

Whoever did this would learn what real pain felt like. Slowly. Creatively. Until they begged for death.