Page 48 of Rejected by My Stepbrother Alpha (Billionaire Shifter Club #1)

V esper

The car hums beneath me as I watch the live stream on my phone, the screen lighting up my face in the dim backseat.

The event is already in full swing—flashes, cheers, interviewers holding their mics out like weapons, their voices merging into one frantic hum of excitement.

I can see the red carpet lined with velvet ropes, the grand marquee of the theater glowing against the night sky, and the faces of my co-stars smiling from behind the camera lens.

The premiere of Feral Hearts. My premiere.

A surge of adrenaline rushes through me as my driver carefully maneuvers through the massive crowd gathered outside Full Moon Cinema—the grandest, most prestigious theater in all of the wolf cities.

Just seeing it up close feels surreal. Only the most accomplished shifter actors have had their films premiere here.

“We’re almost there, Mrs. Thane,” my driver says smoothly, his tone calm and professional.

I lower my phone and take a steady breath.

The moment is almost here. I’ve been to human cinemas before—it’s the single perk of being a halfblood.

We still get plenty of discrimination anywhere we go, but at least we’re able to move between wolf cities and human cities without causing too much of a stir.

Werewolves never go to human cities. And humans? They never come here.

Human cinemas are impressive—huge, sleek, high-tech. But nothing compares to this.

The Full Moon Cinema.

It’s always been the dream. The biggest. The best. The kind of place you see in your mind long before you ever set foot inside. And now I’m here.

As soon as the car rolls to a stop, I can feel the energy outside—charged, electric. My driver quickly steps out, rounds the vehicle, and pulls open my door. The second my foot touches the pavement, the world erupts.

Flashes explode in rapid succession, bright enough to momentarily blind me. Reporters surge forward, microphones extended, voices overlapping as they shout to be heard over the roar of the crowd.

“Mrs. Thane! You look stunning tonight! Who are you wearing?”

“Mrs. Thane, how does it feel to star in a blockbuster?”

I smile, keeping my pace steady as I glide down the red carpet. It still feels surreal. To be here. To be this. I was never supposed to be.

A halfblood—center stage. A halfblood being treated like a queen.

That’s never been the case for people like me. People like us. We’re not celebrated. We’re not admired.

My mother was the only person who ever looked at me like I was something worth being proud of. She was human. My father was a werewolf. I never met him. Most halfbloods don’t meet at least one of their parents, usually the one who couldn’t handle the shame of having a halfblood child.

Still, my mom raised me the best she could. Just the two of us. And being a single mother to a halfblood wasn’t easy. But she stuck around. She tried.

She died when I was ten.

And since then? Let’s just say I’ve had the full halfblood experience.

You see, being a halfblood is the absolute worst thing you could be in this world.

You could be convicted of the most heinous and deplorable acts, but still be treated with more dignity than us.

We’re a stain, a mistake, an offense to both sides of the world we were born into.

Humans and werewolves may coexist peacefully, but they make sure not to mix.

Human and Werewolf cities are far apart, and interbreeding is basically sacrilegious.

So when anyone dares commit that sacrilege, when human and werewolf bloodlines blur, creating something like me?

The world ensures we never forget what we are.

But none of that applies to me. Not tonight, and to be honest it hasn’t for a while.

And the reason for that?

Alexander Thane.

“Mrs. Thane! You look fabulous tonight. Can we get a few words before you head in?”

I snap out of my thoughts, blinking as I turn toward the voice.

A reporter with a bright, camera-ready smile stands beside me on the red carpet.

She’s got that practiced warmth they all seem to master, like she’s genuinely happy to see me—even if she’s already forgotten the last person she interviewed.

I smile politely. “Of course.”

She steps a little closer and waves at her cameraman to follow her lead.

“Again, Mrs. Thane, you look absolutely stunning. This look is perfect for tonight’s big premiere.”

“Thank you very much,” I say, keeping my smile steady.

She doesn’t waste time.

“So tell us, what does tonight mean for your career? We’ve been following your journey for a while now, and it’s been such a fast rise. This is your biggest role yet—and you’re front and center. We’d love to hear how you’re feeling.”

Her words land softly but they hit deep. I feel that small flicker of pride spark inside me. It’s been a long road to get here—so many late nights, auditions, doubts. To hear that kind of recognition… yeah, it means something.

“I’ve really enjoyed the ride,” I say honestly. “And I’m incredibly grateful for how things are going. I’m excited for what’s ahead. It feels like it’s only just beginning.”

She nods, still smiling. But then her tone dips slightly.

“I have to ask—we noticed Mr. Thane isn’t with you tonight. Should we expect him soon?”

Here we go.

My stomach tightens before I can stop it. I was hoping he’d be here by now. I told him the time. Told him how important this was. But now the spotlight’s on the empty space beside me, and I can already feel the direction this is heading.

“Yes,” I say smoothly, keeping my expression calm. “He’s just a little tied up with some things. But he’ll be here.”

I already know what’s coming next.

The reporter tilts her head, and her voice drops just enough to sound like concern wrapped in curiosity.

“Him not being here… does that mean there’s any truth to the rumors we’ve been hearing?”

And just like that, it feels like my throat closes up.

Of course… The rumors.

I don’t even know which specific one she’s talking about. There are so many I’ve lost count.

There’s the one about me just being a placeholder in Alexander Thane’s life. That he’s divorcing me soon.

And then there’s the medias favorite one: That I tricked him into marrying me. Threw myself at him. Snuck into his bed and got a ring out of guilt.

I’ve heard them all. And maybe I should be used to them by now. But I’m not.

Because I know how the world sees me—a halfblood girl who somehow became the wife of Alexander Thane. The most powerful, most wanted, most watched shifter alive. People were always going to talk.

I blink again, swallowing hard, trying to find the right words. Something that won’t give them more to feed on.

But before I can speak, a voice cuts through the noise.

“Mr. Thane is here!” a reporter nearby shrieks.

I smile.

The moment the sleek black sports car rolls to a stop, I feel the air change.

The energy around me tightens, sharpens, like a current passing through the crowd.

The reporters, the photographers, even the fans, suddenly, I’m not their main focus anymore.

Their heads turn almost in unison, voices rising into a chaotic frenzy, cameras flashing wildly as if the very presence of the man inside that car has sent the world spinning on a new axis.

I don’t turn around right away. I don’t need to.

I let my lips curl into a slow smile as I hear the driver’s door open, hear the deep hum of the engine fade into the background as someone steps out with effortless grace.

The distinct clink of keys being passed to the valet, the murmur of a polite but firm, “Take care of it.” And then the rhythmic, unhurried sound of footsteps moving towards the red carpet. Moving towards me.

And finally, I turn.

Fuck.

Even after two years of marriage—even knowing him, living with him, sharing space and conversations—I still feel something catch in my chest when I look at him.

Alexander Thane.

My husband.

…Or, well. Sort of.

He strides toward me like he owns the whole damn world, and honestly, maybe he does.

Standing at 6’4”, he is an arresting sight in that perfectly tailored black suit, the fabric hugging his broad shoulders, his lean, powerful frame, the cut of it emphasizing every inch of his composed, commanding presence.

His dress shirt is unbuttoned just enough to tease at the sculpted lines of his chest, his collarbones peeking through in a way that is both maddeningly subtle and completely unfair.

And then there are his eyes—icy blue, piercing, unwavering. The kind of eyes that could make anyone feel like they were standing beneath the weight of something far greater than themselves.

And if his looks weren’t enough, it’s the fact that he is the Alpha of The Lunaris Pack and the CEO of Lunaris holdings.

And he is my husband.

The thought flickers through me, tasting both sweet and bitter.

Because the truth is, Alexander and I are only married on paper.

A contract. Two years ago, I was a rising actress with limited power, struggling against the natural bias the world has for people like me—half-bloods, the ones caught between two worlds, never truly belonging in either.

I wasn’t expecting much from the gala that night.

Just another industry event, another night of pretending I didn’t see the judgment behind certain smiles, another evening of sipping champagne and making small talk with people who thought they were better than me.

And then there was him.

Alexander was there too, and unlike the others, he hadn’t just seen me.

He had noticed me. And I noticed him right back.

Maybe it was the alcohol, maybe it was the reckless urge to take something for myself for once, but that night, one thing led to another, and we ended up tangled in silk sheets, breathless and wild, our bodies moving in ways that felt both dangerous and inevitable.