บททั้งหมดของ Rejected By My Mate, Claimed By Lycan Quadruplets : บทที่ 21 - บทที่ 30

Lisa's povThe warmth of the sun barely touched my face before I felt Calla’s hand shaking me gently."Rise and shine, sleepyhead," she said in her usual sing-song tone.I groaned and rolled over, hugging the blanket tighter. "What time is it?""Time to stop sleeping and start living," she chirped. I peeked one eye open, only to see her standing by the edge of my bed holding a folded stack of clothes.She looked far too excited for someone awake this early."Calla, if this is another 'bond with the maids' activity, I swear I might faint on purpose," I mumbled.She laughed. "You’ll like this one, I promise. Now up!"I finally sat up, stretching my limbs like an old cat. "Alright, alright. I’m up. What’s with the clothes?""No questions. Just dress up. I picked this out myself." She laid the clothes beside me: a pair of dark blue palazzo jeans, a soft black turtleneck top, and a surprisingly sleek pair of

Kael’s pov“Stop trying to take away my dignity, Mira. That’s all I have left. That and my ability to whine. And maybe a very questionable sense of humor.”She cleaned the wound, and yes, I screamed. Loudly. The walls definitely shook. One of the nurses dropped her clipboard.“You’re such a baby,” Mira muttered.“I’m sensitive!” I gasped. “I was raised in a pack with manners! We don’t tolerate pain unless it’s stylish!”“You once ate a whole bag of chili jerky and nearly passed out.”“That’s different. That was pride. This is a medical emergency.”“You’re literally just scratched!”“And emotionally wounded!”She pressed the gauze down firmly, and I let out a noise that could only be described as a sob-meets-pterodactyl.“Done,” she said, finally taping it down. “You’ll live.”I blinked up at her. “Are you sure? Because I see a light.”“That’s the ceiling lamp.”“Oh.”I lay there dramatically for another five seconds. Mira rolle

Irene’s povI stormed out of the packhouse, heels stabbing into the gravel with every furious step I took. My face burned—not from embarrassment, but from rage. How dare he speak to me like that? In front of her. That filthy, low-ranked, dirt-smelling omega who could barely put a sentence together without trembling like a leaf.Enzo had humiliated me.And for what? Because she bumped into him and mumbled an apology?I reached my car and slammed the door so hard the window rattled. My driver, that half-asleep oaf, flinched and dared to ask, “Ma’am, is everything alright?”“No, everything is not alright!” I snapped, glaring at him through the rearview mirror. “Why are you still sitting there? Drive!”He fumbled for the ignition like he suddenly forgot how the car worked, stuttering apologies as we pulled away from the packhouse. I crossed my arms, inhaling and exhaling slowly, trying not to lash out at every living thing I saw. But the image of Enzo defending h

Lisa's povIf anyone had told me that I’d be laughing like a drunk squirrel in a different pack—of all places—I would’ve asked what brand of madness they were sipping.But here I was, lips stretched in a stupid grin, flour in my hair, an apron that barely reached past my hips, and Calla giggling so hard her knees were nearly giving out. The kitchen smelled like chaos. And burnt sugar. Mostly burnt sugar.“I told you not to leave the oven on broil!” Calla squealed, fanning the smoke with a wooden spatula that had definitely seen better days.I covered my face with my hands, trying to hide the evidence of my war crime against what should’ve been perfectly innocent cookies. “You told me after I’d already turned the knob!”“You didn’t read the label?!”“There were four knobs, Calla! FOUR!”We both burst into another round of laughter, the kind that made your stomach cramp and your face ache. I leaned against the counter, catching my breath, brushing off

Bryan’s povI knew something was off the second I was summoned to my father’s office.The tone the guard used had that unsettling stiffness—polite, but rigid, like they’d been told not to tick me off. Which only meant one thing: this wasn’t a casual meeting. This was my father in “alpha mode,” the same mode that usually ended with someone—often me—being chewed out or cornered into some new power move I didn’t ask for.I adjusted the collar of my dark shirt, dragging my feet more than I should’ve as I made my way down the long corridor. I had barely caught any sleep the night before. Not that it was a new thing. Ever since the mess with Lisa—no, I wasn’t going to think about that—I’d found my nights either haunted by guilt or frustration. Sometimes both.When I reached the office, the guards flanking the doors stood taller, their expressions unreadable.“Alpha Baron is expecting you,” one of them said with a curt nod.Of course he was.I stepped inside.