Pregnant And Rejected Omega
Jealousy

Stefan

I found myself in a moment of confusion. My hand instinctively reached out to clasp hers, an impulsive act I couldn’t rationalise at the moment. Yet, as our hands connected, a surge of familiarity washed over me, reminiscent of that unforgettable encounter with the mysterious woman.

How could this be? The logical part of my mind rebelled against the notion, but the sensation lingered, stubbornly refusing to be ignored.

Even after she withdrew her hand, the ghost of her touch lingered on my skin, a palpable reminder of everything.

I glanced at her, silently questioning the absurdity of the situation. Could it truly have been her that night? Common sense argued otherwise. After all, why would Jacub, my trusted guard at the time, ever orchestrate such a reckless manoeuvre, jeopardising the friendship between the royal family and Earl?

But despite the rational arguments against it, she felt undeniably similar to the woman I had been relentlessly searching for. Determined to unravel the mystery, I went through the guest list from that celebration, visiting each woman in a desperate attempt to find a semblance of that connection. I wanted to apologise, but I never found her. She was like a ghost, just disappeared.

None of the women elicited the same stirring sensation that had seized me that night. Only Harlyn seemed to evoke that inexplicable feeling, further complicating an already bewildering situation.

“May we speak, your Majesty?” Earl Harold looks at me, nodding. I step out of the room, and he follows.

"The Countess looks well," I say. Based on how she was before, she's made an amazing improvement.

"I wanted to advise against Harlyn joining the other women tonight," he glances from me into the room.

"Why should she not join?" I ask. It's Lucy's night; there is no way she won't take no for an answer to Harlyn's presence.

"Well, she has just returned, and I'm unsure of the damage she may do, Your Majesty. The wedding is important, as I'm sure you're aware," he explains, and I nod.

"I'm very aware of how important the wedding is. The bride is my sister, the princess. However, she will want Harlyn there, so Harlyn will attend tonight, even if you think it is wrong," I reply. Why is he set to hide Harlyn away from everyone? He's done that for eight years by exiling her.

"If you're sure, Your Majesty, then I will say nothing more," he says and walks back into the room. Slowly, I follow; I see Harlyn hugging her mother.

My gaze drifted to the glittering diamond on her finger. It sends a shiver down my spine. Was she already married? The thought clawed at me, and my wolf became unsettled by the idea of her marrying someone else.

Glancing at Diandra, she’s engrossed in a phone conversation, and I realise the impending reality of our wedding. But my attention swiftly returned to Harlyn, and the contrast between her and Diandra was unforgettable and bewildering.

I found myself scrutinising my hand as if seeking answers within the lines and creases of my palm. How could two seemingly different individuals provoke such strikingly similar sensations within me?

The woman from that night exuded an aura; her beauty could be felt even in the dark, which left an indelible mark on my soul. Yet I couldn’t shake the unsettling feeling that it was Harlyn.

But reason intervened, squashing my doubts. It simply wasn’t possible. Surely, Jacub wouldn’t have been so reckless as to bring me the Earl’s daughter? Sᴇaʀ*ᴄh the ꜰindNʘvel.ɴet website on Gøøglᴇ to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.

So, I dismissed the notion as mere coincidence, no longer entertaining the possibility. It was a fleeting moment of confusion, I reassured myself, nothing more. And with that resolve, I buried the unsettling thoughts deep within my mind, determined to focus on the reality unfolding before me.

I stepped back toward the door to put space between Harlyn and me so I wouldn’t continue obsessing over it. My wolf began to stir restlessly.

What is happening to me? I glanced around the room, my senses tingling with an inexplicable unease. I can’t stay here any longer.

“If you’ll excuse me,” I murmured, pivoting on my heel to exit. With each step away from Harlyn, my wolf grew increasingly restless. Did she not accept my rejection? I struggled to recall, lost in the same seething fury that erupted within me whenever her presence loomed near, compelling me to cast her away.

It’s not entirely her fault, I rationalised inwardly, grappling with the emotions. Yet, it’s she alone who stirs such anger within me. Stepping out into the crisp air, I suck in a breath; I need to find Samuel; he will answer.

As I rounded the courtyard, I saw Samuel training with others, and a smile broke across my lips. Finally, I will get some answers while having someone to battle.

“Your Majesty, should you be here?” he looked at me, his eyes focused on mine, and I knew he could see.

“Stefan!” I replied. I'm done with royalty right now. I set down my crown. His grin widened, but beneath lay a knowing gaze—Samuel, my best friend, could see the anger within.

“Well, Stefan, shall we battle?” he proposed, stepping forward. “Myself, that is, seen as these guards won't dare to raise a hand to the king?” he asked. He knew I needed a release, and he knew my guards wouldn't do anything worth helping.

“I thought you’d never ask. I always tell them to raise their fists,” I declare. I do. Every time I join for training, I tell them to fight me, but they don't even raise their hands to me; it's frustrating. Only Samuel will truly hit me.

“You’re the king, Stefan. They won’t dare,” Samuel jest. His humour is laced with an acknowledgement of the hierarchy.

“Most would sooner concede to your attacks than risk hitting you,” he chuckled. “So, are we doing this?” Samuel asks, drawing closer. I laughed heartily.

“You realise you won’t be much of a challenge either, and I always win,” I joked, though I accepted his offer anyway.

“No one can beat you. You’re a Lycan,” he explains. His tone was one of admiration. “But I can at least provide a worthy bout.”

As we sparred, I was impressed by his resilience. Although his strength may not match mine, his determination fueled our exchange, and I found my anger dying down in battling him. Samuel was more than a friend; he was like my only brother.

I reflected on our past argument six years ago. It was unexpected; he was my best friend, and she was my little sister. Still, they were mated, and I couldn’t imagine a single man who would be better for her. So, after the initial shock and my refusal, I approved, and they were terrific together.

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