Rejected by the Alpha, Claimed by his Brother-Chapter 305: _ Hitting On Her

"Well, well. If it isn’t our sweet señora on her knees again." Álvaro chuckled.

"Pig," Xiomara growled. "If he comes closer, I’ll bite his hand off. Don’t test me, María José."

"Did you fall just to get my attention, or was that an accident?" he said, crouching beside me without waiting for permission.

"I tripped on the rug," I muttered, brushing flour off my apron. "That’s all."

Álvaro tried to touch me and I recoiled.

But he caught me anyway, fingertips brushing against my chin, then my lips, swiping a bit of flour with exaggerated slowness. His touch was on me for too long. His thumb grazed the corner of my mouth like he had any right.

"Touch me again, and I’ll shift with your fingers in my teeth. He smells like perfume and shame." Xiomara snarled.

"You had a little something..." His voice dropped, eyes seductively on me. "Right there."

I jerked my face away and wiped the rest myself, biting down on the urge to slap him.

"Thanks," I said tightly, trying to rise.

He offered his hand. I ignored it and stood on my own, wobbling slightly as dissipated

pain shot up my bruised knee. Instantly, his hands were on my arms, steadying me with more intimacy than decency.

"I’ve got you, princesa."

"You don’t," I said, pulling away. "You really, really don’t."

Álvaro chuckled, and that grin... that slow grin that made women drop their morals like raincoats in a storm spread across his face.

It might work on other women, but not me.

"I was only helping. No need to be so cold. Unless you’re afraid of melting..."

M-melting?! Goddess, he’s crazy!

I turned from him, gathering what few pastries had survived. My hands trembled but it was not from nerves, but from fury. Xiomara was pacing.

"He’s circling you like a fox in heat. You are not prey. Say something. Growl. Claw. Maim if necessary."

"You shouldn’t talk like that to me," I said quietly. "We’re both married. To siblings, no less."

"Details," he said, with a shrug so shameless I nearly choked on it.

Was it me or did he seem to be... hitting on me?

"Besides, you’re not acting very married. I’ve seen how Axel looks at you lately. Or rather—how he doesn’t."

I froze. He’s going to drag my husband into this now?! Hell no.

But I could still feel the shift in the air. A wound I didn’t know I had began to bleed. Because he wasn’t wrong. Axel had been... distant. Distant enough that the ache had roots now. But coming from Álvaro, the words felt like venom slipped into a glass of wine.

I turned slowly. "What did you just say?"

He took a step closer, voice softening like he was some kind of tragic hero.

"I said maybe he’s stopped loving you. It happens. You know him... he can be cold. Mechanical. Efficient in everything, including detachment."

"That’s none of your business. He’s my husband and he loves me more than life itself. Now, I said I’m fine. If you’ll excuse me." I hissed, about to shrug him off when he scoffed.

"You’re not. Look at your leg."

I did. It had already turned a charming shade of purple-blue, like someone had painted bruises on me with careless fingers. But it was all Álvaro’s doing.

Xiomara and I were so flushed that we couldn’t even heal such a small injury so fast.

Álvaro tsked under his breath. "Should I kiss it better?"

"I swear to God..."

Before I could finish, he reached out and caressed my cheek. Then my lips. Slowly. So slowly. His thumb lingered at the corner of my mouth again, just like before in the kitchen, but this time he was crouched between my legs, barely a foot away.

I slapped his hand away, glaring. "What do you think you’re doing?"

"Helping," he said, unfazed. "You’re a mess."

"I was a mess before you showed up. Now I’m a disaster."

"I take that as a compliment."

I scrambled to my feet which wasn’t nearly as dramatic, and tried to gather what was left of my dignity. The pastries were ruined, the tray dented, my leg aching, and yet the only thing that made my skin burn was his statement about Axel.

Álvaro stood too, brushing flour from his knees and then stepping far too close again. "Let me walk you."

"I don’t need your help."

"You never do. That’s half the fun."

I tried to step away. He grabbed my wrist again.

"Álvaro."

His gaze held mine. "Why do you keep pretending you don’t feel this?"

"Because I don’t."

He chuckled. "Liar."

I wrenched my hand back, furious now, with him and his impulsive speculation. Why on earth would this jerk even assume I feel anything?

"I’m married to your brother. You’re married to my sister."

"None of that has stopped us from looking at each other like this."

"How on earth are we looking at each other, Álvaro?!"

His smirk faded slightly but he didn’t stop holding me. I wanted to swap his hand away, but something halted me. It was the sound of footsteps.

Click. Click. Click.

I didn’t have to look. I felt him walk in, like a shadow over my heart.

Axel. I turned.

He stood at the far end of the living hall, jaw set hard and eyes like stone. Cold. Quiet. Wounded.

He didn’t speak or move.

His gaze dropped to my wrist... particularly Álvaro’s hand on it. Then Axel’s eyes met mine. I could see the emotions swirling inside of it. A little bit of jealousy, and anger, but mostly betrayal. And that made it worse.

He looked at me like he didn’t recognize me anymore. Then he turned and walked away. He said nothing except extreme silence.

The sound of my own heart crashing was louder than the tray.

After everything, Axel catching Álvaro and me in this sort of position with the awkward vibe in the air wasn’t the most advisable thing to do. What if he was getting the impression that I was enjoying all the attention from these men?

I wasn’t.

Álvaro exhaled a sharp breath and whistled under it. "Well, well. Looks like Axel’s not quite the husband you imagined, huh?"

I spun on him. "Don’t. Don’t you dare."

"Didn’t even ask if you were hurt."

"He doesn’t have to!"

"Really? You fall, you’re covered in flour, bleeding maybe, and all he does is walk away?"

"He knows I can handle myself."

Álvaro raised a brow. "Or maybe he just doesn’t care anymore."

That stung. I slapped him.

He didn’t flinch. He only blinked once and then laughed softly. "There she is."

"Stay away from me."

I limped past him, cheeks burning, heart pounding, shame curling around my ribs like barbed wire.

Axel was mad... mad at me.

.

.

In the hallway, I found Emilia already hurrying toward the living hall with a cloth in hand.

"Señora! Are you alright? I heard a crash."

"I’m fine, Emilia, just slipped."

Her eyes widened when she saw my leg. "Señora, you’re not fine... should I call the healer?"

"No, no. I heal fast, Emilia. All thanks to my Luna wolf." I forced a smile. "Just help me pick the rest of the pastries. The ones that didn’t land cream-first on the marble."

Luis appeared from around the corner with a broom. "I’ll clean up the mess, señora. Please, sit."

"I’m alright, truly."

Marta shuffled in next, her usual tired frown deepening. "Should I bring ice for that leg?"

"Only if you let me knit you another pair of compression socks."

They laughed. I limped toward the nearest table and sat, breathing through the pain and the embarrassment.

"How’s your grandson, Marta?" I asked, brushing flour from my lap.

"He passed, señora! First in his class."

"I knew he would," I said proudly. "Tell him he owes me churros next time I visit."

Louisiana handed me a pastry that had miraculously survived. "Still warm."

"Bless your soul." I bit into it and sighed. At least the cinnamon still made me feel like María José again.

I thanked them all, one by one, my heart a little lighter with every kind smile and worried frown. They knew me here. They loved me—not because I was a Luna or Axel’s wife, but because I knew them, too.

"Tell your mom I’m still praying for her leg," I told Emilia.

"She said thank you, señora. It’s healing."

"Good. And Louisiana, has your sister found a school yet?"

"We’re still looking. The city’s expensive."

"Let me know if you need help. I mean it."

They beamed at me like I’d handed them gold.

I waved them off, gently refusing the help, and limped toward the outer gate, half a tray of squashed pastries in hand.

.

.

Outside, the sun stung my eyes. The wind kissed my cheeks and tousled my hair. After a brief walk filled with answering to greetings here and there, I found him.

Mateo. The only friend I currently have in the entire world. It was funny how crazy we started. Yet, after getting to know the real him, I couldn’t help but to completely trust him.

I loved him. Dearly. Albeit, platonically.

He was Leaning against the gate in uniform, chewing on something that looked like a matchstick, even though I told him a hundred times it made him look like a second-rate cowboy.

He spotted me and stood straighter, brows furrowing when he saw my limp.

"¡Dios mío! What happened to you?"

I held up the tray with a grimace. "Death by pastry."

His brow arched. "Those pastries fought back?"

"They won."

He rushed to take the tray, peering at me like I might faint. "You’re limping. What happened?"

"Slipped in the main hall. Ruined half of these. And possibly my kneecap."

He looked stricken. "Should I carry you to the healer? Because I will. I’ll princess-carry you right now, María José, don’t test me."

You see, that was Mateo. He cared about me like a mother to her child.