Rejected By One; Claimed By Three

Lila's Pov.

It has been two years since I turned eighteen, the age I was supposed to find my mate and leave my parents' home.

Yet, at twenty, I was still under their roof, acting as their maid and without any pay.

I was basically living for free, entirely dependent on my parents' financial assistance.

It's laughable, I know-almost pitiable. But I guess it's partly my fault.

Mother claimed she didn't want me to leave her behind, alone, that the world outside was too dangerous.

And yet, she treated me like a burden.

She's right, though.

At twenty, I've achieved nothing, been a disappointment, and still have no plans of leaving-not just yet.

I stood before my bathroom mirror, staring at the woman reflected in the flat surface.

Me.

With messy black curls, lifeless green eyes, and lips that some girls would kill for-girls who usually got rejected because of their looks.

I was a walking zombie, to be honest. Pale skin, dark eye circles, and a "healthy" body always covered in bruises.

I couldn't deny I was a solid six or seven at best, but who would want a miserable-looking pest like me?

Heaving a heavy sigh, I wiped the water off my face and turned to leave, hoping to catch a few hours of sleep.

Until I heard my mother's voice echo from the basement.

Without thinking twice, I hurried out of my bedroom and through the door leading to the basement under the house.

Once I arrived, my eyes immediately fell on the box in front of her.

It looked old-really old-covered in cobwebs, with my name written boldly across the top.

My eyes narrowed as I stared at the box, curiosity and confusion battling within me.

I wanted to ask what it was, but Mother glared at me.

And when I say "glare," I mean the kind that screams: "How dare you do this?" or "How could you disgrace your father and me like this?"

The kind of glare that usually ended with a heavy slap or a sharp kick. I was already used to it.

But this time, her glare was different. She looked... worried. Upset, even.

Still, I couldn't shake the feeling that I must have done something wrong.

I reached for the box, my hand trembling as I wondered if this was another thing that would get me punished.

"Mom, is everything alright?" I managed to ask, knowing she wouldn't let me touch the box unless I had an explanation.

And I couldn't explain something I knew nothing about.

I watched her closely as she stepped toward the box, her irritated look not wavering.

She sighed and opened the box slowly.

I leaned in closer, curious but careful, my instincts on high alert.

Unfortunately, just as she began opening it, my father's voice called both our attention.

Mother snapped the lid shut and left the box untouched, motioning for me to follow her.

We made our way back to the living room, where three men stood behind the sofa.

On the sofa sat a man dressed in an expensive black suit, exuding dominance and power.

His cold, piercing golden eyes scanned the room, lingering on me for a moment before shifting back to my father.

I froze in my tracks, my heart pounding as I studied the strangers.

There was something about the man on the sofa that sent a chill down my spine.

His presence demanded respect-or perhaps fear.

Yes, fear. That must have been why my father seemed so tense around him. And my mother...

I glanced at her only to see her trembling in the corner, avoiding the man's gaze altogether.

Who the hell was this man?

"Lila," my father said sharply, his tone colder than usual. "Come here."

I hesitated, my legs trembling as I took a small step forward.

"This is Asher," my father continued, gesturing toward the man on the sofa. "He's here on behalf of the Lycan King."

The words hit me like a slap.

My eyes widened as I stared at the man, struggling to process what my father had just said.

The Lycan King? Why would someone like him send a representative to our home?

Asher stood, adjusting the cuffs of his suit with precision. His movements radiated authority, making the air feel heavier.

"Miss Lila Woods," he began, his voice smooth yet devoid of warmth. "You have been chosen to serve a purpose for the Lycan King. It is an honor not granted to many."

Wait, what happened to the girls who would do anything to get into a man's home? I was a nobody, for that matter.

Before I could add to my thoughts, Asher said, "Forgive my bluntness. Let me put it this way."

He paused and stepped closer, closing the distance between us, a smirk tugging at his lips.

"Your father owes the Lycan King a huge sum of money, and since your wretched father can't pay, the King has decided you will settle the debt."

"Forcefully or willingly-your choice."

"What are you talking about? Why me?" I asked immediately, my voice trembling with anger and confusion.

Asher's smirk vanished, replaced by a frown, but I didn't care. No one had the right to use me as payment for some stupid debt!

I turned to my father, ready to protest, but he raised his hand, silencing me.

His face turned cold, his expression devoid of warmth. "This isn't up for debate. This is your chance to do something meaningful for once in your life."

"Meaningful?" I echoed, my voice cracking with disbelief. "You're sending me away to the Lycan King? For what? I don't understand!"

"You don't need to understand," my mother snapped, finally speaking up. Her tone was sharp, but there was unease in her eyes. "You'll do as you're told."

I turned back to Asher, my hands trembling. "Why me?" I asked again, desperation dripping from every word.

Asher's expression remained impassive. "You've been chosen as a surrogate. The King requires an heir, and you have been deemed suitable for the task."

The words hung in the air, heavy and suffocating.

My mind refused to process them. A surrogate? An heir? What kind of twisted excuse was this?

"No," I whispered, shaking my head vehemently. "No, I won't do it. You can't make me-"

My father slammed his hand down on the coffee table, the sharp sound cutting me off. "You will do this, Lila. It's already been decided."

Tears burned in my eyes as I stared at him, silently pleading for some kind of explanation, some shred of reassurance that this was all a terrible mistake.

But there was nothing. No sympathy, no regret-just cold, unyielding resolve.

"Gather your things," Asher ordered, his tone making it clear that the discussion was over. "We leave in an hour."

I stood there, frozen in place, as my world crumbled around me.

My parents avoided my gaze, their silence speaking louder than words.

They weren't going to stop this. They weren't going to save me.

Numbly, I turned and walked back to my room, my legs heavy with dread.

The tears I had been holding back finally spilled over, streaming down my face as I packed a small bag.

An hour later, I was standing behind the men who had come to take me away and my parents just stared emotionlessly like it was normal.

I was being sold to the Lycan King-the man known for treating everyone as though they were lesse

Or worse, as though they were nothing at all.

And I was the worse of them, and a surrogate for that matter.