Marked Twice by the Alpha King Chapter 119

**Third Person POV**

Sophia watched Ava and her foster mother vanish into the darkness, the sting of betrayal still fresh. When she turned back toward the ceremony grounds, her heart skipped. Jackson stood frozen, staring after Ava with an expression that hit Sophia like a punch to the gut—raw hunger mixed with desperation, a wolf mourning something lost.

She bit her lip hard enough to taste blood, refusing to crumble. *Not here. Not in front of these wolves.* She'd busted her ass playing the perfect Alpha's daughter for these traditionalists. No way was she breaking character now.

Martha Hayes sidled up beside her, expensive perfume announcing her arrival before her designer heels even hit the grass.

"Don't waste energy on that Rivers girl, sweetie," Martha said, patting Sophia's arm. Her smile didn't reach her ice-cold eyes. "Just damaged goods some mate threw away."

Vanessa flipped her hair, snorting. "Right? Jackson picked you, not her. God, it's gross watching her crawl back to him again."

Something clicked in Sophia's brain. She whipped toward Vanessa, her smile vanishing. "Hold up—*again*?"

Vanessa blinked. "What?"

"You said 'again.' Like they had something before."

Vanessa opened her mouth, but Martha's claws suddenly dug into her wrist, making the younger woman yelp.

"Oh, ignore her," Martha laughed, the sound like nails on a chalkboard. "Wine talking." She shot Vanessa a look that screamed *shut up* in universal wolf language.

Vanessa's face went tomato-red. "Yeah, totally misspoke. Too many drinks." Her smile was plastic, but her eyes held secrets.

*Bullshit.* Sophia glanced back at Jackson, who was still fixated on where Ava had disappeared, his nose twitching slightly—trying to catch lingering traces of her.

Sophia swallowed the growl building in her throat and turned back with a sugar-sweet smile. "We should totally hang out sometime. Girl time, you know?"

Martha and Vanessa perked up like puppies offered treats. "We'd love that," Martha gushed, her eyes calculating every advantage.

"Great. I'll contact you guys later. Maybe Moonlight Lounge?"

Their eyes widened—no wolf got into that exclusive Silverpeak hotspot without Alpha clearance. An invite from the Alpha King's daughter was social gold.

Before they could start planning outfits, Sophia slipped away toward Jackson. He was so zoned out she had to physically touch his shoulder to register on his radar.

"I need to crash for a bit," she said quietly.

He nodded vaguely, eyes still drifting toward the exit. The pain on his face stoked the anger simmering under Sophia's skin, but she locked down her scent, keeping her emotions hidden.

"Jackson," she said, letting a thread of Morgan power enter her voice. "I'm talking to you."

He blinked, finally seeing her. "Sorry, what?"

"I said I'm tired. Can we find somewhere to chill?"

He studied her face, reality finally clicking. He raked fingers through his hair, taking a deep breath that screamed *I'm hiding something*.

"Yeah, sure. My old room's upstairs. I've gotta finish this ceremony crap, though."

She nodded. Classic pack politics—duty first, feelings later.

Jackson's childhood bedroom wasn't what she expected. Trophy shelves lined the walls—combat competitions, track medals—alongside an unholy mix of ancient pack symbols and gaming posters. The clash of wolf tradition and normal teenage boy was almost endearing.

Almost. That word—*again*—kept echoing in her head.

"Gotta head back down," he said, thumb grazing her cheek but eyes never quite meeting hers. "Make yourself at home."

The second his footsteps faded, Sophia's wolf woke up—that primal part that needed to *know*, to find threats, to protect what was hers.

She sat on his bed, scanning the room. Not many personal photos, typical for wolves—except one picture frame on the nightstand with someone clearly cut out.

She picked it up, heart thumping. Jackson with half a photo, the other person surgically removed. Her fingers traced the jagged edge where someone else should be.

*Ava?* It had to be. But why lie? Jackson was supposed to be her person, her future. And Ava—she'd saved Sophia's life in that cellar. Friends didn't lie to each other.

But yesterday, seeing Jackson grab Ava's wrist, touching her neck like he owned it... her wolf had howled a warning.

She couldn't sit still. She popped open his dresser drawers, rifling through old t-shirts and gym shorts. *An Alpha's fiancée deserves the truth*, she told herself.

Nothing but teenage leftovers. The nightstand yielded the same—just normal junk plus a silver knife (weird for a werewolf to own) and some herbal potions.

Frustrated, she headed for the bathroom. Her wolf pushed her forward, insistent.

Her nose twitched, hunting for scents. A forgotten shampoo bottle smelled of pine and rain—definitely not Jackson's usual sandalwood. A lavender deodorant, also not his style. She sniffed deeper, the scent tickling a memory she couldn't quite place.

The bathroom gleamed too clean, probably scrubbed with scent neutralizer. Only wolves with something to hide used that stuff.

Heading back toward the bed, her wolf senses tingled at something under it. That pure Alpha intuition made the hair on her arms stand up. She dropped to her knees, spotting a floorboard that didn't quite match the others.

She eased a nail under the edge and pulled. The board popped up, revealing a hiding spot beneath—classic wolf behavior, especially teenagers keeping secrets from parents.

Inside sat a simple wooden box carved with two wolf silhouettes. No lock, just a worn keepsake box with signs of frequent handling.

Heart hammering, she lifted it out and opened the lid. Not fancy documents—just teenage treasures, the stuff of first loves and broken hearts.

On top lay a photo—unmistakably the complete version of the cut picture. Jackson and Ava by Moonlight Lake, full moon overhead. Ava wore silver-white, and there on her neck gleamed a silver mark that made Sophia's stomach drop—a fated mate mark. Jackson's arm wrapped possessively around Ava's waist, both beaming like they'd won the lottery.

She flipped it over. Written in Jackson's messy scrawl: "Celebrating our discovery ceremony at Moonlight Lake with my fated mate, our souls bound by the Moon Goddess herself. Forever, J&A."

The floor seemed to tilt beneath her. Ava wasn't just some random warrior.

She was Jackson's goddess-chosen fated mate.