Rejected By My Mate; Claimed By Lycan Quadruplets Chapter 146

Lisa's POV

I lost count of how many times I had walked into the kitchen that day, but I knew it was at least five times. My hands were sticky from juice pulp, my patience frayed thin like a string about to snap. The smell of citrus clung to my fingers no matter how many times I rinsed them under the running tap. I had tried to tell myself to breathe, to stay calm, to not let it get to me—but each time Irene sent me back with that infuriatingly calm, collected tone of hers, it felt like I was shrinking smaller and smaller.

“Again,” she had said the last time, barely glancing at me, her fingers brushing her dress as though the world revolved around her whims. “Less sugar this time. Or rather, no sugar at all. I don’t want it too cold either, but not warm. Just… perfect.”

Perfect.

As if I had nothing better to do with my day than to serve her demands. As if I wasn’t already walking on eggshells every time she looked at me.

So there I was again, standing in front of the counter, squeezing juice into the glass pitcher with more force than necessary. The knife clinked against the cutting board as I sliced through yet another orange. My arm ached from repeating the same action over and over, but it wasn’t the physical exhaustion that got to me—it was the humiliation.

The first time, I had added sugar because I thought she might prefer it sweet. She sent it back.

The second time, I put less sugar, thinking maybe that would be acceptable. Wrong.

The third time, she wrinkled her nose and claimed it was “too cold.”

The fourth time, she simply waved her hand and said, “This isn’t what I asked for. Again.”

And now the fifth.

“Lisa.”

I froze when I heard the sharp voice behind me. I turned slightly and saw Calla leaning against the kitchen doorway, her arms folded tightly across her chest, her brows pulled together in irritation. She wasn’t just annoyed—she looked livid.

“What are you doing?” she demanded, stepping closer, her eyes narrowing at the pitcher in front of me.

I hesitated, then sighed heavily. “Juice,” I muttered, my tone flat.

Her gaze snapped to mine. “For who?”

I pressed my lips together, knowing she wasn’t going to like the answer.

“For Irene,” I said softly.

The silence that followed was deafening. Calla’s face hardened, her lips curving into a look that screamed both disbelief and fury. She stepped right up to me, her voice sharp but low, as though holding back the full force of her temper.

“You’re making juice for her. Again?”

I nodded, avoiding her eyes, and wiped my sticky hand on a towel. “She asked me to.”

“She demanded,” Calla corrected, her tone cutting. “And you—what? You just obeyed? How many times has she sent you back?”

I swallowed, my throat suddenly dry. “…This is the fifth.”

“Fifth?” Calla’s voice rose, echoing off the walls of the kitchen. She looked like she was about to explode. Her hands balled into fists at her sides as she glared at me like I had just confessed to the gravest of sins.

“Calla—” I started, but she cut me off.

“No. Enough.” She grabbed my wrist firmly, her eyes blazing with protective fire I didn’t understand. “You’re not doing this again.”

I blinked at her, startled. “But—she asked—”

“She can ask the damn servants,” Calla snapped. “You’re not her maid.”

Before I could protest, Calla had already pulled me away from the counter. I stumbled slightly, the towel slipping from my hand as she dragged me toward the door. My pulse raced as I tried to tug my wrist free, but she only tightened her grip, her determination radiating off her like heat.

“Calla, wait,” I pleaded, my voice hushed and anxious. “Don’t—”

But she wasn’t listening. She was furious, and nothing was going to stop her.

The hallway blurred as she marched us forward, her footsteps purposeful, her grip unyielding. My heart pounded louder with every step as dread coiled in my stomach. She was taking me straight back to Irene.

When we turned the corner, Irene came into view, sitting as though she were royalty on the terrace chair, her legs crossed elegantly, her gaze drifting lazily across the scenery like nothing in the world could possibly bother her.

And then her eyes fell on us. On me.

“Where’s my drink?” she asked calmly, her voice smooth, unhurried. “I thought I told you—”

Calla’s voice cut across hers like a blade.

“No.”

Irene blinked at her, surprise flickering briefly in her eyes. She tilted her head, her calm mask never slipping. “Excuse me?”

“You heard me,” Calla snapped, releasing my wrist only to step forward, planting herself firmly between Irene and me. Her posture was rigid, her voice trembling with restrained anger. “She’s not your servant. If you want a drink, call for one of the pack’s attendants. Don’t you dare treat Lisa like she’s beneath you.”

The air grew thick instantly. I could feel the tension snapping like live wires, and I wanted nothing more than to disappear. My stomach clenched as Irene slowly rose from her seat, her movements graceful yet calculated, her expression unreadable.

“I wasn’t speaking to you,” Irene said coolly, her eyes locked on Calla.

“Well, I’m speaking to you,” Calla fired back. “The same way you’re treated as Luna here, she’s our Alpha’s mate. She deserves respect—equal respect. If you can’t grasp that, then maybe you should remind yourself who you’re addressing.”

My eyes widened, and I felt the ground tilt beneath me. My breath caught in my throat. Did Calla just—

“Mate?” I whispered before I could stop myself.

The word seemed to hang in the air like a spark waiting to ignite.

Irene’s eyes flicked toward me for just a moment, then back to Calla, her calm demeanor faltering slightly, though she covered it quickly. She said nothing, only raised a brow as if unimpressed by Calla’s defiance.

Meanwhile, I just stood there, frozen. My chest tightened, my mind whirling.

Mate.

I looked at Calla, my voice trembling. “How do you… know?”

Calla turned to me, her expression softening despite the heat still burning in her eyes. “It’s obvious,” she said simply, her voice lower now, gentler. “Anyone who pays attention can see it. And Enzo said it himself. At the annual celebration. The day you beat Irene in the competition.”

My heart stopped.

Enzo… said it? Out loud?

I stared at Calla, her words echoing inside my head until everything else felt distant. My hands shook at my sides, my breath uneven. My thoughts tumbled over themselves, a rush of disbelief, shock, and something warm I couldn’t quite name.

I barely registered the way Irene’s gaze lingered on me, sharp and assessing, as though weighing my reaction. I barely registered the way Calla stepped closer, protective and unyielding, like she would shield me from anything—even Irene herself.

All I could hear was that one word.

Mate.