[POV: Dominic]
They say hatred is like poison—that it eats you alive from the inside out. But that's not true.
Hatred is clean. Sharp. It gives you focus when everything else around you is blurred and chaotic. Hatred is the reason I'm still standing. The reason I've won.
I've always hated Atlas.
Not in the petty, childish way little boys hate someone who stole their toy. No. My hatred for him was rooted deeper—woven into my bones like a curse, pulsing through every vein. I didn't just hate him. I was made to.
From the moment I could walk, they told me I was better. Smarter. Stronger. The chosen one. And he? He was... unfortunate. Weak. Pathetic.
Fragile in that quiet, trembling way that made adults pity him and children want to shove him in the dirt. And Goddess, did I shove him.
I never let him forget who he was.
Even when we were small, I could see it—the way our parents looked at him. Cautious. Cold. Like he was a mistake they were too afraid to undo. And then they'd turn to me and smile.
Our Dominic, they'd say. He's born to lead.
And I believed them. Of course I did. How could I not?
But I knew something else, too. Something they thought I was too young to understand.
I remember it clearly—the night I learned the truth.
I was nine, hiding behind the curtains of Father's war room like I always did when I wanted to listen. Mother was there, speaking in hushed tones with an old woman whose eyes looked like cloudy water. A witch. A real one.
They spoke of the prophecy.
Two brothers. Same blood, same moon. One to raise the pack to glory. One to bring ruin and burn it to ash.
The witch told Mother how to stop it. How to end the weaker one before he could grow strong enough to fight back. Before he could challenge fate.
On the day of the Alpha's rise, the strong must spill the blood of the weak one with his own hands.
I didn't move. I didn't blink. I just listened.
And something clicked into place inside me.
Atlas wasn't just an embarrassment. He wasn't just a soft, pitiful boy hiding behind books and tears.
He was a threat. A threat written in prophecy, whispered by witches, feared by our own mother.
And threats needed to be eliminated.
So I made it my life's purpose to destroy him.
I lied to the elders and told them he'd stolen from the pack's merchants and stalls. He spent three nights in the dark cells, shivering and starving. I watched from the window and smiled.
I had friends who liked me more than they liked the truth. Friends who would corner him for me. Friends who didn't stop swinging until Atlas curled in on himself like a kicked dog.
I even slipped something into his food once. Nothing deadly. Just enough to make him throw up for three days straight. I told the healer he was faking it.
And no one questioned me. Because I was Dominic. The golden son. The one everyone trusted.
The one Evan chose.
Goddess, Evan. Even his name feels like victory.
Evan was everything a future Alpha could want for his partner: the best fighter among young wolves, sharp-eyed and clever, quick with his hands and quicker with his mouth. And gorgeous—obviously. His wolf burned bright, powerful, and sure.
He was meant for power, and he meant to stand beside me.
He was going to be Beta one day. And I was going to be his Alpha. It was written in the way we moved together—two blades cut from the same steel.
Then Atlas had to look at him like he was some storybook hero. Like his pathetic heart could mean something to someone like him.
I saw it. The way his gaze followed Evan. The way his hands trembled when he trained nearby. And I felt it, too—something in Evan, a flicker of softness when he spoke to my brother.
I couldn't allow that.
I made sure Evan saw Atlas exactly how I wanted: weak, emotional, unstable. I whispered carefully chosen half-truths into his ear—lies wrapped in concerned confessions.
He didn't believe me at first. But I was patient. I painted Atlas as fragile. Needy. A liability. And when Evan looked at me instead of him, I knew I had him.
Now, here I am.
Lying in Evan's bed, his arm draped over my waist, his scent still clinging to my skin. The moonlight filters through the curtains and dances across his bare chest. He's beautiful. Mine.
And Atlas is gone.
I should feel complete. Triumphant. After all, I have everything I wanted: Evan beside me, the Alpha position secured, Atlas driven away.
But something gnaws at me.
But not for long.
The prophecy was never about peace or reunion. It was a sentence. Only one of us can survive. Only one of us gets to become more than just a name in someone else's legend.
So if it's him or me? I choose me. I will always choose me.
I will be stronger. Smarter. Better.
Because I'm fighting to live. And when the time comes, I'll make sure Atlas stays dead. Permanently.
Fate doesn't forget.
And neither do I.