The Rejected True Heiress (Liora) novel Chapter 113

Bianca

I’m engaged.

I won.

Ha.

Honestly, easy enough. Look at me. Look at him. It was inevitable.

Sure, Callum’s been distant lately—busy, distracted, not looking at me quite the same. But whatever. I’ve got the ring, the promise, and the announcement blasted across every gossip channel and clan circle. Even if he wanted out, he wouldn’t risk it. Too shameful for a guy like him. Hot, honorable Callum wouldn’t be that guy—the one who dumps his fiancée after the big show.

I’m in. Locked. Untouchable.

So yeah, I give him a little leash. All he does is work anyway. I’ll yank it back when I want.

Callum. Check.

And yet—apparently I still have to prove myself to these loser girls.

“Alpha Female this, Alpha Female that.” Like I’m their mascot. Or free therapist for their tragic little love lives. Newsflash: I don’t do free therapy. And I don’t care.

I’m not your counselor. Not your shoulder to cry on. And I’m definitely not here to listen to you whine about some guy ignoring you. Maybe try looking like me, then we’ll talk.

And the worst part? They act like being Alpha Female means sitting pretty, nodding at speeches, setting examples. Ugh. Playing humble is exhausting. I can’t even roll my eyes without whispers that I’m “unapproachable.”

Well. Maybe I am.

Not everyone should get to approach me.

So, walking with my usual entourage, I decided: fine. If they want me to “prove” myself again, I’ll do it—on my terms. With style. With a spotlight. Something unforgettable.

Thus, my perfect idea: a sparring demo on the quad.

Women of Strength.

My idea, obviously.

A chance to remind everyone why I’m the Alpha Female. Not just Callum’s fiancée. Not just beautiful. But strong, fierce, and the total package.

Naturally, I owned the spotlight.

The quad was flawless—the grass trimmed, sun angled to catch the sheen in my ponytail. The crowd gathered, forming a ring around the lawn. And me? Positioned dead center, where every eye had no choice but to land.

My outfit? Impeccable. Black training gear that hugged just right, still cute enough for photos. Glossy high ponytail swishing with every turn. Rose-tinted lip gloss catching the light. Strength doesn’t have to be sweaty.

A few girls volunteered. They’d regret it.

The whistle blew, and I flowed like silk—grapples to pivots, mock throws that still slammed my opponents onto the mat with satisfying thuds. No wolf form needed. A quick turn, a clean wrist sweep, disarmed. Every move deliberate, precise—and yes, photogenic.

I smiled through it all, like the Moon Goddess herself was choreographing me.

And then I heard it.

“Bianca’s gotten a lot stronger.”

“True, I doubted her before, but she’s pretty good.”

Pretty good?

“Yeah, but didn’t Liora stop her once?”

The words cut clean through the praise in my head. Still—even now—they compared me to her. As if she had anything left I wasn’t better at. Nothing.

I stood slowly, fight already won. I didn’t need to look to know the voices came from two girls in the back, whispering just loud enough for me to hear.

My smile tightened, jaw aching with the effort.

Oh, sweethearts. You want to test me?

Later, during the demos, the universe handed me a gift: one of those little whispering darlings just happened to be my partner.

Perfect.

I made sure the crowd had a front-row view. She stepped forward, hesitant, clumsy, arms lifted like she was bracing for a hug instead of a spar. Her strike came slow. Weak.

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