The Hockey Alpha's Rejected Omega: Fake Dating The Ice King For Revenge

Ashley

“Ten years, Weston. And this is how you're breaking up?”

I asked in disbelief, staring at my boyfriend.

I was half-hoping he'd drop the prank, get on one knee, and pull out a ring. Just like I’d imagined a million times.

After all, there was nothing stopping him anymore. He was the NHL’s most flashy and hottest rookie. He had won the Rookie of the Year award just last night, and I had been right there in the crowd, tears of joy blurring my vision as I watched his dreams come true.

Weston didn't even look at me as he adjusted his designer watch. “Look, Ashley, I know this might be heartbreaking for you right now, but my career is kick-starting... I’m moving up in the world, and you... Just look at you. Coming here, you still dress like that.”

His eyes dissected my simple turtleneck dress with disgust.

“But you never had a problem with what I wore before...”

“‘Before,’ come on, we’re not in high school anymore. And even if you change your clothes, you just have to be an Omega.”

It felt like a physical slap to the face. “What is it about Omegas?” My voice trembled as I asked, though I knew exactly what he was going to say.

He sighed, finally looking at me with a sickening mix of pity and frustration. “Stop looking at me like that, like you don't know. In this city, Alphas rule the top of the food chain, especially in the major leagues. As a Beta, I already have to fight tooth and nail just to be respected on the same ice as those Alpha monsters. And having a plain Omega as my partner? It'll drag down my career.”

His career.

The career I sacrificed everything to build.

Suddenly, the humiliating events of last night clicked together, forming a sick, twisted picture in my mind.

“So that's why,” I whispered, the ultimate betrayal finally dawning on me. “Last night on that stage... when you introduced Zoey to the world as your girlfriend.”

Weston’s jaw tightened, and he quickly looked away.

“You told me she was your cousin!” I choked out, a fresh wave of agony ripping through my chest. For two years, I had welcomed that girl into our apartment. I cooked for her, smiled at her, and even let her sleep on our bed while I took the couch. “You’ve been sleeping with the girl you claimed was family? This whole time?”

“Don't make a scene, Ashley,” he hissed, glancing around the restaurant. “Zoey is a Beta. She comes from a wealthy family, she knows how to handle the media, and she fits the brand I need right now. You don't. I didn't want to hurt you, but I have to secure my image.”

My heart shattered completely, the sharp edges slicing through my insides. The girl I had treated like a sister was his secret lover. And I, the one who gave him everything, meant absolutely nothing.

For ten grueling years, I gave up my life for him, choosing to study as an orthopedic nurse instead of accepting the medicine scholarship just so I could work double shifts as a waitress to fund his hockey career. I sold my late mother’s heirloom to pay for his elite training camp. I loved him that much.

Not just because every single sacrifice came with one promise; “When I make it, Ashley, I’ll tell the whole world you’re the reason I got here.”

But last night, standing on that stage with the world watching, he thanked the parents who had called his hockey dream a waste of time and never gave him a single dime. He hadn't mentioned my name once.

While it broke me then, I was stupid enough to think he was saving it for tonight. Our ten-year anniversary.

And when I learned he had arranged this romantic dinner and invited me to come, I thought it was to celebrate, and perhaps, propose. Unknown to me, he had only planned to dispose of me.

“So that's it,” I whispered, blinking furiously to hold back the hot tears. “Ten years of my life reduced to a liability because of my secondary gender. Something you swore was never a problem for you.”

“Yes. Otherwise, why couldn't you have landed a high-paying job for yourself after all this time?” A flash of guilt crossed his face before he quickly masked it with indifference. “Look, I don't want to do this, but we're just not meant to be.”

He tossed a hundred-dollar bill onto the table.

“Dinner is on me. I'll have my manager send over a check to cover whatever you think you spent on me over the years. I'll have my things out of the apartment by tomorrow. Goodbye, Ashley.”

He stood up, turned his back on me, and walked out of the restaurant.

An hour later, I was sitting in my dark apartment, my tears finally falling freely.

My mind goes back to when we were just twelve-year-old kids with nothing but impossibly big dreams.

I remembered that time I'd scraped my knee, crying like the world was ending. Weston had used his sleeve to wipe away my tears as he pressed his forehead to mine. “Don’t cry, Ash. As long as I’m around, nobody’s ever gonna hurt you.”

Now, he was the one pulling the trigger.

I stared blankly at the wall, my thoughts spiraling out of control when, suddenly, my phone vibrated next to me, the screen lighting up the dark room.

I wiped my raw, puffy eyes and grabbed it. A notification flashed on the screen.

For a pathetic minute, I hoped it was Weston, texting to apologize, saying it was all a big mistake.

But it wasn't him. It was an email.

Sender: HR Department –Sports Rehabilitation Department

My breath hitched in my throat. The Wolves. The most prestigious hockey organization in the country.

But I wasn't happy.

Though I was skilled at what I studied, the moment the franchise saw my Omega status on the paperwork, the doors slammed shut.

Omegas are too fragile for high-stress sports.

Omegas can't handle treating aggressive Alpha athletes.

It was the same prejudiced garbage everywhere. I had been rejected so many times I had simply stopped applying.

And this franchise was the absolute last place I had sent my resume to in a moment of desperate, exhausted delusion—and mostly because of my best friend Emma's encouragement.

I stared at the subject line, my thumb hovering over the screen.

Then, I let out a bitter, hollow laugh.

Who am I kidding?

I had already received a mountain of rejections from minor league teams. Why in the world would the biggest, brightest hockey franchise in the league want a "plain Omega nerd"? It was definitely just another automated rejection email.

I couldn't handle reading another “We regret to inform you…” today.

So without even opening the message, I swiped the notification away, closed my Gmail app entirely, and tossed my phone onto the sofa cushion next to me.

If only I knew that one unopened email was about to flip my entire world in ways I never imagined.