After My Mate Chose His Mistress Over Me

Forty-eight hours before the gala, I sat in the ops room under the buzzing fluorescent lights.

I opened the transport file to double-check the convoy routes. Something was off.

At the bottom of the screen, the system log showed a second copy of the file: *Route_Final_V2.doc*. The timestamp read 2:14 AM on Tuesday.

I had been asleep in Bodie’s room at 2:14 AM, listening to his shallow breathing. Yet there it was on the monitor: *Modified by user: Luna Hayden Grant.*

I clicked the revision history. Someone had stripped the sentries from the north perimeter gate and reassigned them to the outer tree line, leaving the private entrance completely exposed.

My heart hammered against my ribs. I tried to pull the terminal’s IP address to see which machine made the edits.

A red banner flashed across the screen: *Access Denied. Beta Level Clearance Required.*

Rayna had Drake revoke my high-level clearance a week ago. I was locked out.

I didn't yell. I didn't rush to Drake’s office. I had learned that lesson with Bodie’s poisoned gravy. Drake wouldn’t hear me. He would only see another "unstable accusation" from a jealous mate.

Instead, I pulled out my phone. I took three crisp photos of the screen—the timestamps, my forged authorization code, and the removed guards. Back in my room, I moved the photos to a flash drive, slid it into my desk drawer with the conduct warning, and turned the key.

***

The White River Pack’s estate looked like something out of a glossy magazine. Crystal chandeliers hung from vaulted ceilings, and champagne flutes clinked across the marble floor.

I stood near the terrace doors in a simple navy dress, an earpiece tucked into my right ear. Across the ballroom, Drake stood surrounded by allied Alphas. He looked immaculate in his charcoal suit, his golden Alpha aura radiating quiet dominance. At his side, Rayna wore an emerald gown that left her bare shoulders exposed, showing off the faint pink line my claws had left—a subtle badge of victimhood.

At 10:42 PM, the radio in my ear erupted into static and screams.

*“Breach! North gate! Rogues—they’re already past the—”*

Gunfire cracked through the music.

The tall glass terrace doors shattered inward in an explosion of rain and flying shards. Four massive rogues leaped into the ballroom, snarling, their fur matted with mud. Before the music even stopped, three of our Ironclad warriors guarding the corridor were dragged down, their throats torn open on the polished stone.

Screams tore the air. Drake didn't hesitate. His clothes tore as his massive black wolf exploded into the open, a mountain of muscle and bared fangs. He slammed into the first rogue, snapping its spine with a sickening crunch. Allied guards rushed the others.

Within ninety seconds, the hall was quiet again, save for the heavy panting of wolves and the smell of fresh blood.

Drake shifted back, naked to the waist, his chest heaving. Blood dripped from his knuckles. He looked at the three dead Ironclad warriors lying near the broken doors. His jaw clenched in pure fury.

"How did they get through?" Drake’s voice was a low snarl that made the entire room flinch. "The north gate had a four-wolf rotation."

"Alpha."

Rayna stepped out from behind a marble pillar. Her face was pale, but her hands were steady as she held up a glowing tablet.

"The perimeter log just updated," she said, her voice shaking with rehearsed dread. "The rotation was cleared out twenty minutes before the attack. The override came directly from Hayden’s personal terminal."

The silence in the room dropped like a heavy stone. Allied Alphas glanced between Rayna and me.

Drake turned his head slowly. His eyes were burning gold, the Alpha wolf clawing right beneath his skin.

He didn't ask for my phone. He didn't ask what I had to say. He looked at the bodies of his dead men, then looked at me as if I were a piece of garbage rotting on his floor.

"Hayden," he said, his voice deadly quiet. "You compromised our perimeter. Three of our men are dead because of your incompetence."

"Drake, check the terminal logins," I said. My voice was calm, almost flat, but my stomach felt like ice. "I didn't alter the route. Look at the server stamps."

"Enough of your lies!" he roared.

The Alpha tone crashed into me. The invisible weight slammed down onto my shoulders, forcing my knees hard against the broken glass on the floor. Sharp pain sliced through my skin, but I refused to bow my head. I stared straight into his eyes.

"Pack law for negligence causing death," Drake announced to the room, turning his back on me to face the allied leaders. "Ten silver lashes. Administered now."

A murmur ran through the crowd. Silver on bare skin didn't heal. It left dead, silver-white scars that burned forever.

Beta Marcus stepped forward, his face completely rigid. He held the braided leather whip, its coils laced with strands of pure silver wire. Marcus looked at Drake, his throat bobbing.

"Alpha... here? Before the council?" Marcus asked quietly.

"Did I stutter, Marcus?" Drake barked.

I didn't wait for the guards to touch me. I pushed myself up from the glass, reached behind my neck, and pulled the zipper of my dress down to my waist, exposing my bare back to the room.

I pressed the pad of my right thumb hard against my left pulse point. *Beat. Beat. Beat.*

"Do it," I whispered.

The first strike hit like a line of liquid fire.

My breath exploded out of my lungs. The silver bit into my flesh, hissing against my skin, burning through my human and wolf cells alike.

I didn't scream.

*Two. Three. Four.*

Blood ran down my spine, pooling at the waistband of my dress. The pain was blinding, white-hot, ripping through my nervous system. But inside my head, everything went dead. A cold, thick wall dropped over my mind. My eyes went entirely flat. I stared at a single red rose lying on the floor three feet away and felt myself leave my body.

*Eight. Nine. Ten.*

The whip fell silent. The air smelled of burnt flesh and copper.

I swayed, my knees trembling violently, but I didn't fall. Through our mate bond, I felt Drake’s mind. There was no pity. There was no grief. There was only a cold, righteous satisfaction—the satisfaction of an Alpha who had proven his authority to the room.

The bond went quiet, like a stone sinking into dark water.

I pulled my torn dress back over my shoulders, the ruined fabric sticking immediately to the open burns. I didn't ask for help. I didn't look at Drake, and I didn't look at Rayna.

I turned on my heel and walked out through the shattered terrace doors, leaving a trail of bloody footprints behind me.

Marcus watched me go, his jaw clenched so hard a muscle twitched in his cheek, but he said nothing. Drake was already shaking the White River Alpha's hand, apologizing for the mess.

***

The clinic was dark when I pushed the door open.

Seraphine looked up from her desk. The moment she smelled the burnt silver and blood, the glass vial in her hand shattered against the floor.

"Goddess above," she gasped, rushing forward to catch my arm. "Hayden, sit down. Sit down!"

I sat on the edge of the examination table. My shirt was soaked through with red.

Seraphine worked in complete silence, her hands trembling as she cleaned the scorched furrows. The silver had eaten deep into the muscle. Tears ran down her cheeks, but I didn't shed a single one. My eyes stayed dry, staring at the white wall ahead.

When she finished wrapping my torso in thick gauze, Seraphine walked over to her private cabinet. She took out her black leather ledger, dipped her pen in ink, and began to write:

*November 28. Ten silver-lash lacerations across upper and lower back. Administered under pack law by order of Alpha Drake Armstrong.*

She closed the book with a quiet thud.

"They won't ever fade, Hayden," she whispered, her voice breaking. "The silver... it killed the skin."

"I know," I said. My voice sounded distant, like it belonged to someone else. "Good."

I wanted them there. I wanted the scars to stay forever, so that every time I looked in the mirror, I would remember exactly what his love was worth.