His Mistress Wore My Wedding Ring

The greenhouse was my sanctuary in a pack house that had never felt like home. Dawn hadn't yet broken when I slipped inside, the familiar scent of damp soil and blooming flowers wrapping around me like an embrace I'd long been denied elsewhere. My fingers trembled slightly as I reached for the watering can—a weakness I couldn't afford to show outside these glass walls. I focused on the white lilies, my favorites. Their pure petals reminded me of what I once was—hopeful, untainted. Before the mate bond that became my prison. "You're wilting too, aren't you?" I whispered to a drooping bloom, gently supporting its stem. My wolf, Luna, whimpered softly in the back of my mind. Once silver and strong, she now barely stirred, weakened by the sickness that had been consuming us both since I gave too much blood to save William three years ago. A sudden tremor ran through my bones, stronger than the usual morning weakness.

He repayed with evil, I show him to hell

Chapter 1 It was their seventh wedding anniversary. Carolyn found the divorce agreement in Roger’s nightstand. The pages were covered in scribbles and corrections, as if he’d agonized over them for years. *"If, during the marriage, I fall in love with another person, I voluntarily relinquish all assets and leave with nothing. Asset details as follows…"* His first impulse had been to walk away empty-handed. But the asset section told a different story—a mess of revisions. First, he’d crossed out the property he intended to give her. Then, the fifty million earmarked for her was scratched out and replaced with five hundred thousand. Finally, as if in penance, he had written a single line. *"Better to have Carolyn leave with nothing. No choice, Catherine is pregnant."* … Carolyn sank onto the bed, disbelief washing over her. On the agreement, Roger’s signature was clean and decisive, without a hint of hesitation. And the document had been drafted seven years ago—the very year they married. That year, Roger had been willing to give up everything for her. Yet every year after, he had crossed out another piece of their shared life. Now, seven years later, the one leaving with nothing would be her. Her phone buzzed abruptly. A message from Roger. *"Urgent business. Won't be back."* She called, only to find his phone already switched off. Another notification flashed—a screenshot from a friend. Catherine, the student she sponsored, had posted on social media. *"Wow, got praised! To commemorate my first period without a leak, the big boss said we should celebrate properly!"* In a nine-photo collage, Roger gazed at her, eyes crinkling with affection as he fastened a dazzling gemstone necklace around her neck. The post was tagged at a couples-themed hotel. Carolyn’s breath caught. He couldn’t remember seven years of marriage, of weathering storms together—but he could find the energy to celebrate Catherine’s… leak-free period. And that pendant… she’d seen it at an auction just last week. It was her mother’s lost heirloom. She’d been ready to bid when her bank card was frozen. She’d asked Roger why. A long time later, he finally texted back, telling her not to waste money on such impractical things. Clutching her bidding paddle, she’d sat helplessly in the auction hall. In the end, she resolved to sell one of her own designs to raise the funds. But someone on the phone swooped in with an unbeatable offer and took it. For weeks afterward, Carolyn hated herself—hated that she couldn’t protect her mother’s last keepsake. She never imagined the one who snatched it away was Roger. He knew exactly how much that pendant meant to her. Yet he gave it to Catherine. Even on their seventh anniversary, Roger had lied about being busy with work, while wining and dining the girl she’d sponsored. The anniversary gift he left her was a divorce agreement demanding she leave with nothing. Seven years of marriage. Seven years of infidelity. And Carolyn had known nothing. She’d even introduced the other woman to him herself. Catherine was the impoverished student Carolyn sponsored. The first time Catherine came to their home to give thanks, Roger found her intrusive and disliked her on sight. *"That girl has no manners. Tracked mud all over my cashmere rug."* *"If her grades aren’t up to par, cut the sponsorship."* Back then, Carolyn had teased him, saying not to be jealous—it was good the girl had a grateful heart. She never once suspected Roger and Catherine. For seven years, everyone in their circle believed Roger never played around. That he loved only Carolyn. But by their next meeting, Catherine had become Roger’s personal assistant. Roger explained, *"The girl’s had it tough. You’ve sponsored her for years. Giving her a job is just helping you out."* Carolyn had laughed it off. Now, hands trembling, she opened Catherine’s social media feed. Catherine had always hidden her posts from Carolyn. Now, she seemed desperate to flaunt everything. While Carolyn drank until her stomach bled to secure a deal for Roger, Catherine was using Roger’s card to buy her first Louis Vuitton. While Carolyn changed bedpans for Roger’s bedridden grandmother, Roger was taking Catherine to a perfume atelier for a blending class—calling it a business trip. Catherine had even complained online. *"Your wife is such a pampered princess. Can't handle the tiniest thing without you running back. Can she not live without a man?"* And Roger had replied beneath it. *"If she were half as independent as you, I’d have an easier life."* But that day… Carolyn’s mother had lost her battle with cancer. She’d cried until her heart felt shredded, scrambling to handle the arrangements. All the while, Roger kept checking his phone impatiently, eager to leave. Not for work, she realized now—but because he was desperate to get back to Catherine.

Five years. That was one thousand, eight hundred, and twenty-five days of waking up cold. Today was our anniversary. Not that anyone in the Blood Moon Pack would be celebrating. To them, this wasn't the day their Alpha and Luna were united; it was the day the "real" Luna ran away, and the spare was shoved into a white dress to stop a war. I sat at my vanity, the enchanted glass reflecting a face that looked too pale, too tired for twenty-one. My hand drifted up to my neck, hovering over the smooth, unmarked skin there. A dull, throbbing ache pulsed beneath my fingertips—mate sickness. It was a low-level hum of pain that never went away, the physical consequence of a bond that had been legally recognized but never sealed with a bite. "Happy anniversary, Leona," I whispered to the empty room.

The pack run had been Marcelo's idea. He'd announced it three days prior at the weekly council meeting, his Alpha tone leaving no room for debate. A show of unity, he'd called it. A reminder that the Black Moon Pack moved as one body, one purpose. I'd watched him from my seat at the far end of the table—the Luna's chair, though I'd stopped feeling like a Luna months ago—and said nothing. Petra Voss had nodded approvingly. The other council members had murmured their agreement. Rosalina, seated closer to Marcelo than protocol allowed, had smiled that soft, adoring smile she always wore around him. I should have known then. The territory's northern river was swollen from early spring melt, the current fast and mean.

The Plaza Hotel's bridal suite was bathed in soft morning light as I stood before the ornate mirror. My reflection stared back at me—eyes bright with anticipation, cheeks flushed with excitement. Today was supposed to be the beginning of forever. "You look beautiful," my makeup artist had whispered just moments ago. "Caspian won't know what hit him." I smiled, touching the delicate lace of my custom Vera Wang gown. Ten years of love, of building a life together, all culminating in this perfect day. My fingers trembled slightly as I adjusted my veil. "I'm just nervous," I whispered to my reflection, trying to calm the flutter in my stomach. The lights above me flickered once, twice. I frowned, glancing upward.