My Alpha Chose His Assistant Over Our Baby

I didn't sleep that night. I lay in the Alpha residence bedroom, staring at the ceiling, feeling Sera pace restlessly inside me. The ultrasound sat locked in my drawer. The image of Lana's tattoo burned behind my eyelids every time I closed them.

By morning, I'd made my decision.

I dressed carefully. A formal Luna gown in deep navy, the kind I wore to pack ceremonies. I braided my hair back and fastened the silver Luna pendant Jameson had given me on our bonding night. If I was going to do this, I would do it properly.

The pack house was busy when I arrived. Morning shift changes meant wolves moving through the corridors, heading to their posts. I walked past them with my head high, feeling their eyes follow me. Word had already spread about yesterday. Pack houses were never good at keeping secrets.

I found Lana exactly where I expected her. At my desk. Again.

She looked up when I entered, her expression shifting into that practiced concern. "Luna. I wasn't expecting—"

"Stand up." My voice came out calm. Cold.

Lana blinked. "I'm sorry?"

"Stand up and step away from the desk." I moved closer, my hands clasped in front of me. "I'm invoking Protocol Seven of the pack household charter. As Luna of Shadowvale, I have sole authority over domestic operations and personnel assignments within the Alpha's private wing."

The room went very quiet. Two staff members who'd been sorting files near the window froze.

Lana stood slowly, her fingers trailing across the desk's edge. "Luna, I think there's been a misunderstanding. Alpha Jameson asked me to—"

"I don't care what Alpha Jameson asked." I kept my voice level. "Protocol Seven predates any individual Alpha's preferences. It was established to prevent exactly this kind of territorial confusion. You are hereby reassigned to the eastern administrative building, effective immediately."

One of the staff members—a young she-wolf named Clara—made a small sound. Almost like approval.

Lana's eyes widened. Her lower lip trembled. "I... I only wanted to help. I've been working so hard to serve this pack." Her voice broke beautifully. "I never meant to overstep."

She lowered her gaze, her shoulders curving inward. The perfect picture of a fragile she-wolf being bullied by a jealous Luna.

Sera snarled. *She's performing.*

I knew. I'd watched Lana perform for five years. But this time, I didn't care.

"The reassignment stands," I said quietly. "You have until noon to clear your things from this office."

Lana's hand drifted to her collar. To the tattoo hidden beneath. Her fingers pressed against it like a talisman.

Then I felt it. The sharp tug of a mind-link that wasn't mine. Lana's eyes went distant for just a second.

Footsteps thundered down the hallway.

Jameson burst through the door, his Alpha aura filling the room like a shockwave. Two junior wolves in the corridor outside immediately bared their necks, forced into submission by the sheer pressure of his presence.

"What the hell is going on here?" His voice was pure command.

Lana turned to him, her eyes glistening. "I'm so sorry, Alpha. I didn't mean to cause problems. Luna is upset, and I understand why. I should have been more careful about boundaries."

Jameson's gaze locked on me. "You're reassigning my assistant?"

"I'm exercising Luna authority over household operations," I said. "It's protocol."

"Protocol." Jameson's jaw tightened. "You don't get to rearrange my operations because you're insecure."

The words hit like a slap. Clara and the other staff member stared at the floor.

"This isn't about insecurity," I said. My voice didn't shake. I was proud of that. "This is about a Beta-ranked she-wolf operating in spaces designated for Luna authority. It's a violation of—"

"Enough." The Alpha tone slammed into me. Not a request. A command that made my wolf whimper and curl inward. "Lana stays exactly where she is. She's indispensable to this pack's operations, and I won't have you undermining efficiency because of personal feelings."

I felt Clara's eyes on me. Felt the weight of every wolf in earshot watching to see what I would do.

Sera was roaring inside me, throwing herself against the cage of my ribs. But the Alpha tone held. My body wouldn't move.

Jameson stepped closer to Lana, his hand brushing her shoulder. Protective. "Are you all right?"

"I'm fine," Lana whispered. "I just want to serve the pack. That's all I've ever wanted."

I stared at them. At the way Jameson's body angled toward her. At the way she leaned into his presence like it was shelter.

Something inside me went very still. Very cold.

This bond was dead. It had been dead for longer than I'd wanted to admit. And I would not announce my pregnancy to a man who let another woman wear the mark of our mating as a trophy.

I pressed my thumb against my wrist. Hard.

"Understood, Alpha," I said quietly.

Then I turned and walked out.

I drove back to the Alpha residence in silence. Sera was still snarling, but I couldn't hear her clearly anymore. Everything felt muffled. Distant.

I went straight to the bedroom and unlocked the drawer. The ultrasound sat on top of my journal, the one written in Old Lycan script that no one in Shadowvale could read. I picked up the image and stared at the tiny blur that was my child.

Our child.

No. My child.

I placed the ultrasound carefully beside the journal and locked the drawer again.

Two days later, I needed financial records from the pack house. Receipts for renovations I'd funded over the years. If I was going to leave—and I was—I wanted documentation of every dollar I'd poured into this place.

The office was empty when I arrived. I moved quickly, pulling files from the cabinet behind the desk. Sera was quiet now. Watchful.

I heard the door open behind me.

Lana walked in, a coffee cup in one hand, her phone in the other. She didn't see me at first. She moved to the mirror on the far wall and set her things down, adjusting her collar.

The tattoo was fully visible. Black ink. Perfect lines. The exact shape and size of Jameson's scar, down to the small curved edge where the rogue's claw had torn deepest.

She tilted her head, studying it. Her fingers traced the lines with something that looked like satisfaction.

This wasn't a tribute. It wasn't even obsession.

It was ownership. A claim staked in permanent ink.

I pulled out my phone and took a photograph. The shutter sound was nearly silent, but Lana's head snapped up. Our eyes met in the mirror.

For a second, her mask slipped. I saw the coldness underneath. The calculation.

Then she smiled. "Luna. I didn't realize you were here."

I slipped my phone into my pocket and picked up the files I'd come for. "I'm finished."

I walked past her without another word.

That night, I sat at the small desk in the Alpha residence and opened my journal. I wrote in Old Lycan script, the language my father had taught me in secret. The language of kings.

*The bond is dead. I will not fight for a man who doesn't see me. I will not raise my child in a house where another woman wears our mark as decoration.*

*I am done.*