My Alpha Husband Wants My Heart For His Mistress

The glaring white light from the laptop screen painted the sterile infirmary walls. Static cracked through the speakers before the image sharpened into a high-definition broadcast.

Arlo sat at the center of the Shadow Creek auditorium stage.

He wore a tailored black suit, the exact formal wear Paxton forced him into for pack funerals. A dozen microphones from mainstream media outlets crowded the podium in front of him. Camera flashes exploded in rapid succession, reflecting in his swollen, red-rimmed eyes.

"Volume up," Forest commanded, stepping away from the metal desk.

Miller tapped a key. Arlo's voice filled the room, trembling with perfectly rehearsed grief.

"My name is Arlo Hamilton," my fourteen-year-old son said, wiping a hand across his cheek. "And I am here to expose a monster."

I sat frozen on the edge of the hospital bed. The fresh stitches in my chest burned, but the pain paled against the icy dread pooling in my stomach.

Arlo reached into his jacket pocket. He pulled out a piece of dark, crinkled parchment and held it up for the cameras.

"This letter was found hidden beneath the floorboards of the old Luna's quarters," Arlo announced. His voice cracked. "It details a blood hex. A dark curse meant to drain the life from my true mother, Chloe."

True mother.

The words struck me like a physical blow.

Miller leaned closer to the screen, pushing his wire-rimmed glasses up his nose. "That parchment looks artificially aged. The crease lines are too sharp."

"The public does not care about crease lines," Forest replied, his tone flat. "Listen to the narrative."

"She is not just an arsonist," Arlo continued, staring directly into the center camera lens. "Elena is a Rogue. A dark practitioner. Three years ago, she burned the orphanage to hide her rituals. Now, she has seduced her way into the High Court, using Supreme Enforcer Hoffman to execute her final strike against my family."

Miller swore under his breath. His fingers flew across his secondary tablet. "Captain, the feed is syndicating. Every pack network across the continent is picking this up. They are overriding the local news channels."

"Let it play," Forest said. He crossed his arms, his falcon-like gaze fixed on the screen.

The camera angle on the broadcast shifted abruptly.

The pristine stage vanished, replaced by a chaotic scene in the Shadow Creek medical wing. Chloe lay thrashing on a transport stretcher.

She coughed violently. A thick splatter of dark red liquid stained her pale lips and dripped down her chin. Paramedics rushed around her, shouting medical codes and strapping oxygen masks to her face.

"Please," Chloe whispered weakly, pushing a paramedic's hand away to look at a nearby camera. "Do not let them hurt my boy. Elena can have my life, just spare Arlo."

The feed cut back to the auditorium.

Arlo slammed his fist onto the podium. "Look at what they did to her! The High Court is protecting a witch! They are complicit in this murder!"

Miller's secondary tablet began chiming with a relentless, high-pitched alert.

"Sir," Miller said, his voice tight with panic. "The central switchboard is lighting up. Six major clans just filed emergency petitions. They are calling for your immediate impeachment. They want a tribunal inquiry into your connection with the fugitive."

I stared at the boy on the screen.

This was the son I had rocked to sleep during thunderstorms. The boy I had taken silver lashes for when he trespassed on Alpha grounds at age ten. I had spent fourteen years pouring every ounce of my soul into protecting him from Paxton's cruelty.

He was gone. Paxton and Chloe had hollowed him out and filled him with their poison.

The final frayed thread of my maternal bond burned away, leaving nothing but cold ash in my chest.

I did not cry. The tears simply refused to form.

I clamped my jaw shut. I curled my fingers inward, digging my nails deep into my own palms. The flesh gave way under the sharp pressure.

Golden blood welled from the crescent-moon cuts. It dripped silently onto the stark white hospital bed, blooming into glowing, metallic stains against the cotton sheets.

"Turn it off," I said. My voice sounded entirely hollow, stripped of any recognizable warmth.

Miller hesitated, looking at Forest.

"Shut the feed down," Forest ordered. "Then get out. Lock down the external communications grid. Block all incoming clan petitions until I give the word."

Miller slammed the laptop shut, yanked the cables from the wall, and sprinted out the heavy steel door.

The sudden silence in the infirmary was deafening.

Forest turned to me. His expression remained an impenetrable mask of ice. He did not ask how I felt. He did not offer a single word of comfort.

He unbuttoned the top of his dark tactical coat and reached into the inner pocket.

He pulled out a single sheet of thick, official parchment bearing the gold seal of the Lycan High Court. He stepped forward and slapped the document onto the mattress, right next to my bleeding hands.

"What is this?" I asked, looking at the bold black text at the top.

"A Voluntary Relinquishment of Lycan Citizenship," Forest stated.

I looked up at him, my glowing blood still seeping into the sheets. "You want me to sign away my rights?"

"Public opinion is rioting," Forest said, his tone clipped and pragmatic. "Paxton played a perfect hand. He weaponized your own child to turn you into a continental threat. Half the territory is calling for my head."

"I did not write that curse letter," I shot back, pointing at the dead laptop. "You saw the financial records. You know Paxton is framing me."

"Knowing the truth and proving it to a mob are two very different things," Forest countered. He leaned over, planting both hands on the edge of the metal desk. "I cannot hold off the Grand Council. The petitions force their hand."

"So you are throwing me to the wolves."

"I am giving you an exit," Forest corrected, his voice dropping to a low rumble. "If you stay here, the Council will forcibly interrogate you in forty-eight hours. They will use chemical truth serums that will fry your nervous system. You will end up brain-dead before you ever see a courtroom."

I stared at the document. The blank signature line mocked me.

"If I sign this, I become a ghost," I said. "I lose my pack identity. I lose any legal protection."

"You also lose the Grand Council's jurisdiction," Forest pointed out.

He reached to his belt and unclipped a black tactical pen, tossing it onto the paper. It rolled and stopped against my knee.

"Are you going to run," Forest asked, sliding the document closer to my fingers, "or are you going to gamble your life?"