My Alpha Traded Me for Her, I Took His Empire

AVIA POV:

In the days that followed, Jena began to wear her victory like a new coat.

She started small. She instructed the staff to replace the navy blue curtains in the main living room-my favorite-with a gaudy gold brocade.

I watched from the top of the stairs and said nothing. I let her have the curtains. For now.

That afternoon, I sat by the hearth, the fire doing little to warm the chill that had settled deep in my bones. I was polishing a silver frame, my thumb tracing the familiar, smiling faces within. My parents. The only real family I had ever known. This frame was all I had left of them.

I had carried it with me through every move, every new room, every cold night when I felt utterly alone. I ran my sleeve over the glass, wiping away a smudge that wasn't really there. My thumb lingered on my mother's smile, then on my father's kind eyes.

Kaden, Jena's five-year-old son, was a whirlwind of destructive energy, tearing through the living room under his mother's indulgent gaze. She would murmur a soft, "Careful, sweetie," that held no real authority.

He skidded to a halt in front of me, his eyes fixated on the gleaming silver in my hands.

"What's that? I want it!" he demanded, reaching for it with sticky fingers.

I pulled the frame to my chest, my arm a protective barrier. "No, Kaden," I said, my voice quiet but firm. "This is very important to me."

His face crumpled. The tantrum was immediate and theatrical. "Mommy! She won't give it to me!"

Jena drifted over, a saccharine smile plastered on her face. "Avia, it's just an old thing. Don't be so stingy. Let the boy have a look."

I lifted my head, my eyes meeting hers. The placid lake was gone. Now there was only ice.

"I said no."

Her smile faltered, cracking at the edges. She wasn't used to being denied.

The front door opened, and Donavon walked in, bringing a gust of cold winter air with him. He took in the scene in an instant: me, clutching the frame; Jena, looking affronted; Kaden, gearing up for a full-blown meltdown.

The boy saw his advantage. He ran to Donavon, wrapping his arms around his leg. "Uncle Donavon! She's being mean to me!"

Jena's expression shifted to one of fragile, wounded innocence. "Donavon, I was just trying to encourage Kaden to be friendly with Avia, but..." She let her voice trail off, a masterpiece of manipulation.

Donavon's face darkened. He didn't ask what happened. He didn't care. He looked at me, his jaw tight.

"Give him the frame, Avia."

It wasn't a request. It was an Alpha's command, laced with an authority that vibrated in the air, pressing down on my will, demanding obedience. I noticed, in that moment, that he never once glanced at the frame. He never checked if it was fragile or valuable. He never looked at my face to see if I was hurt. He did not ask what Kaden had done. He simply chose. He had always chosen. My inner wolf snarled, wanting to rip his throat out for his injustice. I forced her down. A direct confrontation was a battle I couldn't win. Not yet.

Slowly, my fingers uncurling one by one, I held out the frame.

Kaden snatched it from my hands with a triumphant grin. He started running around the room, holding it aloft, making airplane noises.

Jena's lips curved into a smug, victorious smirk.

Then it happened.

The boy's grip loosened. The frame slipped. It arced through the air, a silver blur against the dark wood of the room.

It hit the marble hearth with a sickening crack.

The glass shattered, a spiderweb of fractures spreading across the smiling faces of my parents.

My world narrowed to that broken object. A strangled noise escaped my throat. I lunged forward, wanting to gather the pieces, to somehow put them back together.

But Donavon was faster.

He didn't go for the frame. He rushed to Kaden, grabbing the boy's hands, inspecting his fingers with frantic concern. "Are you hurt? Did the glass cut you?"

I stared at his back, at the broad shoulders hunched over the child who had just destroyed my most precious possession. The last bit of my heart turned to dust.

I stood up, my body feeling strangely light. I looked at the boy hiding behind Donavon's legs.

"You need to apologize," I said, my voice dangerously calm.

Jena immediately bristled. "He's just a child! You're scaring him!"

Donavon spun around, shielding Kaden with his body. He took a step toward me, his face a mask of fury. He shoved me, hard. "That's enough! It's a broken frame, Avia! What is wrong with you?"

The push sent me stumbling backward. My hip connected sharply with the corner of a side table. A hot spike of pain shot through me.

I didn't cry. I didn't scream.

I just looked at him. I held his furious gaze, and my own eyes were empty, a calm, desolate wasteland.

Then I turned and walked up the stairs without another word.

Later that night, I found him in his study, buried in paperwork. I walked in without knocking.

I placed a beautifully wrapped gift box on his desk. It was navy blue, tied with a silver ribbon. I had spent nearly an hour on that ribbon, looping it into a perfect bow, my fingers steady and careful. Each fold had been deliberate—the last act of a wife who had once believed in giving. I set the box in the exact center of his desk, directly in front of him, so that even if he tried to ignore it, it would sit there, waiting. It was the first gift I had ever given him without hoping for anything in return.

"Happy third anniversary," I said.

He looked up, surprised. The conflict from the afternoon had left a tension in the air, and he seemed to have expected my continued silence. I saw a flicker of something in his eyes-guilt, maybe. It was so faint, so fleeting, it might have been a trick of the light.

He grunted, his eyes already back on his work. "Just put it there."

I turned to leave. As my hand touched the doorknob, a small, cold smile touched my lips.

Inside the box was the rejection agreement from Josie. Two copies.

My signature was already on the dotted line.