My Alpha Tried to Kill Me for His Mistress

I didn't sleep that night.

Instead, I sat at Jackson's desk with my phone, photographing every piece of evidence under the cold glow of the screen. The wolfsbane vial first—I captured the label with its dosage calculations written in Jackson's precise hand, the temperature log showing when it was acquired, the calibration notes that made my stomach turn. Three milligrams per kilogram of body weight. Enough to stop my heart in under five minutes.

The forged rejection documents came next. My signature, expertly copied. The witness lines filled with names I recognized—pack members who'd take Georgina's word over mine without question. The date was blank, waiting to be filled in after I was dead.

Then the inheritance claim. Pages of legal language that boiled down to a single truth: as my marked mate, Jackson would inherit everything I owned upon my death. My father's fortune. The Lycan royal assets I'd quietly funneled into Silverfang for eight years. The territorial claims that made this pack powerful.

I photographed it all. Every page. Every notation. Every piece of evidence that proved the man the Moon Goddess bonded me to had spent months planning my murder.

By the time the first light touched the windows, I had three complete sets of documentation. One went into a waterproof case I'd hidden in a location only I knew—a safety deposit box in a bank three territories away, registered under my mother's maiden name. One went into an encrypted file I uploaded to a secure server Roland had maintained since my father's death. The third stayed on my phone, password-protected with biometric locks.

I was methodical. Precise. My hands didn't shake.

The mate mark on my neck burned steadily, a constant reminder that I was still bonded to the man sleeping upstairs. I pressed two fingers against it and felt the echo of his emotions through the link—satisfaction, anticipation, something that felt almost like relief.

He thought he'd already won.

---

I found them at breakfast two days later.

Jackson sat at the head of the table, Georgina beside him in the seat that should have been mine. They were discussing anniversary run preparations—the route, the timing, the ceremonial elements. Planning my execution like it was just another pack event.

I stood in the doorway until they noticed me.

"I need time away," I said quietly. "To reflect on my behavior."

Georgina's eyes lit up. Jackson's expression shifted into something that looked almost like concern, but I could feel his relief bleeding through the bond.

"A healing spa," I continued. "In neutral territory. Just for a few weeks. To work on myself."

"That's very wise, dear," Georgina said, her voice dripping with false warmth. "Self-improvement is so important for a Luna. Especially one who's been under such... stress."

Jackson nodded slowly. "Which spa?"

I named one I'd researched—exclusive, expensive, known for its discretion. The kind of place a Luna might actually go to recover from a public confrontation with her mate.

"Take as long as you need," Jackson said. His Alpha tone was gentle now, magnanimous. "The pack will manage."

Of course it would. They'd been managing without me for months, planning around the hole my death would leave.

"I'll take Mya," I added. "She could use some time away too."

Georgina frowned slightly, but Jackson waved a hand. "Fine. Whatever you need."

I packed a single bag that afternoon. Told Mya we were going on a vacation, somewhere quiet and safe. She believed me because she was eight and I was her mother and she had no reason not to.

We drove past the spa's exit without slowing down.

---

Roland's facility sat three territories away, hidden in the mountains where my father used to take me as a child. It looked like an ordinary cabin from the road, but the security systems were Lycan-grade, and the man who opened the door had been my father's most trusted Beta.

He was older now. Gray at the temples, lines around his eyes. But when I stepped into the light and he saw my face, he went down on one knee.

"Princess," he said quietly.

The word hit me harder than I'd expected. I'd been Amanda for so long—just Amanda, the quiet Luna, the woman who smiled and endured and built an empire in the shadows. Hearing my real title spoken aloud felt like shedding a skin I'd worn too long.

"Get up, Roland," I said. "We have work to do."

He rose smoothly and gestured us inside. Mya watched with wide eyes as we descended into the facility's lower level—a command center that looked like something out of a military installation, all screens and secure communications equipment.

"I've maintained everything as your father ordered," Roland said. "Financial records, territorial claims, sealed credentials. All waiting for the day you'd need them."

I pulled out my phone and transferred the evidence files. Roland's expression darkened as he reviewed them.

"Wolfsbane," he said softly. "Moon Goddess. He was really going to—"

"Yes." I kept my voice steady. "And now we're going to make sure he never gets the chance."

Roland pulled up a secure channel—one established years ago, encrypted beyond anything a normal pack could break. "Cassian Dray is still chief enforcer for the Lycan Council. He served under your father. He'll remember you."

I watched as Roland composed the transmission. Attached the evidence. Included my royal credentials—documents bearing my father's seal, proving beyond any doubt who I was.

The message sent with a soft chime.

Then I made the second call—to the Lycan Council's financial division.

"This is Amanda Voss," I said when they answered. "Daughter of the late Lycan King. I'm initiating an emergency freeze on all Silverfang Pack accounts and territorial claims that trace back to my inheritance."

There was a long pause.

"Princess," the voice said carefully. "We'll need verification—"

"Roland Voss is transmitting my credentials now. You'll find eight years of financial records showing that virtually everything Silverfang owns came from my family's assets. I want it frozen. Tonight."

Another pause. Then: "It will be done."

I ended the call and looked at Roland. He was watching me with something that looked like pride.

"Your father would be proud," he said quietly.

I pressed two fingers to the mate mark on my neck. Felt Jackson's emotions through the bond—still satisfied, still anticipating, completely unaware that his empire was crumbling while he celebrated with his mistress in the Alpha suite.

"He's going to find out soon," I said. "When the accounts freeze. When the Council contacts him."

Roland smiled grimly. "Let him."

I settled into the chair in front of the monitors. Mya was asleep upstairs, safe and unaware. The evidence was transmitted. The freeze was in motion.

For the first time in eight years, I wasn't playing the role of Luna.

I was exactly who I'd always been.

And Jackson was about to discover what it cost to betray a princess.