My Alpha Used Our Wedding to Fund His Mistress

The guilt from the hotel incident hung around my neck heavier than any jewelry. For three days, I had walked on eggshells, replaying Cyrus’s disappointed glare and the sound of Sarah’s sobbing. I was the villain in my own love story, the insecure Beta who couldn’t handle the pressure of being an Alpha’s mate. I told myself I had to be better. I had to be the Luna he deserved.

That resolve was tested on Tuesday afternoon.

We were in the pack house living room, organizing the seating charts for the upcoming mating ceremony in New York. Jasmine was helping me, her fingers flying over her tablet as she coordinated with the florists. As she reached for a glass of water, the sunlight caught her wrist, sending a sharp, prismatic flare into my eyes.

I froze. Wrapped around her slender wrist was a vintage diamond bracelet. The setting was unmistakable—a delicate filigree of white gold shaped like twisting vines, holding teardrop diamonds. It was the exact piece Cyrus had told me was lost during a vault transfer two months ago. It had belonged to his grandmother.

"That bracelet," I said, my voice tight. "Is that..."

Jasmine didn’t flinch. She glanced down at her wrist and laughed, a light, airy sound. "Oh, this? Pretty, isn't it? I found a jeweler downtown who does high-end replicas. I’ve always admired the vintage style, so I treated myself."

"A replica?" I asked, staring at the stones. They didn't look like glass or cubic zirconia. They held the deep, cold fire of the real thing.

"Yeah, cost me a fortune, but it looks real, right?" She smiled, tilting her head. "Why? You don't think I'd steal from the Alpha, do you, El?"

My wolf stirred in the back of my mind, a low, rumbling growl of warning. *Liar,* she whispered. *It smells like him.*

But I shoved the instinct down. I had listened to my jealousy at the hotel, and look where that got me. I couldn't afford another outburst. "No, of course not," I forced a smile. "It's beautiful, Jas."

She patted my hand. "Thanks, babe. Now, about these centerpieces..."

I buried the suspicion, but the unease remained, a splinter under my skin. I needed to make things right with Cyrus. I needed to prove I trusted him.

Two days before the ceremony, I made a decision. I booked a flight to New York, twenty-four hours earlier than planned. I stopped at a specialty liquor store and bought a bottle of Macallan 25, Cyrus's absolute favorite. It was an apology, a peace offering, and a promise that I would be the supportive partner he needed.

I arrived at the penthouse building just as the city was settling into twilight. The doorman recognized me, tipping his hat as I breezed past. My heart fluttered with nervous excitement. I imagined the look on Cyrus's face—surprise, then relief, then that warm smile I hadn't seen in weeks.

I punched my emergency code into the private elevator. The numbers glowed soft blue under my trembling fingers. As the lift ascended to the top floor, I practiced my apology in the reflection of the brass doors. *I'm sorry I doubted you. I love you.*

The elevator doors slid open silently. The penthouse was dimly lit, the panoramic view of the Manhattan skyline painting the room in hues of purple and gold. I stepped out, clutching the heavy gift bag to my chest.

"Cyrus?" I called out softly, expecting him to be in his study.

Silence answered me. Then, a sound drifted from down the hallway. A giggle. High-pitched and familiar.

My stomach dropped. I took a step forward, the plush carpet swallowing the sound of my heels. The door to the master bedroom was cracked open just an inch, spilling a slice of warm, yellow light into the hallway.

"...so pathetic," a voice said. Jasmine's voice. "Did you see her face when she saw the bracelet? She actually bought the replica story. God, she’s so desperate to believe you."

I stopped breathing. The world narrowed down to that sliver of light.

"Elena has always been easy to manage," Cyrus’s voice replied. It wasn't the cold, professional tone he used with the pack, nor the gentle one he used to use with me. It was relaxed, amused. Arrogant. "She’s soft. That’s why she’ll never make a real Luna."

I crept closer, my hand trembling so violently the bottle in the bag clinked softly. I peered through the crack.

They were in our bed. The bed we had picked out together.

Cyrus was leaning back against the headboard, shirtless, a glass of whiskey in one hand. Jasmine was straddling his lap, wearing nothing but one of his dress shirts—the one I had ironed for him last week. Her hands were tangled in his hair.

"So why keep the engagement?" Jasmine traced a finger down his chest. "Why not just reject her and mark me? You know I’m better for the pack."

Cyrus laughed, a dark, throaty sound that made my blood run cold. "Politics, Jas. You know the Black Moon Pack is leveraged to the hilt. We need the Silver Pack’s alliance, and more importantly, their dowry. Elena comes with the Hansen family connections and her brother’s trade routes."

He took a sip of his drink, his eyes gleaming with malice. "Let me get the ring on her finger. Let me secure the funds. Once the alliance is legally binding... well, accidents happen. Or maybe she just fades away into the background like a good little Beta."

Jasmine smirked, leaning down to kiss his neck. "And me?"

"You," Cyrus growled, gripping her hips, "are my true mate in everything but title. She’s just the bank account."

The bag slipped from my fingers. I caught it just before it hit the floor, clutching it against my stomach so hard the cardboard box dented.

The pain I expected didn't come. Or perhaps it did, but it was so immense, so absolute, that it bypassed agony and went straight to numbness. The gaslighting, the firing of Sarah, the lectures on my insecurity—it all crystallized in that moment.

I wasn't crazy. I wasn't jealous. I was being played.

My wolf let out a howl of pure, unadulterated rage inside my head, thrashing against the mental barriers I had erected. She wanted to burst through the door, shift, and tear their throats out. She wanted blood.

*No,* I told her, my own internal voice icy and detached. *Not yet.*

If I walked in there now, I would be the hysterical ex-fiancée. He would spin it. He would say I misunderstood. He would use his Alpha command to force me to submit, just like at the hotel. I had no leverage. I had no proof other than my word against an Alpha's.

I backed away. One step. Two steps.

My eyes were dry. The tears wouldn't come. The Elena who had cried over a fired assistant was dead, killed in that hallway by the man she had loved for a decade.

I reached the elevator and pressed the button, watching the light on the panel blink. Inside the bedroom, the bedsprings creaked, followed by Jasmine’s soft moan.

I didn't shatter. I calcified. I stepped into the elevator, the doors closing on the scene of my destruction, and as the car began its descent, I made a promise to the skyline of New York.

He wanted the Silver Pack alliance? He wanted the Hansen connections?

He was going to get exactly what he bargained for. And it was going to destroy him.