My Cheating Mate

My Cheating Mate

Jeremy pov

I stared at Emma's text message, my wolf pacing restlessly in my mind.

"No problem. Take your time."

Five words. Simple, polite, exactly what Emma would normally say. So why did they feel wrong?

"Jeremy? Baby, are you even listening to me?" Vanessa's irritated voice cut through my thoughts. She was sprawled across my office couch now, completely naked, looking at me with those sharp blue eyes that usually excited me but now just seemed... calculating.

"Yeah, sorry. Just work stuff." I pulled on my pants, suddenly uncomfortable with my own nakedness.

My wolf snarled, agitated in a way he hadn't been in months. Something's wrong, he kept insisting. Something's off.

I'd learned to ignore him when it came to Emma. He'd been resistant to her from the start, even though the mate bond had snapped into place clear as day. He wanted Vanessa—had always wanted Vanessa. We'd grown up together, trained together, planned our future together. Everyone knew we'd end up as Alpha and Luna.

Then the Moon Goddess had other ideas.

"You're thinking about her again." Vanessa sat up, annoyance sharpening her features. "I can always tell when you're thinking about that mousy little Beta's daughter."

"I'm not—" But I was. I couldn't shake the feeling that something was wrong.

Emma never texted like that. She was usually more... effusive. Lots of emojis, complete sentences about her day, questions about mine. This was too short. Too casual.

Too controlled.

"I should probably head home," I said, grabbing my shirt.

"Are you serious right now?" Vanessa stood, stalking toward me with predatory grace. "We finally have time alone and you want to run home to her?"

"It's not like that. I just—"

"You just what? Feel guilty?" She laughed, cruel and sharp. "Please. You were literally just inside me, telling me how much better I am than her. Don't get cold feet now, Jeremy."

She was right. I had said that. And it was true—sex with Vanessa was passionate, wild, everything I'd imagined it would be since we were teenagers. Emma was... sweet. Gentle. Boring, if I was honest with myself.

But Emma was also the Beta's daughter. Emma came with political advantages. Emma would give me legitimate heirs that no one could question.

And Emma was supposed to be home, waiting for me, completely unaware that I was planning to use her and discard her.

So why did my wolf keep insisting something was wrong?

"I'm just going to text her again," I said, pulling out my phone. "Make sure everything's okay."

I typed: "Hey, beautiful. Miss you. Can't wait to come home to you tonight ❤️"

The response came almost immediately: "Miss you too. Safe travels."

Safe travels? I frowned at the screen. I wasn't traveling. I was twenty minutes away at the pack house.

My wolf's agitation ratcheted up another notch. Wrong. Wrong. Wrong.

"Vanessa, I need to go."

"You're being ridiculous. She's fine. She's probably just baking something or reading one of those terrible romance novels she likes. That's all she ever does."

That was true enough. Emma was predictable, routine-oriented. She'd be curled up on our couch right now with a book and a cup of tea, maybe some ridiculous baking competition show on in the background.

Except my wolf didn't believe it. And neither, I was realizing, did I.

I finished dressing quickly, ignoring Vanessa's complaints. "I'll call you later."

"Don't bother," she snapped. "Not unless you're ready to actually commit to me instead of stringing me along while you play house with that pathetic—"

I left before she could finish, my wolf's anxiety bleeding into my own thoughts. The drive home felt longer than it should have, every red light an agonizing delay.

I tried calling Emma. It rang four times before going to voicemail.

She always answered my calls. Always.

I called again. Voicemail.

My hands tightened on the steering wheel. "Emma, hey, just checking in. Call me back, okay?"

The house was dark when I pulled into the driveway. Emma's car was gone.

That wasn't unusual—she could be at the grocery store, at Aria's place, running errands. But combined with the strange texts and the unanswered calls, my wolf was practically clawing to get out.

I unlocked the front door and immediately knew.

The house felt empty. Not just quiet—empty in a way that raised every hair on the back of my neck.

"Emma?" I called out, flipping on lights as I moved through the rooms.

No response.

Her shoes weren't by the door. Her purse wasn't on the counter. I took the stairs two at a time up to our bedroom.

Half the closet was empty. Her dresser drawers hung open, most of her clothes gone. The framed photo of her parents that always sat on her nightstand—gone.

"No. No, no, no." I pulled out my phone and called her again. Straight to voicemail this time. She'd turned it off.

I tried the mate bond, reaching for her through that invisible thread that connected us. But where I should have felt her presence, her emotions, there was just... distance. Like she was actively blocking me out.

How long had she been able to do that?

I raced back downstairs, looking for clues, for anything that would tell me where she'd gone or why. The mail sat unopened on the counter. Dishes in the sink from breakfast. Everything looked normal except for the gaping absence of her things.

My wolf was howling now, genuine panic setting in. Not because I loved her—I'd never let myself love her. But because if she'd left, if she'd actually found the spine to leave me, everything I'd planned fell apart.

I needed her. Needed her father's support, needed the legitimacy she brought as his daughter, needed the political stability our mating provided. More than that, I needed her compliant and cooperative, not angry and rebellant and gone.

Did she know? Had someone seen Vanessa and me? But no—if she knew, she would have confronted me. Would have cried and screamed and demanded answers. That was Emma's way, wasn't it? Emotional, sensitive, needy.

Except maybe I didn't know Emma as well as I thought.

My phone buzzed. A text from Beta Marcus: "Have you seen Emma? She's not answering her phone and we had plans to discuss the anniversary ceremony."

I stared at the message, my mind racing. If her father didn't know where she was either...

I typed back: "Not sure. She said she had errands. I'll have her call you when she gets home."

The lie came easily. It always did.

But as I stood in our empty house, my wolf snarling warnings I should have heeded hours ago, I couldn't shake the growing certainty that something had gone terribly, irreversibly wrong.

And that somehow, little Emma Smith had outmaneuvered me.