My Mate Ignored My Screams to Save His Mistress’s Son

I wasn't supposed to hear it.

I was passing Weston's study on my way back from the Healer's ward—another routine check, another reassurance that the pup was still there, still growing, still holding on after ten losses that had carved holes in my wolf I wasn't sure would ever close. My hand rested on my abdomen, a habit I'd developed so early in this pregnancy that I no longer noticed I was doing it. Three months. Twelve weeks. The longest I'd ever carried.

The study door was open just enough. Weston's voice drifted into the hallway, low and certain, the tone he used when a decision had already been made and he was simply informing someone of the outcome.

"The Moon Goddess sent me a vision, Marcus."

I stopped. My wolf, who had been humming contentedly under my skin all afternoon, went still.

Marcus—Weston's Beta, his second-in-command, the man who had stood beside him at our mating ceremony five years ago—said nothing for a long moment. Then, carefully: "A vision, Alpha?"

"She showed me an alternate path." Weston's voice carried no doubt, no hesitation. "I'm to reject Leyla during her pregnancy. Chelsea Diaz—you remember her, my childhood friend—she has a young son, Eiden. The Goddess revealed he's meant to be my heir. I'll bring them into the pack house, raise the boy as my own. In five years, once he's trained and ready, I'll return to formalize the succession."

Silence.

I pressed my palm flat against the wall to steady myself. My wolf was clawing at the inside of my chest, not in rage but in something worse—confusion so deep it felt like drowning.

"Alpha," Marcus said slowly, "Leyla is carrying your pup. Your biological heir. The pack—"

"The pack will understand that I follow the Moon Goddess's will above all else." Weston's tone sharpened, just slightly. Not quite an Alpha command, but close. "This is destiny, Marcus. I didn't ask for it. But I won't ignore a divine mandate because it's inconvenient."

Another pause. Then Marcus, quieter: "And the Luna?"

"She'll survive it." Weston sounded almost dismissive. "Leyla is strong. She's endured worse. And in five years, when the boy is ready, she'll understand that this was always the plan."

I didn't wait to hear more.

I turned and walked down the corridor, my footsteps silent on the stone floor, my hand still pressed against my abdomen. My wolf was keening now, a low, broken sound that only I could hear. I didn't let myself run. I didn't let myself cry. I simply walked, one foot in front of the other, until I reached my chambers and closed the door behind me.

Then I stood in the center of the room and breathed.

In. Out. In. Out.

The pup kicked—tiny, fluttering, barely there. I closed my eyes and focused on that sensation, the only thing in the world that felt real.

Weston was going to reject me. During my pregnancy. For a woman I'd never met and a child who wasn't his.

The Moon Goddess sent him a vision.

I had spent five years as Luna of this pack. I had presided over ceremonies, mediated disputes, maintained every alliance my father had brokered to keep Ironridge standing. I had endured ten failed pregnancies in silence, absorbing the pack's whispered judgment that I was barren, weak, unworthy of an Alpha's bond—all to protect Weston's reputation. And now, when I was finally carrying the pup we had both grieved for, he was planning to sever our bond because a goddess told him to raise someone else's son.

I opened my eyes.

No.

No, the Moon Goddess did not send him a vision. The Moon Goddess paired us. She wove our bond with her own hands. If she wanted it undone, she would have done it herself.

This was Weston. This was his choice. His cowardice dressed in divine language.

I crossed to the small desk by the window and sat down. My hands were steady. My wolf had stopped keening. In its place was something colder, sharper, more awake than I had felt in years.

I reached for the private mind-link I shared with my father—not the pack link, but the Lycan bond that ran between us, older and deeper than any tie Weston could touch.

*Father.*

The response was immediate. Arthur's presence in my mind was calm, solid, waiting. He didn't ask what was wrong. He simply waited for me to speak.

*I need you to be ready.*

A pause. Then, quietly: *I already am, Leyla.*

Of course he was. Arthur Voss had not become one of the most powerful Lycan elders in the region by waiting for crises to announce themselves. He had been watching. He had known something was wrong long before I did.

*How long?* I asked.

*Two days. Maybe three, if you need more time.*

*Two days is enough.*

I felt his approval, steady and absolute, before he withdrew from the link.

I sat at the desk for a long time after that, my hand resting on my abdomen, feeling the pup move beneath my palm. Weston thought I would survive this. He thought I was strong enough to endure being discarded while pregnant, to watch him raise another woman's child in my place, to wait five years for him to decide I was useful again.

He was right about one thing.

I was strong enough.

Just not in the way he thought.

That night, I attended the pack dinner as I always did. I sat beside Weston at the head table, smiled at the appropriate moments, asked the Omegas about their families. Weston kissed my temple before the meal began, his hand resting briefly on my shoulder—a gesture of affection he performed for the pack's benefit.

I leaned into it. I thanked him softly.

And I began to plan.

Within forty-eight hours, I contacted Giuliana Ward.

She was a name whispered in pack law circles with equal parts respect and fear—a she-wolf attorney who specialized in cases no one else would take. Rejected Lunas. Wrongfully demoted Omegas. Wolves abandoned by Alphas who believed their rank placed them above accountability. She had never lost.

Arthur arranged the secure channel. I sent the Healer's preliminary records, the timeline of the ten failed pregnancies, and a single sentence: *My Alpha plans to reject me while I am carrying his only heir.*

Giuliana's response came six hours later.

*I accept. Begin documentation immediately. Do not let him know you are preparing.*

I didn't.

I attended every ceremony. I smiled at every pack meal. I thanked Weston when he told me, three days later, that Chelsea Diaz—"a childhood friend in difficult circumstances"—would be given sanctuary in the pack house.

"That's very generous of you," I said, my voice warm and steady.

He looked relieved. "I knew you'd understand."

I excused myself, walked calmly to my chambers, and sent Giuliana a message.

*They're here. Begin formal documentation.*

Then I sat by the window, my hand on my abdomen, and waited.