My Mate Used My Inheritance on His Mistress

I built him from scratch.

His name was Cassian Vale. Alpha of the Ironwood Vale Pack, a small, wealthy, reclusive pack tucked into the western mountains. He owned three thousand acres of untouched forest, a private airstrip, and a bloodline that went back six generations of Alphas. He was thirty-four, unmated, and quietly looking for allies in the northeast.

None of it was real.

I spent four nights building him. Buster slept curled against my ankle while I worked, his small body rising and falling in soft, steady breaths. Every time the mate bond flared — every time Nathaniel rolled over in our bed down the hall and I felt that phantom tug through my chest — I pressed my hand to the pup's warm fur and kept typing.

Fake territory maps. Fake financial holdings. A fake mind-link handle registered through a rerouted server in the west. I even chose Cassian's scent profile carefully: cedar and mountain ash. Deep, masculine, expensive. The kind of scent a she-wolf like Nola would sniff once and start calculating her next move.

I rehearsed his voice in my head until I could type as him without thinking. Short sentences. Confident. A little aloof. The kind of male who never chased, because he never had to.

On the fifth night, I sent the first message.

*Cassian Vale: "Heard your pack's Gamma team is doing interesting work in the northeast. Looking to scout alliance partners next quarter. Would appreciate any local intel."*

I sent it to three she-wolves in the Emberlynn Pack. All low-ranking. All connected to Nola.

Within two hours, she took the bait herself.

*Nola Mendoza: "Hi there, Alpha Vale. I heard you were asking around. I know everyone worth knowing in the northeast. Happy to help."*

I stared at the screen. My wolf gave a low, satisfied rumble.

Hello, little rat.

I made Cassian slow. Made him take a full day to respond. When he finally did, it was brief.

*Cassian: "Appreciate it. What's your role in the pack?"*

And she was off.

She told him she was "unofficially connected" to a rising Alpha candidate. She told him about her "exclusive access" to inter-pack summits, her "personal collection" of rare pack artifacts, her "discerning taste" in luxury goods. Every message dripped with the desperate boast of a wolf trying to inflate her own worth.

I made Cassian mildly impressed. Nothing more. Just enough to keep her hooked.

*Cassian: "Sounds like you move in the right circles. This Alpha candidate — is he anyone I'd know?"*

*Nola: "He'd prefer discretion. Let's just say he's about to be endorsed by three major packs. He's very generous with the wolves who matter to him."*

I almost laughed out loud.

Buster whimpered in his sleep. I stroked his ear and kept typing.

Over the next week, I paced her carefully. Cassian sent one message a day, sometimes two. Never more. Never eager. I let Nola do most of the talking, and she filled every silence like she was terrified he'd lose interest.

By the fourth day, she was sending selfies.

The first one was tame. Her in a silk robe, hair tousled, captioned *"Morning coffee. Wish I had better company."* I archived it and made Cassian respond with a single word: *"Pretty."*

The next selfie came within an hour.

By day six, she was sending photos of her jewelry. Her closet. Her wrist stacked with bracelets. And then, finally — finally — the moonstone pendant.

She wore it against her bare collarbone, the enchanted stone catching light like a trapped moon. The caption made my jaw lock.

*Nola: "My favorite piece. A gift. Paid for by the mate who has no idea. 😉"*

My wolf snarled. Not loud. Just a low, contained sound at the back of my throat.

Buster lifted his head, blinking at me with worried amber eyes. I ran my hand down his spine.

"It's okay, buddy," I whispered. "We got her."

I made Cassian laugh through the screen.

*Cassian: "Bold. What kind of male lets his mate wear his money on another she-wolf's neck?"*

*Nola: "The kind who's about to leave her. He's just waiting for the ceremony to lock in his alliances. Then he's done with her. She's a stepping stone. Always was."*

I stopped breathing.

Then I saved the message.

She kept going. Unprompted. She told Cassian how the pendant was purchased with her mate's "family funds." She described the war harness in detail — the tooling, the maker, the pack territory it came from. She sent a photo of a receipt. She sent a photo of Nathaniel's handwriting on a card that said *"For my real mate."*

She was drowning herself in a river I'd dug for her, and she was smiling the whole way down.

By the end of the week, I had forty-seven pieces of self-authored evidence. Photographs. Confessions. Explicit boasts about the affair. Documented descriptions of the stolen gifts. Her own words, in her own handle, admitting Nathaniel had funded her lifestyle with another she-wolf's inheritance.

I compiled it all into a single encrypted file. Labeled it. Backed it up in three locations.

Then I sat back in my chair and looked down at Buster.

He blinked up at me, tail giving a small, hopeful thump.

"Good boy," I whispered.

Down the hall, Nathaniel was sleeping in our bed, believing his empire was safe.

He had no idea I'd already burned it down.

He just hadn't seen the smoke yet.