One Week to Destroy My Alpha

The memory hit me like a physical blow—Damien's fingers intertwined with mine as we swayed to the sultry jazz in that exclusive nightclub, his breath warm against my ear as he whispered promises that felt like gospel truth.

"You're everything to me, Selene," he'd murmured, his Alpha presence wrapping around me like a protective cocoon. "My omega, my future Luna."

I'd believed every word. God help me, I'd believed it all.

The candlelit evening in his penthouse living room flashed next—rose petals scattered across marble floors, champagne bubbling in crystal flutes, and Damien on one knee with that stunning engagement ring catching the flickering light.

"Marry me," he'd said, his dark eyes intense and seemingly sincere. "Let me give you the family you've always wanted. The belonging you deserve."

My heart had soared. After years of being the orphaned omega, the charity case absorbed into the Blackwood Pack for political convenience, I finally had someone who saw me as worthy of love. When I'd whispered yes through tears of joy, I thought I'd found my fairytale ending.

But fairytales, I learned, were just pretty lies wrapped in silk.

The gym's harsh fluorescent lights brought me crashing back to reality. I'd finished my evening workout, muscles burning pleasantly from the exertion, when I rounded the corner toward the locker rooms. That's when I saw them.

Damien had Isabelle Vance pressed against the wall, his mouth devouring hers with a hunger I'd never seen him show me. Her manicured fingers tangled in his hair, pulling him closer as soft moans escaped her lips. The Beta's legs wrapped around his waist, and I watched in frozen horror as my fiancé's hands roamed her body with intimate familiarity.

This wasn't a moment of weakness. This was practiced. Comfortable. Real.

I stumbled backward, my gym bag hitting the floor with a dull thud. Neither of them noticed. They were too lost in each other, too consumed by whatever twisted passion had been burning between them while I played the devoted, naive omega.

My feet carried me away before my brain could process the full devastation. I found myself on the elevator, then somehow in my car, driving aimlessly through the city streets as my world crumbled around me.

The next betrayal came three days later. I'd gone to Damien's penthouse to surprise him with dinner—homemade pasta, his favorite wine, wearing the silk dress he'd bought me for our six-month anniversary. I'd wanted to pretend everything was normal, that what I'd seen was just a nightmare.

The elevator opened directly into his living space, and I heard their voices before I saw them. They were on the rooftop terrace, silhouetted against the city skyline.

"She's so pathetically grateful for any scrap of attention," Isabelle's voice carried on the evening breeze, dripping with cruel amusement. "Does she actually believe you love her?"

Damien's laugh was cold, calculating. "Love? She's a political acquisition, nothing more. Her old pack's territory was valuable, and absorbing their orphaned omega sealed the deal nicely. The pregnancy was unexpected, but it'll make the transition smoother."

My hand instinctively moved to my still-flat stomach. I'd only discovered I was carrying his child two weeks ago, had been planning to tell him tonight over dinner. The knowledge that he already knew—and saw it as merely another political tool—made bile rise in my throat.

"And after the wedding?" Isabelle's voice was honey-sweet poison.

"After the wedding, accidents happen." Damien's tone was casual, as if discussing the weather. "Especially to fragile omegas who've never quite recovered from losing their original pack. The stress of new motherhood, the isolation... tragic, really."

They kissed again, slow and deliberate, while discussing my murder like a dinner menu. I backed away, my heart hammering so loudly I was certain they'd hear it.

The third and final nail in my coffin came a week later, at the exclusive Moonrise nightclub. I'd followed them there, some masochistic part of me needing to see the full extent of their betrayal. Hidden in a shadowy corner booth, I watched them dance.

Isabelle moved like liquid silk against Damien's body, her curves pressed intimately against him as they swayed to the pulsing beat. His hands traced her waist, her hips, mapping territory that should have been forbidden. When she whispered in his ear, he threw his head back and laughed—a sound of pure, unguarded joy I'd never heard him make with me.

"Soon," I heard her murmur as they passed my hiding spot. "Once the pathetic little omega is gone, I'll finally have what I deserve. Luna of the Blackwood Pack."

"Patience, my beautiful Beta," Damien replied, nipping at her earlobe. "Good things come to those who wait. And eliminate obstacles."

The social media posts started the next morning. Photos of me looking awkward at pack functions, unflattering angles that made me appear weak and unworthy. Isabelle's captions were masterfully crafted—never quite crossing into obvious cruelty, but designed to make me look like a desperate omega clinging to an Alpha far above her station.

"Some wolves just don't know their place," read one post, accompanied by a photo of me stumbling slightly at a formal dinner. "True Lunas are born, not made."

The comments section became a feeding frenzy. Pack members I'd thought were friends joined in the mockery, calling me delusional, pathetic, a charity case who'd forgotten her origins.

Each post, each comment, each sideways glance in the pack house corridors was another cut. But the cruelest blow was Damien's silence. My fiancé, the man who'd promised to protect me, stood by and watched as his mistress systematically destroyed my reputation and self-worth.

The night they killed me, I was four months pregnant and showing. The bump was small but visible, a constant reminder of the child growing inside me—the child they both saw as an inconvenience to be eliminated along with its mother.

Damien had asked me to meet him on the rooftop terrace of his building. "We need to talk," he'd said, his voice strangely formal. I'd hoped, even then, that he might confess everything and beg forgiveness.

Instead, I found them both waiting for me.

"Hello, Selene," Isabelle purred, her smile sharp as broken glass. "So glad you could join us."

The push came without warning. Four hands, two sets of determined faces, and suddenly I was falling through the night air. The city lights blurred past me as gravity claimed its prize, and my last coherent thought was of my unborn child—the innocent life that would die with me.

I hit the pavement with a sickening crunch, my body broken, my blood pooling on the cold concrete. As darkness closed in, I saw the Blood Moon hanging overhead like a crimson eye, and heard a voice that seemed to come from the very fabric of the universe itself.

"Rebirth comes to those who seek justice," it whispered. "Will you take this gift?"

With my dying breath, I whispered, "Yes."