Rejected While Carrying His Heir

The summons came at dawn, pounding on the door of the infirmary room I had been confined to for weeks. My body was still weak, a hollow shell where life used to be, but the Alpha’s command was absolute. Two warriors escorted me to the pack square. They didn't touch me, but they didn't need to. The pity in their eyes was heavy enough to crush me.

The square was packed. Every member of the Ironclaw Pack was there, forming a silent, suffocating ring around the raised stone platform. The sky was a bruised purple, heavy with unshed rain. I shivered, wrapping my thin hospital gown tighter around myself, but the cold came from within.

Alpha Waylen stood at the center of the platform. He looked magnificent and terrifying, his black coat tailored to perfection, his jaw set in stone. He didn't look at me as I climbed the steps, my legs trembling with every movement. I searched his face for a flicker of the man who had once whispered promises of eternity to me, but that man was gone. In his place stood a stranger.

"Kneel," he commanded. His voice used the Alpha tone, vibrating through my bones and forcing my knees to hit the hard stone before I could even think to resist.

"Pack members," Waylen’s voice boomed, carrying to the furthest edges of the crowd. "Weakness cannot be tolerated in the Ironclaw Pack. A Luna must be strong. She must be capable of bearing strong heirs. Arabella has failed."

A murmur ran through the crowd. My cheeks burned. Failed? I hadn't failed. He had abandoned me.

Waylen turned to look down at me, his eyes devoid of warmth. "Therefore, I make this choice for the good of the pack."

He took a breath, and the air around us seemed to charge with static electricity. I knew what was coming, but knowing didn't stop the terror from seizing my heart.

"I, Alpha Waylen of the Ironclaw Pack, reject you, Arabella, as my mate and Luna."

The words were a physical blow. A scream tore from my throat as the bond—the golden, shimmering thread that had connected our souls for a decade—snapped. It didn't just break; it shattered. Agony, white-hot and blinding, ripped through my chest. It felt like someone had reached inside my ribcage and torn out my heart with a rusted hook. I collapsed forward, gasping for air, clutching my chest as the phantom pain of the severance burned through every nerve ending.

"From this day forward," Waylen continued, his voice stepping over my sobbing form without a pause, "you are stripped of all rank and title. You are no longer Luna. You are Omega. You will serve the pack from the shadows, where your weakness cannot infect us."

He turned his back on me. "Get her out of my sight. Move her to the servants' quarters."

***

The servants' quarters were in the basement of the pack house, a damp, windowless labyrinth that smelled of mold and bleach. My new room was little more than a closet, furnished with a cot that sagged in the middle and a single, flickering bulb. I didn't have the strength to cry anymore. The rejection had hollowed me out completely. My wolf, Sia, remained silent, buried under the debris of the broken bond.

But there was no time to rest. An Omega’s work is never done. The very next morning, the Head Omega, a woman who used to bow to me, shoved a bucket and rag into my hands.

"The Alpha's wing needs cleaning," she said, not meeting my eyes. "Start with the master bedroom."

My heart stuttered. The master bedroom. The room I had shared with Waylen. The room where we had conceived the child he let die.

I dragged my feet up the stairs, every step a battle against the nausea rolling in my gut. When I pushed open the heavy oak doors, the scent hit me first—Waylen’s musk, mixed with something cloyingly sweet. Vanilla and rose.

I froze.

Helena was standing in front of the floor-to-length mirror. She wasn't just in my room; she was wearing my life. Draped over her body was the ceremonial Luna robe, the intricate silver embroidery shimmering in the morning light. It was the robe I had worn at my coronation, the robe intended for sacred ceremonies.

She turned as I entered, a slow, predatory smile spreading across her lips. She didn't look guilty. She looked triumphant.

"Oh, Arabella," she purred, smoothing the silk over her hips. "I was wondering when the help would arrive. This floor isn't going to scrub itself."

My grip on the bucket tightened until my knuckles turned white. "That is not yours," I whispered, my voice raspy.

Helena laughed, a light, tinkling sound that grated on my nerves. "Everything here is mine now. The room, the clothes, the Alpha..." She paused, her hands drifting down to rest on her flat stomach. Her eyes locked onto mine, gleaming with malice. "And the future."

I stopped breathing. My gaze dropped to her hands.

"That's right," Helena said softly, stepping closer so I could see the cruel sparkle in her eyes. "Waylen didn't waste any time. I’m already carrying his heir. A true heir, this time. Not that weak little thing you lost."

The bucket slipped from my fingers, water splashing across the hardwood floor, soaking the hem of my ragged Omega dress. She was wearing my crown, sleeping in my bed, and carrying the child that should have been mine. The hate that flared in my chest was the only warm thing left in my world.