Rejected While Pregnant, I Reclaimed My Power

Alessia POV:

Dante settled Serena and her child into the room right next to our—my—bedroom. The message was clear. They came first.

A wave of nausea washed over me, a combination of morning sickness and the soul-deep sickness of his betrayal. My body felt weak, drained. My inner wolf, the life force tied to his, was restless and agitated, confused by the actions of its mate. It was a constant, low-grade thrum of pain under my skin.

I stumbled into the small, cold guest room he had assigned me and collapsed onto the bed.

A few minutes later, the door creaked open. It was Dante. He approached the bed, his face a mask of false concern.

“Are you unwell?” he asked, his voice a soft murmur. He reached out and stroked my hair, a gesture that once would have brought me comfort. Now, it felt like a lie.

His hand was tainted. I could smell her on him. The cloying floral scent mixed with the sour smell of her baby’s milk. The scent was an invasion, a physical presence in the room that made my nausea worse. My body recoiled from his touch, a primal rejection of the foreign scent on my mate.

“I need some water,” I whispered, my throat dry. My own body was fighting against me, protesting the poison in our lives.

He nodded, turning to leave the room. But just as he reached the door, I felt it—a private, intimate mental link opening between him and Serena. It was a connection he had never shared with anyone but me.

*Dante, my love,* her thoughts simpered, dripping with fake vulnerability. *The baby is crying. He needs you. I need you.*

His hesitation was nonexistent.

*I’m coming,* he sent back instantly, his thought a warm caress I hadn't received in months.

He turned back to me, his expression hardening slightly. “Serena needs me. I’ll send a servant with your water.”

And then he was gone.

He left me, his pregnant, mated wife, lying sick and weak, to run to her side.

A bitter, painful lump formed in my throat. I couldn't stay here. I couldn't breathe this air. I pushed myself up, my legs trembling, and made my way down the hall towards the kitchen.

As I passed Serena's room, the door was ajar. I tried to look away, to keep walking, but my eyes were drawn to the scene inside against my will.

It was a perfect picture of domestic bliss. A fire crackled in the hearth. Serena was lying on the bed, looking artfully exhausted, while Dante sat beside her, gently rocking her baby in his arms. He was humming a lullaby, the same one my mother used to sing to me.

I froze, my hand flying to my mouth to stifle a sob. My body was a statue of pure, unadulterated pain.

Then I heard her voice, soft and venomous. “When will you do it, Dante? When will you finally reject her and sever the bond?”

I watched in horror as he leaned down and pressed a soft kiss to her forehead. “Soon, my love,” he promised. “Very soon. I’ll give you and this little one the life you deserve. I promise.”

My world, which had been cracking for months, finally shattered into a million irreparable pieces.