Stole My Heir for His Mistress: I Shattered His Pack and Crowned the Rival

I snatched the ultrasound photo off the rug before his heavy boots could crush it. The silver nameplate remained on the floor, a gleaming mockery of my marriage. I didn't wait for Caleb to speak again. I turned and took the stairs two at a time.

I needed a locked door. I needed three seconds to process the collapse of my entire life.

I darted into the master bedroom and made a beeline for the en-suite bathroom. I shoved the heavy oak door, my fingers scrambling for the brass lock.

A massive hand slammed flat against the wood. The force threw the door wide open, nearly knocking me off my feet.

Caleb filled the doorframe. His broad shoulders touched the edges of the casing, sealing off any chance of escape.

"Get out of my way," I said, clutching the crumpled photo against my chest.

"We aren't done," Caleb replied. His voice dropped, vibrating with an Alpha's authority.

"I am done," I shot back. "You brought your mistress into my house. You paraded her in front of the staff. What else is there to discuss?"

"She isn't a mistress," he stated. "She is my future."

"And what am I? A mistake?"

"A stepping stone," he answered coldly. "And this is my pack house. You will show her respect."

I let out a harsh laugh. The sound scraped against my own throat. "Respect? For the woman stealing my husband?"

"She didn't steal anything. I offered it."

The words stung, but I refused to let him see me cry. I lifted my chin, staring right into his eyes. "Move, Caleb."

"No."

Before I could push past him, a high-pitched whine drifted in from the hallway.

"Caleb!" Siena called out. Her footsteps stopped just outside the bedroom door. "It reeks in here. It smells like sour milk and someone else's pup. It's disgusting. Clear it out."

My stomach plummeted. She could smell the hormonal changes. Werewolf senses rarely lied, and a pregnant she-wolf carried an unmistakable scent.

Caleb's jaw tightened. He didn't look back at the hallway. He kept his golden eyes locked on my face.

"Did you hear her?" I asked, my voice shaking with fury. "She wants you to clear me out like garbage."

"She wants the room ready," Caleb said. "Pack your things. You're moving to the east wing guest room."

"I am your Luna," I reminded him. "I sleep in the Alpha suite. We share this room."

"Not anymore."

"I picked out that bed. I painted these walls."

"And now you will leave them," he ordered.

"Then reject me properly," I challenged. "Call the elders. Stand before the pack and break the bond. If you want her in that bed, you have to sever us first."

"I don't have time for a council hearing today," he snapped. "Move your clothes."

"Make me," I defied him.

Caleb lunged.

His hand clamped around my right wrist. The grip was brutal, a vice of bone and muscle that instantly cut off my circulation.

I gasped, yanking my arm backward. He didn't budge.

"Release me!" I shouted.

"Stop making a scene," he growled.

For two years, those hands had mapped every inch of my skin. He used to trace my collarbone like it was made of spun glass. He used to massage my shoulders after long pack meetings, his touch warm and infinitely gentle.

Now, his fingers dug fiercely into my flesh. A ring of purple bruising bloomed instantly beneath his knuckles.

"You're hurting me," I said, my voice dropping to a harsh whisper.

"Then obey your Alpha."

"You are my husband first!"

He ignored the plea. He jerked me forward, dragging me out of the bathroom and into the center of the bedroom. My bare feet skidded across the hardwood floor.

"Stop fighting me, Elara," he warned.

"I will never stop fighting you for this."

He didn't loosen his hold. Instead, he shoved me backward.

My spine slammed into the plaster wall next to the bedroom door. The impact rattled my teeth and sent a sharp shock down my legs. I slumped slightly, but he kept my wrist pinned high against the wallpaper.

I stared up at him. The golden hue of his eyes held absolutely no warmth. No regret. Just a cold, calculating emptiness.

The man who had promised to protect me from the world was gone. In his place stood a stranger, and my entire body shifted into a state of complete defense. I pressed my shoulders flat against the wall, putting as much distance between us as the pinned arm allowed.

"You are a monster," I whispered.

"I am a leader," Caleb corrected. "And a leader makes hard choices."

"Caleb, hurry up!" Siena complained from the hall, her voice grating against my ears. "The smell is making me nauseous."

Caleb leaned in. His chest brushed mine, trapping me completely. The scent of pine and rain—a scent that used to mean safety—now made my stomach churn with revulsion.

He lowered his head. His lips hovered mere inches from my ear.

"She is my fated mate," Caleb whispered, his voice dead and devoid of any emotion.

I froze. The words didn't make sense. Downstairs, he had called fated mates a myth.

"You lied to me," I breathed.

"I found her three months ago," he continued, ignoring my accusation. "The bond snapped into place the second I saw her. She is my true mate, Elara. Not you. I only claimed the myth was fake to keep you compliant."

The revelation tore through my chest, severing the last fragile thread of hope I didn't even know I was holding onto. He hadn't just found a political alliance. He had found his soul's match.

And he had kept it a secret while continuing to sleep in my bed.

My hand twitched against my stomach, the crumpled ultrasound pressing into my palm.

Caleb's gaze dropped to my fist. He noticed the protective way my free hand curled inward. His eyes narrowed, picking up on Siena's earlier complaint about the scent.

He leaned closer, his breath hot against my cheek.

"And that thing in your belly," he murmured, his tone dropping to a lethal, icy pitch. "Is a problem now."