The Alpha's Lost Heir: A Rejected Luna's Revenge

Elena POV The banquet was a suffocating blur of noise and nausea. I left early, claiming exhaustion, and not a single soul tried to stop me. Not even my husband. I returned to our bedroom-no, my bedroom. Jackson hadn't slept here in weeks, claiming he was buried under "Alpha duties" in his study. The room still carried his ghost-scents of fresh pine and rain. But now, that scent felt like a cruel lie. I moved with a sudden, frantic energy, unable to draw a clean breath within these walls. I needed to purge him. I tore the clothes he kept in the wardrobe from their hangers. His crisp shirts, his ceremonial ties, the worn leather jacket he wore when we went riding. I hurled them into a heap in the corner. Then, I turned to the mantelpiece. There sat a silver photo frame and a small velvet box containing a silver pendant. It was engraved with our initials: J & E. Silver is poison to our kind. It burns our skin upon contact, yet we can handle sterling jewelry if we don't hold it too long. It is meant to symbolize endurance-pain tolerated for the sake of love. I picked up the pendant. It felt cold, biting into my palm. I walked to the fireplace, where the embers were still glowing like dying eyes. Without hesitation, I threw the pendant into the fire. I watched the metal darken and twist in the heat. It didn't melt completely; instead, it warped, the initials distorting until they looked like knotted scars. "What are you doing, Elena?" I spun around. Jackson stood in the doorway. He looked tired, his tie loosened. But what hit me first wasn't his disheveled appearance. It was the smell. Beneath his natural scent of pine, there was a cloying, suffocating miasma. Sickly sweet vanilla and synthetic roses. Candida's perfume. It was so potent it coated my tongue like grease. My stomach lurched violently. "Cleaning," I said, my voice raspy. He stepped into the room, his gaze flicking dismissively to the pile of clothes. "You're being dramatic. I've been busy." "Busy," I repeated, the word tasting like ash. "Is that what we call it now?" He didn't answer. Instead, he walked over to the bedside table and placed a sleek, expensive-looking box on the surface. "I brought you these," he said, his tone shifting to a practiced, hollow concern. "Top-tier supplements. Imported. They're supposed to help with... your condition." He wouldn't look at me. He studied the wall, the floor-anywhere but my eyes. "My condition," I said bitterly. "You mean the damage I took saving your life?" His jaw tightened. "Take them. I need you healthy. A sick Luna makes the pack look weak." He reached out to adjust the box, and the lamplight caught his hand. On his pinky finger, he wore his Alpha ring, a heavy onyx band. But right next to it, scratched crudely into the gold setting, was a tiny symbol. A crescent moon crossed by a dagger. The crest of Candida's former pack. He saw my gaze lock onto it. He snatched his hand back, shoving it deep into his pocket. "Take the pills, Elena. That's an Alpha command." The air in the room instantly grew heavy, dense with power. An Alpha command isn't just an order; it is a physical force, a crushing gravity. It pressed down on my shoulders, forcing my knees to buckle slightly. He was using his Voice against me. His mate. Before I could respond, a howl cut through the night air outside. "Rogue sighting at the border!" a warrior shouted from the hallway. Jackson looked visibly relieved. "I have to go." He turned and strode out, never looking back. He didn't kiss me goodbye. He didn't tell me to stay safe. He just ran-away from me, away from his guilt. I stared at the empty doorway, the silence ringing in my ears. The nausea returned, violent and sudden. I rushed to the ensuite bathroom and emptied my stomach until there was nothing left but bile. I sat on the cold tile floor, trembling. This wasn't just stress. I knew the rhythm of my own body. I crawled back into the bedroom and reached for the box of supplements he had left. Maybe he was right. Maybe I just needed vitamins to stabilize myself. I opened the box. Inside were rows of glass vials. But tucked underneath the velvet lining was a folded piece of paper. It looked like a receipt or a prescription. I unfolded it. It was a medical report from the Pack Hospital. But it wasn't for the supplements. Patient: Elena. Status: Hormone levels elevated. Diagnosis: Pregnancy, approx. 6 weeks. The world stopped spinning. The room seemed to tilt on its axis. I stared at the paper, my fingers shaking so hard the text blurred. Pregnant. Three years. The healers said my womb was shredded by the silver poison. They said I was barren. But here it was. A miracle. I touched my flat stomach. A baby. Jackson's baby. Our heir. A spark of hope ignited in my chest, fragile and desperate. If I told him... if he knew... surely this would change everything? He wanted an heir more than anything. This proved I wasn't useless. But then, the smell of vanilla and roses drifted from the spot where Jackson had stood, poisoning the hope before it could breathe. He had brought me this box. He must have seen the report. Or maybe he hadn't? No. The report was hidden under the lining. I looked at the vials again. I uncorked one and sniffed. It didn't smell like vitamins. It smelled metallic. Sharp. Acrid. Like crushed Wolfsbane. Horror washed over me, cold and absolute, freezing the blood in my veins. He didn't bring me these to heal me. He didn't know about the pregnancy report hidden at the bottom-the Healer must have stuffed it there for him to see, and in his arrogance, he just grabbed the box without checking. But the vials... He wasn't trying to help me recover. He was ensuring I never did. I stood up, walked to the fireplace, and threw the box into the flames. I watched the glass shatter and the liquid hiss like a nest of vipers as it hit the heat. I tucked the medical report into my bra, pressing it against my beating heart. He couldn't know. Not yet. Not until I knew if he wanted a child... or if he just wanted me dead.