The Baby Name I Chose for His Mistress's Son

The champagne in my glass was vintage Dom Pérignon, crisp and biting against my tongue, but the air in the ballroom tasted stale. It was the specific staleness of old money and desperate ambition mixing under the heat of a thousand crystal chandeliers. The Starlight Charity Gala was in full swing, a sea of black tuxedos and designer gowns swirling through the cavernous hall of the Pierre Hotel. I stood near the periphery, away from the frenetic energy of the dance floor. My fingers idly traced the rim of the flute. I wasn't hiding, exactly. I was observing. Three years ago, crowds like this would have made my heart hammer against my ribs like a trapped bird. Now, I just felt a quiet, observant calm. I adjusted the silk of my gown—a deep midnight blue that Adrian had selected because he said it matched the quiet storm in my eyes.

During my maternity leave, I found myself scrolling through the pack’s online forum to pass the time. That’s when I stumbled upon a post that was rapidly climbing in popularity. The headline read, "I Don’t Envy His Mate Because He Reserves All His Love for Me." Curious, I clicked on it. The profile picture was a butterfly—the same butterfly that matched the tattoo on my mate’s arm. --- Exhaustion from childbirth clung to me like a heavy fog, and the gnawing pain in my back felt like it could snap at any moment. In an attempt to distract myself, I aimlessly scrolled through the pack’s online forum and stumbled upon a post buzzing with activity. The profile picture was a butterfly, identical to the tattoo on Edison’s arm. Intrigued, I opened the post, and each word radiated the brazen audacity of an Omega trying to claim what wasn’t hers. "My mate’s Luna just had his child, and she’s home recovering. I casually mentioned wanting to visit Venice, and he booked a flight immediately.

I woke up with that familiar churning in my stomach, the third morning in a row. My inner wolf, Lily, stirred restlessly as I bolted to the bathroom, barely making it before emptying what little remained in my stomach from last night's dinner. '*This has to be it*,' I thought, pressing my palm against my still-flat abdomen. After three years as Ryan's Luna, the Moon Goddess had finally blessed us. I splashed cold water on my face and brushed my teeth, studying my reflection. My skin glowed despite the nausea, and my wolf seemed unusually protective, urging me to rest more, eat better. All the signs were there. "We need to be sure before we tell him," I whispered to Lily, who hummed in agreement. I padded back to our bedroom, noticing Ryan had left his laptop open on his desk. He'd rushed out before dawn for an emergency meeting with neighboring packs—at least that's what he'd said.

“This game of yours is barbaric. How dare you make me play it?” Her anger boiled over again as she realized that it was his own fault because she was sore, tired, and bleeding. She could have died if not for that son of a bitch. “You'd better pull your finger out, Karenina, and talk to me in a more ladylike manner,” Xavier warned. She lowered her hand, but she wouldn't back down. What he had done was beyond unacceptable. “Why did you leave me to fight those werewolves if all that senseless bloodshed was to find a mate? I'm a hybrid, half-wolf! Obviously I shouldn't be there,” she said furiously. “I have my reasons,” he replied nonchalantly. “Damn it!” she clutched his fur again to vent her frustration. ****************************************************************** Karenina Mason, a headstrong and independent young woman, is not just an ordinary human-she is a rare hybrid with a powerful lineage. Unknowingly, she becomes entangled in a perilous game of political intrigue, where the coveted prize is to become the mate of the enigmatic and all-powerful Alpha of Westwood. Karenina resists this unwanted destiny, but fate seems insistent on thrusting her into this union. In her vulnerable state, Karenina finds herself surrounded by adversaries, and her once-trusted friends remain beyond her reach. Forced to rely on Xavier Westwood, a mysterious and captivating figure with his own hidden agenda, Karenina is drawn into a world of danger and desire. As they navigate the treacherous path together, an intense attraction grows between them, unraveling long-concealed secrets that should have remained locked away-secrets that may unleash powers too volatile to control.

“Don’t stop,” she whispered. “She won’t come up.” I did. I stopped breathing. Thinking. Existing. The voice came from inside my bedroom—our bedroom. My sanctuary. I stood frozen in the hallway, dinner still warm downstairs, candles flickering in a room that no longer mattered. The scent of truffle butter still clung to my sleeves. Through the door—left carelessly ajar—I saw enough. A woman with auburn hair and wine-colored nails was curled into my husband's side, her lipstick smeared across his throat like a bruise. Her fingers skimmed down his back, possessive, practiced. Oliver moaned softly. A sound I hadn’t heard in months. I didn’t scream. I didn’t cry. I turned. Through the adjoining bathroom, I slipped into the walk-in closet, hiding behind the luxury he insisted I needed. Dresses lined in neat rows. Shoes in pyramids. A fortress of silk and leather and betrayal. I sat down, gripping the hem of my dress, listening. “I don’t know why you’re still stalling,” Lily said, her voice languid and confident. “She’s not stupid, Oliver. She’s suspicious. You said she keeps asking questions.” He sighed. “Let her ask. She won’t do anything. Not until it’s too late.” A beat. “She’s planning something tonight,” he added, almost amused. “Made some kind of fancy dinner. Probably filet again. It’s sweet, in a tragic way.” Lily giggled. “You think she’s figured out we’ve been using her?” “Scarlett sees what she wants to see. She’s desperate. That’s what makes it easy.” There was movement on the bed. Sheets shifting. “She still has no idea about the inheritance?” Lily murmured. “None,” he said. “Her father’s trust releases next month. Once the money hits the accounts, I’ll serve the papers. I’ve already started moving things offshore.” My throat closed. I bit the inside of my cheek so hard I tasted blood. So this was what I got from our five-year marriage.

Chapter 1 It was their seventh wedding anniversary. Carolyn found the divorce agreement in Roger’s nightstand. The pages were covered in scribbles and corrections, as if he’d agonized over them for years. *"If, during the marriage, I fall in love with another person, I voluntarily relinquish all assets and leave with nothing. Asset details as follows…"* His first impulse had been to walk away empty-handed. But the asset section told a different story—a mess of revisions. First, he’d crossed out the property he intended to give her. Then, the fifty million earmarked for her was scratched out and replaced with five hundred thousand. Finally, as if in penance, he had written a single line. *"Better to have Carolyn leave with nothing. No choice, Catherine is pregnant."* … Carolyn sank onto the bed, disbelief washing over her. On the agreement, Roger’s signature was clean and decisive, without a hint of hesitation. And the document had been drafted seven years ago—the very year they married. That year, Roger had been willing to give up everything for her. Yet every year after, he had crossed out another piece of their shared life. Now, seven years later, the one leaving with nothing would be her. Her phone buzzed abruptly. A message from Roger. *"Urgent business. Won't be back."* She called, only to find his phone already switched off. Another notification flashed—a screenshot from a friend. Catherine, the student she sponsored, had posted on social media. *"Wow, got praised! To commemorate my first period without a leak, the big boss said we should celebrate properly!"* In a nine-photo collage, Roger gazed at her, eyes crinkling with affection as he fastened a dazzling gemstone necklace around her neck. The post was tagged at a couples-themed hotel. Carolyn’s breath caught. He couldn’t remember seven years of marriage, of weathering storms together—but he could find the energy to celebrate Catherine’s… leak-free period. And that pendant… she’d seen it at an auction just last week. It was her mother’s lost heirloom. She’d been ready to bid when her bank card was frozen. She’d asked Roger why. A long time later, he finally texted back, telling her not to waste money on such impractical things. Clutching her bidding paddle, she’d sat helplessly in the auction hall. In the end, she resolved to sell one of her own designs to raise the funds. But someone on the phone swooped in with an unbeatable offer and took it. For weeks afterward, Carolyn hated herself—hated that she couldn’t protect her mother’s last keepsake. She never imagined the one who snatched it away was Roger. He knew exactly how much that pendant meant to her. Yet he gave it to Catherine. Even on their seventh anniversary, Roger had lied about being busy with work, while wining and dining the girl she’d sponsored. The anniversary gift he left her was a divorce agreement demanding she leave with nothing. Seven years of marriage. Seven years of infidelity. And Carolyn had known nothing. She’d even introduced the other woman to him herself. Catherine was the impoverished student Carolyn sponsored. The first time Catherine came to their home to give thanks, Roger found her intrusive and disliked her on sight. *"That girl has no manners. Tracked mud all over my cashmere rug."* *"If her grades aren’t up to par, cut the sponsorship."* Back then, Carolyn had teased him, saying not to be jealous—it was good the girl had a grateful heart. She never once suspected Roger and Catherine. For seven years, everyone in their circle believed Roger never played around. That he loved only Carolyn. But by their next meeting, Catherine had become Roger’s personal assistant. Roger explained, *"The girl’s had it tough. You’ve sponsored her for years. Giving her a job is just helping you out."* Carolyn had laughed it off. Now, hands trembling, she opened Catherine’s social media feed. Catherine had always hidden her posts from Carolyn. Now, she seemed desperate to flaunt everything. While Carolyn drank until her stomach bled to secure a deal for Roger, Catherine was using Roger’s card to buy her first Louis Vuitton. While Carolyn changed bedpans for Roger’s bedridden grandmother, Roger was taking Catherine to a perfume atelier for a blending class—calling it a business trip. Catherine had even complained online. *"Your wife is such a pampered princess. Can't handle the tiniest thing without you running back. Can she not live without a man?"* And Roger had replied beneath it. *"If she were half as independent as you, I’d have an easier life."* But that day… Carolyn’s mother had lost her battle with cancer. She’d cried until her heart felt shredded, scrambling to handle the arrangements. All the while, Roger kept checking his phone impatiently, eager to leave. Not for work, she realized now—but because he was desperate to get back to Catherine.