When My Alpha Chose His Mistress Over Our Dying Pup

One year. Exactly one year since I held my daughter's lifeless body in my arms, watching her tiny chest cease to rise. The memory haunted me every day, but today it felt like a physical weight crushing my lungs.

I stood outside Lawrence's office door, my hand trembling as I raised it to knock. The pack had been buzzing with activity all morning—preparations for some ceremony I hadn't been informed about. All I wanted was my mate. On this day of all days, I needed him to hold me, to acknowledge our loss, to remind me that I wasn't alone in my grief.

"Alpha," I whispered when he opened the door. "Do you have a moment?"

Lawrence's eyes flickered with something—annoyance? Guilt?—before his expression hardened into the cold mask he'd worn since our daughter died.

"Luna Evie." His voice was formal, distant. "I'm quite busy today."

"I just... I thought maybe we could..." My voice cracked. "Today marks one year since we lost her."

His jaw tightened. "The pack doesn't stop functioning because of personal matters, Evie. There's a ceremony tonight that requires my attention."

As he turned away, a scent hit me—faint but unmistakable. Milky. Fresh. The distinctive smell of a nursing mother lingered on his clothes like an invisible accusation.

My wolf stirred within me, suddenly alert. *Something's wrong.*

"I understand," I said quietly, backing away. "I'll leave you to your duties."

He didn't even look at me as the door closed.

---

Hours later, when I knew Lawrence would be overseeing the ceremony preparations in the great hall, I slipped into our wing of the packhouse. His private study—a room I'd respected as his sanctuary for years—now felt like a fortress of secrets.

My fingers trembled as I punched in the security code. Three short beeps, then the lock clicked open.

"I'm sorry," I whispered to no one, feeling like a traitor even as my wolf urged me forward. *Find the truth.*

The pack registry was kept on his private computer—a database containing every member's vital information. I'd never had reason to access it before, but something about that milky scent had triggered my wolf's protective instincts.

The system prompted for my Luna credentials. I hesitated only briefly before entering them.

"Access granted," the screen read.

I navigated to the section on pups, my heart pounding so loudly I was certain someone would hear it through the walls. The most recent entries appeared first—a standard alphabetical listing by surname.

My finger froze mid-scroll when I saw it.

"Green, Alexander James. Male. Date of birth: October 15th."

October 15th. The exact date our daughter had drawn her last breath.

My blood turned to ice as I clicked on the entry.

"Adopted heir of Alpha Lawrence Green. Officially recognized as successor to the Silverfang Alpha position."

Adopted heir? We had never discussed adoption. Never even mentioned it. And why would Lawrence register a pup on the exact day we buried our daughter?

---

The great hall buzzed with excitement when I arrived, uninvited and unwelcome. Pack members parted before me, their expressions a mixture of pity and discomfort.

At the center of the room stood Lawrence, resplendent in his ceremonial Alpha attire. Beside him, Margaret—his mother and former Luna—cradled a tiny bundle wrapped in the pack's ceremonial blanket.

"Bella presents her son for official recognition," the pack elder announced.

Bella stepped forward, her face glowing with triumph as she handed the pup to Lawrence. Her eyes met mine across the room, a flash of victory in them before she lowered her gaze in mock deference.

"Alexander James Green," Lawrence proclaimed, his voice carrying the weight of Alpha authority. "Recognized as the adopted heir of the Silverfang Pack."

Margaret leaned close to the pup, her lips curving into a smile I'd never seen her direct at my daughter. "Such a strong Alpha aura already. The pack's future is secure."

Something snapped inside me. I moved forward, my Luna aura flaring despite my grief.

"May I see the pup?" I asked, my voice steadier than I felt.

A hush fell over the gathering. Bella's smile faltered.

"Of course," Lawrence said after a moment, his eyes challenging me. "The Luna wishes to greet her pack's future."

As I approached, my wolf surged forward violently. One sniff was all it took.

The scent of Lawrence—my mate's unique signature—lingered on the child's skin like a brand.

*Ours,* my wolf growled. *Blood of our blood.*

I stared at the pup's face, seeing Lawrence's eyes staring back at me from an infant's features. The room spun around me as the truth crashed down like a physical blow.

Not adopted. Never adopted.

This was Lawrence's son. His biological son.

Born on the day our daughter died.