When My Alpha Chose His Mistress Over Our Dying Pup

The moon hung like a silver pendant in the night sky, casting long shadows across the Omega quarters. I pressed my face against the small window, watching the patrol pass beneath me for the third time. Their footsteps were heavy, predictable—every two hours, like clockwork.

"Time to change shifts," I whispered to myself, my fingers working the hairpin I'd kept hidden in my sock. The lock on my cell door was basic—designed to contain ordinary Omegas, not a former Luna with nothing left to lose.

The mechanism clicked open with a soft sound that seemed deafening in the silence. I froze, listening for any response, but the hallway remained empty.

*Now*, my wolf urged. *While they're distracted with the shift change.*

I slipped through the door like a ghost, my bare feet silent on the concrete floor. The Omega quarters were located in the basement of the packhouse, but I knew every tunnel and passage—I'd walked them countless times as Luna, visiting the sick and elderly.

"Did you hear something?" A voice echoed from around the corner.

"Probably just the crazy Luna talking to herself again," another replied with a snicker. "Bella says she's completely lost it."

I pressed myself against the wall, controlling my breathing as two of Bella's cronies passed within feet of me. Their scents were familiar—Delta warriors who'd been assigned to guard the medical wing. They were taking the long route, giving me exactly the window I needed.

"Alpha wants extra security around Dr. Sarah's lab," one of them muttered. "Something about sensitive research."

"Sensitive my ass," the other replied. "I think he's just protecting his mistress's secrets."

Their voices faded as they rounded the corner. I waited until their footsteps were distant before moving again, my heart pounding so loudly I was certain it would give me away.

The medical wing was located on the east side of the packhouse, accessible only through a series of security doors. As I approached the first one, panic fluttered in my chest.

*What if they've changed the codes?*

But my fingers remembered what my mind had forgotten—the sequence Lawrence had shown me years ago, when we were still young and in love. 0-8-1-5. Emma's birthday.

The lock blinked green, and the door swung open silently.

"Still using the same code," I whispered, a bitter smile touching my lips. "Some things never change."

Dr. Sarah's office was at the end of the corridor, marked with her name and a red biohazard symbol. The door required both a keycard and a fingerprint scan—security measures I would have found impossible to bypass just days ago.

But I'd spent hours watching from my window, memorizing the patterns of the packhouse staff. Dr. Sarah always left her keycard in the pocket of her lab coat, which she hung on the hook just inside her office door.

I slipped inside, my eyes adjusting to the dim light. Medical equipment hummed softly around me, monitoring systems and refrigerated storage units filled with samples and medications.

"Where would she keep Emma's records?" I whispered, scanning the room frantically.

Archived physical records were kept in the filing cabinet behind her desk—I'd seen her retrieve files from there during my visits with Emma. My fingers trembled as I pulled open the drawer marked "Patient Records: G-M."

Green, Emma Marie. My daughter's file was thicker than I expected, bound with a black ribbon that seemed to pulse with malevolence in the dim light.

I flipped it open, scanning the pages with desperate eyes. Initial examination reports. Treatment notes. Progress updates. And then—

"Autopsy Results: Green, Emma Marie. Cause of death: Acute wolfsbane poisoning."

My blood turned to ice as I read further. "Subject exhibits classic symptoms of exposure to highly concentrated, unrefined wolfsbane: convulsions, respiratory failure, cardiac arrest. Toxicology confirms presence of alkaloids unique to laboratory-grade wolfsbane."

Laboratory-grade. Controlled by the Alpha family.

The room spun around me as pieces clicked into place. The strange scent in Emma's room that day. Margaret's insistence on handling the arrangements personally. Lawrence's desperate cover-up.

"Find anything interesting?"

I whirled around, clutching the file to my chest. A Delta warrior stood in the doorway, his eyes narrowed suspiciously.

"Just looking for some sleeping pills," I said, forcing my voice to remain steady. "The stress has been... difficult."

He stepped closer, his nostrils flaring as he caught my scent. "You're not supposed to be here."

"I know." I backed away slowly, the file still clutched in my hand. "I was just leaving."

His hand moved to his radio. "I need to call this in."

"No need," I said, my wolf surging forward with unexpected strength. "I'm going back to my cell. Tell Bella her secret is safe with me."

Confusion flickered across his face—just long enough for me to slip past him and disappear into the shadows of the corridor.

Behind me, I heard him calling for backup, but I was already gone, the precious truth clutched against my heart like a talisman.

Emma hadn't just died. She'd been murdered.