When My Groom’s Mistress Wore My Luna Gown

My phone buzzes at three in the morning.

I'm still in the vault with Reese, organizing evidence into neat digital files, when the notification lights up my screen. Unknown number. The message contains three photos, no text.

The first photo stops my heart.

Jefferson, clearly drunk, his Alpha aura dimmed by alcohol. Davina pressed against him in what looks like a private alcove, all velvet curtains and dim lighting. His hand tangles in her hair. Her lips on his neck.

The second photo is worse. His mouth on hers, their scents visibly intertwining in the air around them—that telltale shimmer only werewolves can see in photographs, proof of intimate scent-marking.

The third photo shows his hand on her lower back, pulling her closer, while she wraps herself around him like she belongs there.

Luna goes absolutely still in my mind. Not rage this time. Something colder.

"Saph?" Reese moves to my side, looking at the screen. Her jaw clenches. "Who sent these?"

"I don't know." My voice sounds distant, detached. "But someone wants me to see this."

Reese takes my phone, her fingers flying across the screen. Her warrior training includes intelligence gathering, tracking, surveillance. She's silent for two minutes, then three.

"Got it." She looks up, surprise flickering across her face. "The number's encrypted, but it's routed through Iron Fang territory. Specifically, through their Beta's secure line."

"Rory?" The name comes out sharp. "Jefferson's second-in-command sent me photos of his Alpha cheating?"

"Looks like it." Reese's expression shifts to something thoughtful. "That's a death sentence if Jefferson finds out. Betas don't betray their Alphas. Not unless—"

"Not unless their moral compass won't let them stay silent." I stare at the photos again, seeing them differently now. These aren't random shots. They're evidence, carefully documented. Clear angles, perfect lighting, timestamps visible in the corner. "He's building a case."

Reese nods slowly. "Question is, why send them to you?"

I think about Rory—quiet, principled, the kind of Beta who takes his oath to the Moon Goddess seriously. The kind who'd see Jefferson's deception as a violation of everything sacred.

"Because he thinks I deserve to know the truth," I say. "And maybe because he wants to help me do something about it."

"That's dangerous for him."

"I know." I look at Reese. "Can you set up a meeting? Somewhere private, secure. Tonight."

She doesn't hesitate. "I'll make it happen."

Two hours later, I'm standing in an abandoned warehouse on the border between Blood Moon and neutral territory. The place smells like rust and old concrete, but it's far from prying eyes and sensitive werewolf ears.

Reese stands beside me, her warrior instincts on high alert. We hear footsteps, measured and careful, and then Rory emerges from the shadows.

He's tall, broad-shouldered, with the kind of quiet strength that doesn't need to announce itself. His eyes meet mine, and I see the weight of his decision written across his face.

"Miss Harlan." His voice is respectful but firm. "Thank you for meeting me."

"You sent me those photos." Not a question.

"I did." No apology, no excuse. Just fact. "What Jefferson's doing—it's wrong. It violates everything the Moon Goddess stands for. Mate bonds are sacred. He's making a mockery of that."

Luna stirs, recognizing a kindred spirit. Someone who values honor over convenience.

"You're risking everything by being here," I say. "If Jefferson finds out—"

"Then he finds out." Rory's jaw clenches. "I've served him faithfully for years, but I won't be complicit in this. You deserve better. The Moon Goddess deserves better."

Reese steps forward, her warrior's gaze assessing him. "Why now? You've known about this for how long?"

"Too long." Shame flickers across his face. "I told myself it wasn't my place to interfere. That Jefferson would do the right thing eventually. But watching him tonight, celebrating his deception while that Omega—" He cuts himself off. "I couldn't stay silent anymore."

Something passes between Reese and Rory in that moment. Recognition. Respect. Two people who understand what it means to stand by your principles even when it costs you everything.

"I want to help," Rory says, looking back at me. "Whatever you're planning, I want to help expose this. Jefferson needs to face consequences for what he's done."

I study him, weighing trust against risk. Luna whispers her approval. This Beta's honor runs deep.

"Alright," I say. "But if we do this, we do it perfectly. No mistakes, no mercy."

Rory nods. "Understood."

We're discussing logistics when my phone buzzes again. Different number this time, but I recognize it immediately.

Davina.

I open the message, and my blood turns to ice.

Four photos. Davina in a luxury hotel suite, the kind Iron Fang Pack owns and operates. She's wearing nothing but a silk robe, her hair tousled, her neck bare and exposed. In the background, Jefferson sleeps in the massive bed, his face peaceful and unguarded.

The message reads: *So sorry, Sapphire! I accidentally grabbed Jeff's phone this morning. Didn't mean for you to see these. Hope you understand—sometimes these things just happen. XO*

Luna snarls. Reese curses. Rory goes absolutely still.

"She's taunting you," Reese says, her voice deadly quiet.

"No." I look at the photos, at Davina's smug expression, at Jefferson's sleeping form. "She's making a mistake."

I forward the photos to Reese and Rory. Add them to our growing collection of evidence.

"She just gave us everything we need," I say, and smile.