While Our Daughter Died, My Alpha Kissed His Mistress

I found Owen in his office three days after the outside healer confirmed what I already knew.

He was seated at his desk, reviewing patient files. The office smelled like antiseptic and something herbal I couldn't name. When I knocked, he looked up and smiled—the same professional, measured smile he'd worn every time he'd told me Lily's condition was stable, manageable, nothing to worry about.

"Luna," he said. "What can I do for you?"

I stepped inside and closed the door. "I need to know about Lily's wolfsbane-extract treatment schedule."

Owen set down his pen. "Of course. We're continuing the partial dosing as planned. The next session is scheduled for—"

"I need to know if we can increase the frequency. Or the dosage." I kept my voice even. "She's not improving fast enough."

He hesitated. Just for a second. Then he folded his hands on the desk and said, "I understand your concern, but the fund is insufficient for an accelerated treatment plan. We're doing everything we can with the resources available."

I looked at him. "There's nothing left in the emergency healing fund?"

"Very little. I'm afraid the cost of the current treatment course has nearly exhausted it."

He said it so smoothly. So calmly. Like he wasn't lying through his teeth.

I didn't tell him I'd seen the ledger. I didn't tell him I knew exactly where the money had gone. I just stood there and watched him hold my gaze without flinching.

"Is there any alternative source of Alpha-blood healing available within the pack?" I asked. "Someone else who could—"

"No." His answer was immediate. "Alpha Silas is the only direct parent. And given the silver-taint documentation, that avenue isn't viable."

The silver-taint documentation. The forged panel sitting in the archive with his signature on it.

I nodded slowly. "I see."

"I'm sorry, Luna." He sounded sorry. He looked sorry. "I wish there were more I could do."

I thanked him and left.

In the corridor, I pressed my back against the wall and closed my eyes. My hands were shaking again. Not from fear. From the effort it took not to scream.

Every time Owen had spoken to me about Lily's condition, he had used language that was technically accurate and completely useless. Stable. Manageable. Progressing as expected. The language of a man who knows he is being watched—and knows exactly what he's hiding.

I pulled out my phone and opened my personal account. The balance was low. Very low. But it was enough.

I made the call.

---

The outside healer met me two days later in a human clinic forty minutes from pack territory.

Her name was Dr. Brennan. She was older, maybe fifty, with silver streaks in her dark hair and the kind of steady hands I associated with people who'd seen worse than whatever you brought them. She didn't ask why I'd come to her instead of using my pack's healer. She just reviewed Lily's bloodwork in silence.

After a long moment, she looked up. "There's no silver-taint here."

I'd known. But hearing it said aloud still felt like a punch.

"Are you sure?"

"Completely." She tapped the printout. "This is clean bloodwork. Normal reactivity to Alpha-dominant proteins. No cellular degradation. Whoever documented a silver-taint was either incompetent or lying."

I reached into my bag and pulled out the two panels I'd photographed from the archive. I set them on the table between us.

Dr. Brennan picked them up. She studied them for a long time, her expression darkening.

"These are from the same sample," she said finally.

"Yes."

"This one"—she held up the flagged panel—"has been altered. The markers are inconsistent. The degradation patterns don't match the sample date. Someone fabricated this."

I nodded. My throat was tight.

"Who signed off on this?" she asked.

I told her.

Dr. Brennan set the panels down carefully, like they were evidence at a crime scene. Which, I supposed, they were.

"I can preserve my findings in writing," she said quietly. "If you need them."

"I need them."

She nodded and stood. "I'll have the report ready by tomorrow. And Luna—" She paused. "I'm sorry. For what it's worth."

I thanked her and left.

I didn't cry on the drive back. I didn't pull over. I just drove, hands steady on the wheel, and added another file to the folder on my phone.

Two bloodwork panels. One ledger. One outside healer's report.

The list was getting longer.

---

Lily's condition got worse.

She couldn't eat without pain. The healer said it was normal—her throat was still healing from the smoke damage—but I could see her getting smaller, paler, her ribs pressing against her skin when I helped her change into clean clothes.

She slept most of the day now. When she was awake, she was quiet. Too quiet for a five-year-old.

One evening, I was sitting beside her bed, reading aloud from a picture book she used to love, when she shifted against my side and pointed toward the window.

"Mama," she whispered. "What are those lights?"

I looked. Beyond the tree line, faint and distant, the carnival lights were visible—strings of colored bulbs strung between rides, blinking in slow patterns against the darkening sky.

"That's the carnival," I said. "The one the older pups talk about."

Lily's eyes brightened. Just a little. "It's pretty."

"It is."

She was quiet for a moment. Then she said, "Do you think Daddy would have taken me? If he weren't sick?"

My chest tightened. I smoothed her hair back from her forehead. "I think he would have loved to."

She nodded, satisfied. "I'd like to see them. Just the lights. Not the rides. Just… the colors."

I looked down at her. Her face was so small, so pale. Her breathing was shallow.

"You will," I said. "I promise."

She smiled and closed her eyes.

I sat there for a long time, watching her breathe, feeling the faint warmth of her body against mine.

The carnival lights blinked beyond the tree line. Slow. Steady. Unreachable.

I pulled out my phone and looked at the folder again. The bloodwork. The ledger. The healer's report.

Then I looked at my daughter.

And I made another promise—one she couldn't hear.

I was going to take her to see those lights.

And after that, I was going to make sure everyone knew exactly what had been done to her.