After My Mate Chose His Rogue Mistress

I smoothed the midnight blue silk of my gown one last time, watching my reflection in the full-length mirror. The dress was perfect—regal without being ostentatious, modest enough to play the dutiful Luna while concealing the small vial of Wolfsbane antidote tucked into my clutch alongside the flash drive that would change everything.

My wolf, Luna, stirred restlessly beneath my skin. "Tonight," she whispered, her voice carrying the weight of months of careful planning.

Tonight.

"Mommy?" Amy's small voice pulled me from my thoughts. She stood in the doorway, her silver eyes—so like mine—wide with concern. "Why is Daddy angry lately?"

I knelt down, gathering my daughter into my arms. The mate mark on my neck throbbed, a constant reminder of the bond I'd soon sever. "Sometimes, sweetheart, people forget what's truly important." I brushed a strand of dark hair from her face. "But remember this—the truth always howls loudest."

She nodded solemnly, too wise for her years. My heart ached for what she'd witness tonight, but it was necessary. Better a sharp, clean break than years of slow poison.

A soft knock interrupted us. Diana Cross slipped inside, her expression carefully neutral for any watching eyes. But I caught the slight dip of her chin—the signal we'd arranged.

Marcus Sterling had arrived. The trap was set.

"It's time, Luna," Diana murmured.

I straightened, squaring my shoulders. The Luna they expected would walk into that hall tonight. But the woman who walked out would be someone else entirely.

The grand hall of the Silverfang Pack House blazed with crystal chandeliers, their light catching on champagne glasses and designer gowns. I paused at the entrance, letting my presence register. Conversations stuttered. Heads turned.

Then came the whispers.

"...heard she's been seeing someone..."

"...poor Alpha Rhys, such a devoted mate..."

"...always knew she wasn't good enough for the Brooks bloodline..."

Angie's handiwork. My former mother-in-law had spent weeks poisoning the well, priming the pack for tonight's performance. I could smell her satisfaction from across the room, cloying and sweet like rotting fruit.

I kept my expression serene, my steps measured. Let them whisper. Let them judge. They'd learn soon enough.

Rhys stood on the dais, and my wolf snarled at the sight. His arm wrapped possessively around Marigold Shaw, who preened in a crimson dress cut so low it bordered on obscene. She'd worn red deliberately—a challenge, a claim. Look at me, the color screamed. I'm the one he wants now.

I met Rhys's eyes across the room. For a moment, something flickered there—guilt, perhaps, or fear. Then his jaw hardened, and he looked away.

Coward.

"Distinguished Alphas, honored guests," Rhys's voice boomed through the hall, amplified by his Alpha tone. The command in it made weaker wolves straighten instinctively. "Welcome to the Midnight Moon Gala. We are especially honored to host Marcus Sterling, representative of the Lycan King himself."

Applause rippled through the crowd. I found Marcus in the front row—a silver-haired wolf with eyes that missed nothing. Our gazes met briefly. He inclined his head a fraction of an inch.

He knew something was coming. Good.

Rhys continued his welcome speech, acknowledging visiting Alphas from neighboring packs, praising the Moon Goddess, spouting platitudes about unity and strength. Through it all, he never once looked at me. Never acknowledged my presence.

The disrespect was deliberate, calculated. He was already positioning me as an outsider, unworthy of recognition.

Marigold's hand rested on his chest, her fingers splayed possessively. She caught me watching and smiled—a sharp, triumphant thing that didn't reach her eyes.

I smiled back. Let her enjoy her moment. It wouldn't last.

Dinner passed in a blur of forced conversation and barely touched plates. I sat at the Luna's table, surrounded by she-wolves who'd once called themselves my friends. Now they avoided my eyes, their discomfort palpable. Angie had done her work well.

Finally, dessert was cleared. The string quartet fell silent.

Rhys stood, and the room quieted instantly. My heart rate kicked up, but I kept my breathing steady. Luna pressed against my consciousness, ready.

"Before we begin the evening's festivities," Rhys said, his voice heavy with false regret, "I must address a matter of grave importance to our pack."

Here it comes.

"Veronica." My name cracked through the hall like a whip. "Please join me on stage."

Every eye turned to me. I rose slowly, gracefully, my head high. The walk to the dais felt endless, each step measured and deliberate. I would not run. I would not cower.

I was a Queen, even if they'd forgotten.

Rhys waited, his expression a masterpiece of sorrowful duty. Behind him, the massive screens flickered to life.

"It pains me to do this," he began, his voice carrying to every corner of the hall. "But as Alpha, I must put the pack's welfare above my own heart."

The screens displayed a document—official letterhead, scientific terminology, damning conclusions.

A DNA test.

"Our daughter, Amy," Rhys continued, each word a calculated blow, "has been tested. The results are... troubling." He paused, letting the tension build. "She possesses no Alpha blood markers. In fact, her genetic profile suggests Omega lineage, completely inconsistent with my bloodline."

Gasps erupted. Wolves leaned forward, hungry for scandal.

"The only explanation," Rhys said, his voice hardening, "is that Veronica has been unfaithful. That she lay with a rogue, and tried to pass his bastard off as my heir."

The word bastard echoed through the hall. Someone cried out in shock. Marigold pressed her hand to her mouth, playing the horrified witness perfectly.

"Therefore," Rhys declared, his Alpha tone rolling over the crowd like thunder, "to protect the sanctity of the Silverfang bloodline, I have no choice but to reject—"

"No."

My voice cut through his speech like a blade. Quiet. Calm. Absolute.

Rhys froze. The hall went silent.

I stepped forward, and Luna surged within me, lending me her strength. My eyes flashed silver—not the gold of a submissive Luna, but the pure silver of Alpha blood.

"You'll want to hear what I have to say first," I said softly. "Trust me."

The flash drive felt heavy in my clutch. Months of investigation. Decades of lies. All about to come crashing down.

I smiled at my mate—soon to be former mate—and watched the first flicker of real fear cross his face.

"Let me tell you a story," I said, "about a woman who swapped two babies twenty years ago. And the false Alpha who's been living a lie ever since."