After My Mate Replaced Me with His New Luna

After My Alpha Chose His Mistress

Chapter 1 of After My Mate Replaced Me with His New Luna

My hand trembled as it rose to touch the thick, white gauze wrapped tightly around my neck. The wound beneath throbbed in time with my frantic heartbeat, a jagged remind of the rogue’s claws that had stolen my voice just three days ago. I wanted to scream, to plead my case, to tell them that I was still me, still Rachel. But when I opened my mouth, only a ragged, wet gasp of air escaped. The connection to my wolf was gone, severed along with my vocal cords, leaving me hollow and terrifyingly alone inside my own mind.

I looked up at the dais, desperate to lock eyes with the one person who was supposed to protect me. Alpha Wesley sat on his velvet chair, his posture rigid. He was my fated mate. The Moon Goddess had designed us for each other. But as his dark eyes met mine, I didn't see love or concern. I saw calculation. I saw cold, hard indifference.

Beside him stood his mother, the former Luna Louise. She wore a sneer that didn't even try to hide her disgust. She leaned down, whispering something into Wesley’s ear, her eyes flicking over my bandaged throat as if I were a broken toy that needed to be discarded.

And then there was Aviana. My heart cracked a little more. The Alpha’s daughter, the girl I had shoved out of the way of that lethal rogue attack. I had taken the blow meant for her. I had bled for her. But now, she stood behind her grandmother, her shoulders hunched. When I tried to catch her gaze, begging for just an ounce of acknowledgment, she turned her back on me. She stared at the wall, ashamed to be associated with the mute, wolfless girl standing in the center of the room.

Wesley stood up. The movement was sharp, commanding immediate attention. The murmurs of the pack died down instantly.

"Rachel," he said. His voice wasn't the warm baritone that used to whisper promises of our future. It was the voice of an Alpha addressing a problem.

I took a step forward, my hands clasping together in a silent plea. *Wesley, please. It’s me.*

He didn't flinch. "The Black Moon Pack requires strength. It requires a Luna who can command, who can lead, and who carries a strong bloodline to ensure our future. You have lost your voice, and with it, your wolf. You are no longer whole."

The cruelty of his words hit me harder than the rogue’s claws ever could. I wasn't whole because I saved his bloodline.

Suddenly, the air in the room grew dense, vibrating with a power that made my knees buckle. Wesley was using the Alpha Tone. It was a frequency of dominance that forced submission, usually reserved for enemies or criminals. Against my weakened state, it felt like a hammer blow to my skull.

"I have a duty to this pack above all else," Wesley boomed, his voice echoing off the vaulted ceiling, making my bones rattle. "I cannot allow weakness to infect the leadership of Black Moon."

He took a deep breath, his eyes locking onto mine with lethal finality.

"I, Alpha Wesley of the Black Moon Pack, reject you, Rachel, as my mate and Luna."

The words were a physical assault.

*Snap.*

I felt it deep in my chest—the mate bond, that golden, tethered thread that had connected my soul to his, was violently ripped away. It wasn't a fade; it was an amputation. An agonizing, searing pain tore through my entire body, hotter than fire, colder than ice.

My legs gave out. I collapsed onto the hard floor, clutching my chest, my mouth opening in a silent scream of pure agony. Tears blurred my vision, hot and fast, as I curled into myself, gasping for air that wouldn't come. The pain was absolute, a soul-shattering void opening up where he used to be.

Wesley didn't step down to help me. He didn't even blink. He watched me writhe on the floor with the detachment of a stranger.

"From this moment forth," Wesley announced, his voice stepping over my suffering without a pause, "you are stripped of your rank. You are no longer a candidate for Luna. You are an Omega."

A ripple of shock and cruel agreement went through the crowd. An Omega. The lowest. The servant class.

"You will vacate your room in the Pack House immediately," he continued, his tone devoid of mercy. "You are banished to the old groundskeeper's shack on the northern border. You will serve the pack as a laborer, as fits your new status."

The northern border. That shack was a ruin, drafty and rotting, miles away from the warmth of the pack. He was throwing me into the garbage.

Wesley looked out at his cheering pack members, a forced smile touching his lips as he raised his hands. "Tonight, we cleanse our weakness! Tomorrow, I begin the search for a true Luna. A strong Luna who is worthy of the Black Moon!"

The room erupted in applause. They cheered for my destruction. They cheered for the erasure of the girl who had saved their Alpha's daughter.

Lying on the cold floor, unable to speak, unable to feel my wolf, and now unable to feel my mate, I watched Wesley turn and walk away. He didn't look back. Not once.

I was alone.

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I smoothed down the front of my silver gown, the one Alexander had gifted me on our fifth anniversary, as I entered the monthly Silverfang council meeting. The familiar faces of pack members nodded respectfully as I passed, taking my seat beside the ornate chair reserved for my mate, the Alpha. Seven years as Luna had taught me the rhythm of these gatherings—budget discussions, territory reports, and the occasional dispute resolution. Nothing I couldn't handle with the grace expected of Alexander's mate. My wolf, Aria, stirred within me. *Something feels wrong today.* I dismissed her concern with practiced ease. *It's just another meeting, dear one.* But when Alexander entered, his gaze swept past me as if I were invisible. The chill that ran down my spine wasn't just from the draft in the ancient stone chamber. "Let's begin," he announced, his voice carrying that natural authority that had first drawn me to him all those years ago. The meeting proceeded normally until Sarah Mitchell, the Beta's sister, rose from her seat across the chamber.

He Married Me Just for Money

“Don’t stop,” she whispered. “She won’t come up.” I did. I stopped breathing. Thinking. Existing. The voice came from inside my bedroom—our bedroom. My sanctuary. I stood frozen in the hallway, dinner still warm downstairs, candles flickering in a room that no longer mattered. The scent of truffle butter still clung to my sleeves. Through the door—left carelessly ajar—I saw enough. A woman with auburn hair and wine-colored nails was curled into my husband's side, her lipstick smeared across his throat like a bruise. Her fingers skimmed down his back, possessive, practiced. Oliver moaned softly. A sound I hadn’t heard in months. I didn’t scream. I didn’t cry. I turned. Through the adjoining bathroom, I slipped into the walk-in closet, hiding behind the luxury he insisted I needed. Dresses lined in neat rows. Shoes in pyramids. A fortress of silk and leather and betrayal. I sat down, gripping the hem of my dress, listening. “I don’t know why you’re still stalling,” Lily said, her voice languid and confident. “She’s not stupid, Oliver. She’s suspicious. You said she keeps asking questions.” He sighed. “Let her ask. She won’t do anything. Not until it’s too late.” A beat. “She’s planning something tonight,” he added, almost amused. “Made some kind of fancy dinner. Probably filet again. It’s sweet, in a tragic way.” Lily giggled. “You think she’s figured out we’ve been using her?” “Scarlett sees what she wants to see. She’s desperate. That’s what makes it easy.” There was movement on the bed. Sheets shifting. “She still has no idea about the inheritance?” Lily murmured. “None,” he said. “Her father’s trust releases next month. Once the money hits the accounts, I’ll serve the papers. I’ve already started moving things offshore.” My throat closed. I bit the inside of my cheek so hard I tasted blood. So this was what I got from our five-year marriage.

I was an Angel, You made me a Villain

He repayed with evil, I show him to hell

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Just like the evening breeze leaves no trace

Chapter 1 It was their seventh wedding anniversary. Carolyn found the divorce agreement in Roger’s nightstand. The pages were covered in scribbles and corrections, as if he’d agonized over them for years. *"If, during the marriage, I fall in love with another person, I voluntarily relinquish all assets and leave with nothing. Asset details as follows…"* His first impulse had been to walk away empty-handed. But the asset section told a different story—a mess of revisions. First, he’d crossed out the property he intended to give her. Then, the fifty million earmarked for her was scratched out and replaced with five hundred thousand. Finally, as if in penance, he had written a single line. *"Better to have Carolyn leave with nothing. No choice, Catherine is pregnant."* … Carolyn sank onto the bed, disbelief washing over her. On the agreement, Roger’s signature was clean and decisive, without a hint of hesitation. And the document had been drafted seven years ago—the very year they married. That year, Roger had been willing to give up everything for her. Yet every year after, he had crossed out another piece of their shared life. Now, seven years later, the one leaving with nothing would be her. Her phone buzzed abruptly. A message from Roger. *"Urgent business. Won't be back."* She called, only to find his phone already switched off. Another notification flashed—a screenshot from a friend. Catherine, the student she sponsored, had posted on social media. *"Wow, got praised! To commemorate my first period without a leak, the big boss said we should celebrate properly!"* In a nine-photo collage, Roger gazed at her, eyes crinkling with affection as he fastened a dazzling gemstone necklace around her neck. The post was tagged at a couples-themed hotel. Carolyn’s breath caught. He couldn’t remember seven years of marriage, of weathering storms together—but he could find the energy to celebrate Catherine’s… leak-free period. And that pendant… she’d seen it at an auction just last week. It was her mother’s lost heirloom. She’d been ready to bid when her bank card was frozen. She’d asked Roger why. A long time later, he finally texted back, telling her not to waste money on such impractical things. Clutching her bidding paddle, she’d sat helplessly in the auction hall. In the end, she resolved to sell one of her own designs to raise the funds. But someone on the phone swooped in with an unbeatable offer and took it. For weeks afterward, Carolyn hated herself—hated that she couldn’t protect her mother’s last keepsake. She never imagined the one who snatched it away was Roger. He knew exactly how much that pendant meant to her. Yet he gave it to Catherine. Even on their seventh anniversary, Roger had lied about being busy with work, while wining and dining the girl she’d sponsored. The anniversary gift he left her was a divorce agreement demanding she leave with nothing. Seven years of marriage. Seven years of infidelity. And Carolyn had known nothing. She’d even introduced the other woman to him herself. Catherine was the impoverished student Carolyn sponsored. The first time Catherine came to their home to give thanks, Roger found her intrusive and disliked her on sight. *"That girl has no manners. Tracked mud all over my cashmere rug."* *"If her grades aren’t up to par, cut the sponsorship."* Back then, Carolyn had teased him, saying not to be jealous—it was good the girl had a grateful heart. She never once suspected Roger and Catherine. For seven years, everyone in their circle believed Roger never played around. That he loved only Carolyn. But by their next meeting, Catherine had become Roger’s personal assistant. Roger explained, *"The girl’s had it tough. You’ve sponsored her for years. Giving her a job is just helping you out."* Carolyn had laughed it off. Now, hands trembling, she opened Catherine’s social media feed. Catherine had always hidden her posts from Carolyn. Now, she seemed desperate to flaunt everything. While Carolyn drank until her stomach bled to secure a deal for Roger, Catherine was using Roger’s card to buy her first Louis Vuitton. While Carolyn changed bedpans for Roger’s bedridden grandmother, Roger was taking Catherine to a perfume atelier for a blending class—calling it a business trip. Catherine had even complained online. *"Your wife is such a pampered princess. Can't handle the tiniest thing without you running back. Can she not live without a man?"* And Roger had replied beneath it. *"If she were half as independent as you, I’d have an easier life."* But that day… Carolyn’s mother had lost her battle with cancer. She’d cried until her heart felt shredded, scrambling to handle the arrangements. All the while, Roger kept checking his phone impatiently, eager to leave. Not for work, she realized now—but because he was desperate to get back to Catherine.

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