On My Birthday, My Alpha Fed His Mistress

My twenty-first birthday didn’t begin with balloons or a breakfast in bed. It began with fire.

It felt as though someone had replaced my blood with molten lead. I gasped, clutching the thin sheets of the guest room bed, my knuckles turning white. This was the Shift Fever—the agonizing precursor to a wolf’s full awakening. For most, it happened at sixteen. For me, a "late bloomer," it had waited until now, the day I legally became an adult in the eyes of the pack law.

"Keaton," I whispered through our mind-link, the mental channel static-filled and weak. "Please. It’s starting."

Silence. Just the dull hum of a blocked connection.

I curled into a ball, shivering despite the sweat soaking through my pajamas. I wasn't even in the Alpha Suite. Keaton had moved me to the guest wing months ago, claiming he needed the main suite for "late-night strategy meetings" regarding the border expansion. I had agreed, like I always did, shrinking myself to fit the small space he allotted me.

A sharp knock rattled the door.

"Come in," I croaked, hoping against hope that it was him. That he’d come to hold me through the transition, just as I had held him through his flu last winter.

The door creaked open, but it wasn't Keaton’s broad shoulders that filled the frame. It was Tim, a young Omega with nervous eyes and a stained apron.

"Miss Valentina," Tim mumbled, keeping his gaze on the floor. He shuffled forward and placed a plastic tray on the nightstand. "Alpha Hayes sent this."

I pushed myself up on a trembling elbow. On the tray sat a chipped bowl of broth. No steam rose from it. A layer of congealed fat had formed a skin over the surface, grey and unappetizing. Beside it lay a single packet of saltines.

"Where is he?" My voice was a dry rasp.

Tim flinched. "Border patrols, Miss. He said the rogues are active today. He... he said he can't be disturbed."

Border patrols? On my birthday? On the day my wolf was finally clawing her way to the surface?

"Thank you, Tim," I said, dismissing him before my voice could crack.

As the door clicked shut, I stared at the cold soup. Tears pricked my eyes, hot and stinging. I had spent years pouring my family’s resources into this pack, funneling the Bishop fortune into Keaton’s accounts so he could play the big, strong Alpha. And this was my return on investment. Cold leftovers.

I squeezed my eyes shut and reached for the mind-link again. I needed to hear his voice. Even if he was busy, surely he could spare a second for his fiancée.

*Keaton?* I pushed the thought out with everything I had.

The connection snapped open. But he didn't answer.

Instead, the static cleared, replaced by ambient noise. I frowned, confused. I didn't hear the wind whipping through the trees or the growls of warriors on patrol. I heard the clinking of silverware against fine china. I heard the low, smooth croon of a jazz saxophone.

Then, I heard him.

"You deserve the best, Scarlet. Not like some dead weight I'm stuck with."

My breath hitched. The pain in my bones vanished for a split second, replaced by a hollow shock.

"Oh, Alpha," a high, breathy giggle answered. I knew that giggle. Scarlet Nguyen. The 'innocent' assistant who always needed help with the copier. "You shouldn't speak about your fiancée like that. It’s her birthday."

"Is it?" Keaton’s laugh was dark, cruel. "I honestly forgot. She’s probably curled up in bed, useless as always. But you... you are vibrant. Look at you."

The sound of a chair scraping. The rustle of fabric. A soft moan.

The link cut off abruptly, likely Keaton realizing he’d left his mental shields down.

I sat frozen, the silence of the room deafening. The broth on the nightstand seemed to mock me. Dead weight. Useless.

The door burst open again, startling a growl out of my throat that sounded far too deep for a human.

"Val!" Lilian rushed in, her arms full of bottles and cool towels. My best friend took one look at my face and dropped everything on the floor. "Oh god, is it the fever? You’re burning up."

She reached for my forehead, but I caught her wrist. My grip was iron-tight.

"Where is he, Lil?" I asked, my voice terrifyingly calm.

Lilian bit her lip, her eyes darting away. "Val, you need to rest. The fever—"

"Where?"

Lilian sighed, pulling her phone from her pocket. She tapped the screen and turned it toward me. It was the pack’s gossip forum. A photo, taken from a distance, showed a black SUV parked in front of The Moonlit Steakhouse—the most exclusive, expensive restaurant in our territory. A place Keaton claimed we couldn't afford for our anniversary last month.

"He’s at the Steakhouse," Lilian whispered. "With Scarlet. They’re saying... Val, they’re saying he ordered the mating feast special."

The Mating Feast. Rare steaks. Expensive wine. A public declaration of intent.

Something inside me snapped. It wasn't a break; it was an awakening. The fever that had been crippling me suddenly shifted, condensing into a ball of pure, white-hot power in the center of my chest. My suppression walls were crumbling.

I threw the covers off. My legs, previously weak as water, hit the floor with steady purpose.

"Val? What are you doing? You can barely stand!" Lilian cried, reaching out to steady me.

I walked to the mirror. My reflection stared back—pale, sweaty, hair matted. But the eyes... the eyes were wrong. The soft hazel was gone, swallowed by a predatory, glowing gold. The mark of the Royal Lycan line.

"I’m not staying in this bed, Lilian," I said, the words vibrating with a low growl that shook the glass of water on the nightstand. "Get me my red dress."

"Val, you can't go there. You’re in transition!"

I turned to her, and for the first time, Lilian flinched. Not out of pity, but out of instinctual submission.

"He thinks I’m dead weight," I snarled, the heat in my veins turning from pain to power. "I’m going to show him exactly how heavy the crown is."