After My Alpha Chose My Sister Over Me

The applause for my sister’s ascension was still thundering against the vaulted ceiling as I turned on my heel. The severance of the mate bond left a hollow ache in my chest, a phantom limb where my future was supposed to be, but beneath it hummed a terrifying, electric thrill. I was free. I didn't need to pack. I had nothing but the rags on my back and the token in my pocket.

I pushed through the heavy double doors, eager for the biting cold of the night air, but I didn't make it to the steps. A hand clamped around my upper arm, fingers digging into my bicep with bruising force.

"Where do you think you're going?"

I didn't need to turn around to recognize the voice. It was the same voice that had whispered sweet lies to me in childhood and condemned me to death in my past life. I stopped, staring at the polished wood of the doorframe, and slowly rotated my head.

Chandler stood there, his chest heaving slightly. The arrogance was still plastered on his face, but his eyes darted over me with frantic confusion. He had expected me to collapse. He had expected the broken, weeping girl he sent away three years ago.

"I am leaving, Alpha," I said, the title tasting like ash in my mouth. "You made your choice. I have accepted it."

"You accepted it?" He scoffed, stepping closer, invading my personal space with the scent of sandalwood and expensive champagne. It used to make my knees weak; now, it just smelled like betrayal. "You don't just walk away from a fated bond, Eleanor. You should be on your knees. You should be fighting for me."

His ego was a fragile thing, bruised because I hadn't given him the satisfaction of a public breakdown. He tightened his grip, trying to pull me closer, perhaps to smell the distress on me, to feed his vanity.

Revulsion coiled in my stomach, hot and violent. In a reflex born of pure disgust, I wrenched my arm away. The movement was sharp, fueled by three years of chopping wood and hauling ice in the North. Chandler stumbled back, his eyes widening in shock.

"Do not touch me," I hissed, my voice low. "You forfeited that right the moment you chose her."

For a second, the Alpha in him flared, his pupils dilating as he prepared to command me into submission. But before he could speak, a gaggle of elders and visiting dignitaries spilled out from the hall, surrounding him with congratulations and claps on the back.

"Alpha Chandler! A magnificent choice!"

"To the new Luna!"

He was swept away in a tide of sycophants, his gaze lingering on me for one last, furious second before he was forced to turn and smile. I didn't waste the moment. I slipped into the shadows of the corridor, my heart hammering against my ribs.

I couldn't just walk out the front gate. Without identification papers, the border patrol would detain me as a rogue, and Chandler would have me dragged back in chains before Lincoln could cross the territory lines. I needed my documents.

I moved silently through the pack house, a ghost in the home that was supposed to be mine. My destination wasn't my old room, but my father’s study on the third floor. The hallway was empty, the guards distracted by the festivities below.

When I reached the heavy mahogany door, I found it locked, just as I expected. In my past life, I would have knocked. I would have waited. But the North had taught me that waiting meant starving.

I pulled a thin, stiff wire from the hem of my cloak—a makeshift tool I’d used to break into supply sheds during the harshest winters. I knelt, sliding the metal into the lock. My hands were steady. *Click.* The tumbler gave way with a satisfying snap.

I slipped inside and closed the door softly behind me. The room smelled of cigar smoke and old paper. I went straight to the large oak desk, bypassing the safe—my father was too arrogant to lock up family documents, believing no one would dare snoop.

I pulled open the bottom drawer, my fingers rifling through the hanging files. *Medical records... Tax forms...* My hand landed on a thick folder labeled *"Eleanor - Dowry & Assets."*

I flipped it open, expecting to find my birth certificate. Instead, I found a transfer deed. My eyes scanned the legal jargon, and a bitter laugh bubbled in my throat. My parents hadn't just given my position to Kinslee; they had transferred my entire inheritance—the trust fund left by my grandmother, the land deeds in the west—to her name. The transfer was dated three days after I left for exile.

They had been planning this for years.

"Greedy bastards," I whispered, tossing the deed aside. I dug deeper, looking for my ID. My fingers brushed against a leather-bound ledger hidden beneath the false bottom of the drawer. It felt wrong. Heavy.

Curiosity, a dangerous habit, made me open it. The pages were filled with numbers—large sums of money funneled out of the pack accounts and into offshore shell companies. Embezzlement. My father was stealing from the pack he swore to serve.

But it was the stack of papers tucked into the back of the ledger that made my blood run cold. They were treaties. Illegal trade agreements with rogue packs known for drug running and violence. I scanned the bottom of the page, looking for my father's signature.

It wasn't there.

In its place, executed in perfect, flowing script, was *my* name.

*Eleanor Montgomery.*

The room seemed to tilt. I grabbed the edge of the desk to steady myself. The dates on these treaties were recent. While I was freezing in the North, my father had been forging my signature on documents that carried a mandatory death sentence from the Council of Alphas.

The realization hit me with the force of a physical blow. This wasn't just about replacing me with Kinslee. It was a setup. If the Council ever audited the pack's finances, my father wouldn't be the one to fall. I would be the scapegoat. The exiled, bitter daughter who sold out her pack for revenge.

I wasn't just an unwanted ex-mate. I was a walking corpse, framed for treason.

I shoved the papers back into the ledger, my hands trembling for the first time since I returned. If I left now, without this proof, I would be a fugitive. But if I stayed to gather more evidence, I risked ending up back in the dungeon.

A heavy footstep sounded in the hallway outside. The doorknob began to turn.