After My Alpha Replaced Me With His Mistress

Elena's text came through at 8:47 PM: "The Gilded Moon. Downtown. You need to see this."

I stared at my phone screen, my wolf already stirring beneath my skin. The Gilded Moon was neutral territory—a high-end restaurant where pack politics supposedly didn't exist. The kind of place where Alphas took their Lunas for anniversaries.

Stefan hadn't taken me there in two years.

I grabbed my keys before I could second-guess myself. The Pack House was quiet, most wolves either on patrol or pretending they hadn't noticed their Luna was essentially under house arrest. I slipped out through the kitchen entrance, my heart hammering against my ribs.

The drive into the city felt surreal. Street lights blurred past as I gripped the steering wheel, Elena's words echoing in my head. You need to see this. What exactly was I about to witness?

The Gilded Moon sat on a corner lot, all glass walls and soft amber lighting. Expensive. Intimate. I parked across the street, my wolf's vision sharpening as I scanned the interior.

There. Corner booth. Stefan's broad shoulders were unmistakable even from this distance.

And sitting across from him, laughing at something he'd said, was Harlee Henderson.

My hands went numb on the steering wheel.

I watched Stefan lean forward, his expression relaxed in a way I hadn't seen in months. He was smiling. Actually smiling, the kind of genuine warmth he used to show me before everything turned cold and clinical.

A waiter appeared with dessert—some elaborate chocolate creation that probably cost more than most wolves made in a week. Stefan picked up his fork, cut off a piece, and held it across the table.

To her.

Harlee opened her mouth like a baby bird, giggling as Stefan fed her. Her hand came up to cover her lips, playing coy, while Stefan watched her with an expression that made my wolf snarl.

Tenderness. Affection. The way a male looks at someone he's courting.

But it got worse.

Harlee stood, moving around to Stefan's side of the booth. She said something that made him laugh—actually laugh, throwing his head back—and then she leaned in. Her neck pressed against his throat, rubbing slowly, deliberately.

Scent-marking.

My vision went red at the edges.

Scent-marking was sacred. Intimate. It was what mates did to claim each other, to announce to every wolf within range that this person was taken, protected, mine. And Stefan was letting her do it. In public. In a restaurant full of witnesses who would spread this through the supernatural community like wildfire.

He wasn't just emotionally betraying me anymore. He was publicly replacing me.

My phone was in my hand before I consciously decided to move. The camera app opened. I zoomed in, my hands surprisingly steady despite the rage shaking through my entire body.

Click. Stefan's hand on Harlee's waist as she marked him.

Click. Her face pressed against his neck, eyes closed in bliss.

Click. Stefan's expression—content, possessive, protective.

Click. The final shot: both of them, framed perfectly in that amber light, looking exactly like what they were pretending to be.

Mates.

I drove back to the Pack House on autopilot, my wolf howling inside my chest. The photos burned in my phone like evidence of a crime. Because that's what this was, wasn't it? A crime against our bond, against everything we'd built together.

Elena was waiting in my suite when I arrived, her expression grim.

"You saw?" she asked quietly.

I nodded, unable to speak past the lump in my throat.

"The pack needs to know." Elena's voice was hard, angry in a way I'd never heard from the usually diplomatic she-wolf. "They're whispering, Amara. Wondering why their Luna has disappeared. Why that girl is wearing your jewelry and sitting in your seat. They deserve the truth."

She was right. The pack deserved to know what their Alpha was doing behind closed doors. What he was doing to their Luna.

I handed Elena my phone. "Make it anonymous. I don't want this traced back to me."

Elena's smile was sharp as a blade. "Already handled."

Twenty minutes later, the pack's encrypted forum exploded.

The thread was titled simply: "The Alpha's New Priority."

The photos loaded one by one, crystal clear and damning. Within minutes, comments started flooding in. She-wolves I'd fought beside, protected, led—they were furious. Calling Stefan out for disrespecting his mate. Questioning Harlee's intentions. Demanding answers.

Some of the males tried to defend him, talking about alliances and politics. But the females knew better. They understood what those photos meant.

I sat on my bed, watching the thread grow, and felt something cold settle in my chest.

This was war now.

The front door slammed open downstairs around midnight. Heavy footsteps thundered through the Pack House, and I knew. Stefan was home.

And he was pissed.

My suite door crashed open hard enough to crack the frame. Stefan stood in the doorway, his Alpha aura blazing like a forest fire, his eyes wild with rage.

And he reeked of her. Harlee's sickly-sweet perfume clung to him like a second skin, mixed with his own scent in a way that made my wolf bare her teeth.

"What the hell did you do?" His voice was barely human, more growl than words.