After My Mate Banished Me for His Mistress

The darkness of the dungeon swallowed me whole. Silver-lined walls pressed in from all sides, the metal's unique properties suppressing my wolf's strength. I curled into myself on the cold stone floor, my burned skin blistering where the wolfsbane had seared through my blouse.

"Phoebe," my wolf whimpered, her voice faint but growing stronger with each passing hour. "It hurts."

"I know," I whispered, my throat raw from screaming. The Alpha command had worn off, leaving only the hollow ache of betrayal.

Three days had passed since Waylen had locked me in this cell. Three days of darkness, broken only by Marcus's occasional visits with food and water. Each time, his eyes held questions he couldn't ask, and I gave him smiles I didn't feel.

Something was changing inside me. My wolf, usually a distant presence after years of neglect, stirred restlessly.

"He's coming," she growled, suddenly alert.

I didn't need to ask who. The mate bond, damaged as it was, still pulsed with awareness when Waylen approached.

The dungeon door creaked open. Light spilled in, harsh after so much darkness. Waylen's silhouette filled the doorway, his broad shoulders blocking most of the light.

"Get up," he ordered, his voice flat. "You're being released."

No apology. No concern for my injuries. Just cold efficiency.

I struggled to my feet, swaying slightly. The wolfsbane had weakened me more than I realized. "Thank you, Alpha," I said, the formal title tasting bitter on my tongue.

He stepped closer, nostrils flaring. Something flickered across his face—surprise, perhaps, or suspicion.

"Your scent has changed," he said, his voice suddenly sharp.

My hand instinctively moved to my stomach. Too late, I realized what he meant. The nausea that had been plaguing me for days, the strange protectiveness I felt toward my core—it all made sense now.

"I'm pregnant," I whispered, the words escaping before I could stop them.

For one heartbeat, I saw something like wonder cross Waylen's face. My heart leapt. Maybe this would be the miracle that saved us. Maybe our child would remind him of what we once meant to each other.

"Phoebe," he said softly, reaching out—

Then his expression hardened. "No."

The single word hit me like a physical blow.

"No?" I repeated, disbelief coloring my voice.

"A new pup would devastate Nova," he said, his tone final. "She can't handle the reminder of what she lost. You know that."

"But this is your heir," I protested, my voice breaking. "Our child—"

"Take these," he interrupted, pulling a small pouch from his pocket. "They'll mask your scent. You will not announce this pregnancy. You will not celebrate. You will wait three years, until Nova has healed enough to handle it."

Three years? Our child would be three before anyone knew of their existence?

"Waylen, please," I begged, reaching for him.

He stepped back, his eyes cold. "This is not negotiable. Take the suppressants, Phoebe. Or I'll have them forced down your throat."

---

Two days later, I sat in our bedroom, the pouch of herbal suppressants untouched on the nightstand. My fingers trembled as I dialed the number I knew by heart but rarely used.

"Ward Financial," came the crisp answer.

"Elena," I said softly. "It's Phoebe."

My sister's voice warmed immediately. "Phoebe! It's been months. How are you? How's the pack expansion going?"

The pack expansion. The armory upgrades. The warrior training program. All funded by my family's money, all attributed to Waylen's leadership.

"I need you to freeze the accounts," I said, my voice steadier than I expected.

There was a moment of silence. "All of them?"

"Yes. The food imports, the warrior salaries, everything."

"Phoebe, are you sure? That will cause immediate problems for the pack."

I placed my hand over my stomach, feeling a fierce protectiveness surge through me. "I'm sure."

As Elena began processing my request, I pulled out the leather-bound journal I'd kept hidden in my wardrobe. Page after page documented eight years of financial support—every dollar, every resource, every sacrifice my family had made for Waylen's vision.

"Also," I added, flipping through the pages, "I need you to prepare documentation of all pack expenditures from the last eight years. Everything we've funded."

"What's happening, Phoebe?" Elena asked, concern evident in her voice.

I looked at the suppressants Waylen expected me to take—drugs that would hide our child's existence for three years.

"I'm taking back what's mine," I said simply.

As I hung up the phone, I caught sight of my reflection in the mirror. Something had changed in my eyes—a new determination, a glimmer of the Luna I was always meant to be.

The submissive Phoebe who had endured years of neglect was fading. In her place stood someone stronger, someone who would protect her child at all costs.

Even if it meant destroying everything Waylen had built.