After My Mate Replaced Me with a Rogue

Bruno's estate sits high in the Northern Territories, carved into the mountainside like something out of a fairy tale. The helicopter ride blurs in my memory—just the steady thrum of rotors, Bruno's arms around me, and the mate bond singing through my veins like electricity.

Now I'm lying in a bedroom bigger than my entire pack house suite, wrapped in blankets that smell like pine and snow and him. The windows stretch floor to ceiling, showing endless forest under a sky so clear the stars look close enough to touch.

"Soul Wither." Pack Healer Diana Ashworth's voice is gentle as she rewraps my shoulder. She came with us, insisted on it despite Isaiah's orders. "That's what we call it when a mate bond is severed through rejection. Your wolf is grieving, Luna. The physical wounds will heal, but this..."

She touches my chest, right over my heart, where the frozen wasteland of my bond with Isaiah sits like a block of ice.

"This takes time."

Bruno stands by the window, his back to us, but I feel his attention like a physical touch through our new bond. It's so different from what I had with Isaiah. That was a gentle warmth, comfortable. This is fire and lightning and something wild that makes my wolf want to howl.

"Thank you, Diana," I manage. My voice sounds scraped raw.

She packs her medical kit, squeezes my hand once, and leaves. The door clicks shut.

Bruno turns. His silver eyes find mine across the room.

"I should have acted sooner," he says quietly. "I watched you suffer for years. I told myself I was respecting pack law, respecting your choice, but the truth is I was a coward."

I sit up, ignoring the pull in my shoulder. "You couldn't interfere with another's mate. That's sacred law."

"Sacred law." His laugh is bitter. He crosses the room, kneeling beside the bed so we're eye level. "I felt our bond the summer you turned sixteen. At the territorial games, remember? You wore that blue dress and your hair was braided with wildflowers."

The memory hits me. I'd felt something that day, a pull toward the quiet Lycan boy who watched me from across the field. But then Isaiah had asked me to dance, and my parents had been so pleased, and—

"I felt it too," I whisper. "But I thought... Isaiah seemed so sure. Everyone said we were perfect together."

"He chose you for politics." Bruno's jaw clenches. "I knew it then. But you looked happy, and I had no right to interfere. So I left for the Northern Territories and tried to forget."

His hand hovers near mine on the blanket, not quite touching. The mate bond thrums between us, wanting, waiting.

"I never forgot," he says. "Not for a single day."

My phone buzzes. Then again. And again.

Bruno's expression darkens as I reach for it. The screen lights up with notifications—news alerts, pack network updates, messages from wolves I haven't spoken to in years.

The headline makes my stomach drop: "Luna Juliette Greene Caught in Affair with Lycan Prince—Alpha Isaiah Releases Statement."

I click through with shaking hands. Isaiah's official press release fills the screen, his words carefully crafted to destroy me.

"It is with deep regret that I must address the events of last night. My mate, Juliette Greene, has been conducting an illicit affair with Lycan Prince Bruno Stephens. When confronted during our sacred Harvest Moon Festival, she became violent and unstable. For the safety of our pack and our daughter, I have frozen her accounts and restricted her access to pack grounds pending a formal hearing..."

The phone slips from my fingers.

"He's locked me out," I breathe. "My accounts. The pack house. Evie—"

"Evie is safe." Bruno's voice is steel. "I have wolves watching her. Isaiah won't risk harming his own daughter, not with the entire werewolf world watching."

But my daughter is in that house with Mckenzie. With a woman who stole my identity, my life, my mate.

A sharp knock interrupts my spiral. Payton bursts through the door without waiting for an answer, a hard drive clutched in her hands and triumph blazing in her eyes.

"You're going to want to see this," she says. "I grabbed these from Isaiah's office before he could wipe them. Financial records going back six years."

Bruno's legal team materializes—three sharp-eyed wolves in expensive suits who spread documents across the sitting room table like they're preparing for war.

Numbers blur across laptop screens. Bank statements. Wire transfers. Property deeds.

"Here." One of the lawyers, a silver-haired woman named Margaret, points to a highlighted section. "Monthly payments to an LLC registered under a false name. The address traces to a luxury apartment in the city—penthouse level, two million dollar lease."

"Mckenzie's apartment," Payton says grimly. "But it gets better. Look at where the money's coming from."

Margaret pulls up another file. "The Moonveil Pack infrastructure fund. Money allocated for territory security, school improvements, medical facilities. He's been siphoning it for six years."

Six years of stolen funds. Six years of lies.

"How much?" My voice sounds distant.

"Twelve million dollars," Margaret says. "Give or take."

The room spins. Twelve million dollars meant for our pack, for our people, spent on his mistress and her fake life.

"There's more," Payton says quietly. She pulls up a document that makes my blood run cold. "Fake birth certificates. Falsified DNA tests. Isaiah paid a rogue healer fifty thousand dollars to create documents claiming Lilian carries his Alpha bloodline."

Bruno's growl shakes the windows. His Lycan is close to the surface, silver bleeding into his eyes.

"He knew," I whisper. "He knew she wasn't his, and he paid to make it look real."

"Or he suspected and wanted insurance," Margaret says. "Either way, this is fraud. Embezzlement. Violation of pack law on multiple counts."

My phone buzzes again. This time it's a message from an unknown number, but I recognize the area code—Moonveil territory.

The attached photo makes my heart stop.

It's Buster, our golden retriever, standing in front of Evie's bedroom door. His teeth are bared, hackles raised, blocking Mckenzie from entering. My daughter's door is closed, and I can see Mrs. Chen's shadow through the gap at the bottom.

The message reads: "The dog won't let her near the pup. Staff is talking. We remember who the real Luna is."

I look up at Bruno, at Payton, at the lawyers with their damning evidence spread across the table.

"Then let's remind everyone else."