My Alpha Husband's Secret Mate Was Livestreaming Their Love Nest

The front door was still unlocked—like she'd wanted me to walk in.

I stood in the marble foyer of what had been our home for three years, my hand still on the brass handle. The silence felt different now, charged with secrets I was only beginning to understand. My ice-blue gown whispered against the floor as I stepped inside, the sound unnaturally loud in the empty space.

The living room looked like a crime scene of intimacy. Two wine glasses sat on the coffee table, one still bearing the faint imprint of coral lipstick. A cashmere throw—one I'd never seen before—was draped carelessly over the white leather sectional. The air held traces of unfamiliar perfume, something sweet and cloying that made my stomach turn.

I moved through the apartment like a ghost haunting my own life. In the kitchen, a pregnancy vitamin bottle sat brazenly on the marble counter next to the espresso machine. The refrigerator was decorated with ultrasound photos held by cheerful magnets—images of a tiny life that would share Ryker's DNA but never mine.

The master bedroom made my chest tighten. Her clothes hung in my closet, expensive pieces that spoke of long-term residence rather than occasional visits. A silk nightgown I'd never seen before lay crumpled on my side of the bed. This wasn't an affair. This was a replacement.

But I hadn't come here to torture myself with evidence of Ryker's betrayal. I had a specific target in mind.

The study door creaked as I pushed it open. Ryker's sanctuary looked exactly as it always had—mahogany desk, leather chairs, walls lined with law books and pack histories. But my focus went immediately to the oil painting hanging behind his desk: my grandfather's stern face watching over the room with painted eyes that had seen three generations of pack politics.

Four years ago, I'd walked in here looking for a pen and caught Ryker at the painting, his fingers moving in a specific pattern across the ornate frame. He'd startled when he saw me, quickly closing whatever he'd been accessing behind the canvas. I'd pretended not to notice, but I'd memorized every movement of his hands.

Now, standing before my grandfather's portrait, I reached up and pressed the corners of the frame in the exact sequence I remembered. Top left, bottom right, center, top right. The painting swung away from the wall on hidden hinges, revealing a steel safe embedded in the wall.

The digital keypad glowed softly in the dim light. My heart hammered as I entered the code—our wedding date, because Ryker had always been sentimental about the strangest things. The lock disengaged with a soft click.

Inside, stacks of cash sat beside multiple passports bearing Ryker's photo but different names. Legal documents I didn't recognize filled manila folders. But there, in a small black velvet bag, was what I'd really come for.

The USB drive was smaller than I'd expected, innocuous black plastic that could hold the destruction of empires. I'd only heard Ryker mention it once, three months ago when he'd had too much whiskey after a particularly brutal board meeting.

"That little drive," he'd slurred, staring into his glass, "contains enough dirt to bury half the Northeastern packs. If it ever fell into the wrong hands, the Ashford name would be finished."

I'd asked what kind of dirt, but he'd sobered immediately, claiming he'd said nothing. Now, as I slipped the drive from its velvet prison, I understood its weight had nothing to do with its size.

The device felt warm against my palm as I tucked it into the hidden pocket of my bra, the one my seamstress had sewn into all my formal gowns for emergency cash or keys. The irony wasn't lost on me—using a feature designed for a Luna's practical needs to steal from the Alpha who'd betrayed her.

I closed the safe, reset the painting, and smoothed my dress. The apartment felt different now, like I'd shifted something fundamental in the balance of power. My reflection in the study window showed the same elegant woman who'd accepted an award three hours ago, but something in my eyes had changed.

The sound of keys jingling in the front door made my blood freeze.

I moved quickly but silently through the apartment, my heels muffled by the thick Persian rugs. The front door was already opening as I reached the foyer, and my heart sank as I prepared to face Ryker's rage.

But it wasn't Ryker who walked through the door.

Serena stood framed in the doorway, her blonde hair perfectly styled despite the late hour. She wore a flowing maxi dress that emphasized her rounded belly, one hand resting protectively over the curve. Her coral lips—the same shade that had marked the wine glass—curved into a knowing smile.

"Well, well," she said, closing the door behind her with deliberate slowness. "The famous Luna, gracing us with her presence."

I straightened my shoulders, channeling every ounce of authority I'd learned in three years of pack leadership. "This is still my home."

"Is it?" She moved into the foyer with the confidence of someone who belonged here, her hand trailing along the marble table where I used to leave Ryker's mail. "Because from what I saw tonight, you seemed pretty eager to leave it all behind."

The reference to my public resignation stung, but I kept my expression neutral. "I came to collect some things."

"What things?" Her voice carried a note of genuine curiosity. "Because I've been living here for six months, and I'm pretty sure I know everything this place contains."

Six months. The words hit me like a physical blow. While I'd been playing the perfect Luna, attending charity galas and pack meetings, she'd been making herself at home in my life.

Serena moved closer, her perfume—that cloying sweet scent—filling the space between us. "You know, Ryker talks about you sometimes. Usually when he's had too much wine and gets all nostalgic."

I didn't want to hear this, but I couldn't make myself move.

"He says you were always too trusting," she continued, one hand absently stroking her belly. "Too willing to believe the best in people. Even when the evidence was right in front of you."

The USB drive felt like it was burning against my skin, but I kept my face blank. "And what evidence would that be?"

Her smile widened, and for the first time, I saw something calculating in her expression. Something that made my skin crawl.

"Oh, honey," she said, tilting her head with mock sympathy. "You really came back for that little flash drive? He wanted you to find it."