Divorced from My Alpha, I Heal the Cursed Prince's Heart

Elena POV:

"Some people just don't know their place," Brenda Stone, my mother-in-law murmured, her voice a sickly sweet poison behind a silk fan. "Still thinking she's the Luna."

I kept my eyes fixed on the cold tea in my cup.

The whispers in the grand hall of the Blackwater pack house were like a swarm of insects, buzzing just at the edge of my hearing. Annoying, but harmless.

"It's a mercy we let her stay," her daughter, Camille, added, her tone dripping with disdain. "That Grant wretch. An Omega without a wolf. She's practically a charity case."

I didn't react.

My fingers traced the crescent-moon birthmark on the inside of my wrist, a familiar, grounding gesture. The skin there was smooth, the mark a pale silver against my skin. They saw weakness. They saw a wolfless Omega, the last surviving member of the decimated Silver Moon pack, a relic my mate, Anton Stone, was burdened with.

I didn't care about them.

My gaze flickered towards the grand oak doors. My plan was a delicate clockwork mechanism, and every tick was crucial. Anton's return was the first gear turning.

Headlights swept across the tall windows, followed by the roar of an engine and the eruption of cheers from the pack members gathered outside.

"Our hero is back!" someone shouted.

Instantly, Brenda and Camille transformed. Their sneers melted into radiant smiles. They smoothed their expensive gowns, preening like vultures preparing for a feast. They were ready to welcome their pride and joy, the new Alpha of the Blackwater pack.

The doors swung open.

Anton Stone stood there, framed by the doorway like a god descended. He wore a crisp black uniform, the Eagle medal pinned to his chest gleaming under the chandelier light. He was tall, powerful, his face carved with the arrogant confidence of a victor.

My heart didn't flutter. It didn't ache.

It was a cold, dead stone in my chest. A stone of pure, patient hatred.

His eyes swept the room, a conqueror surveying his domain. They landed on me for a fraction of a second, a flicker of contempt in their depths, before moving on. He dismissed me as easily as one would dismiss a piece of furniture.

He didn't walk towards his fawning mother. He didn't walk towards me, his fated mate.

He turned back to the open car door and extended a hand.

A hush fell over the hall. The cheering sputtered and died. Everyone stared, confused.

A delicate, manicured hand rested in his. A woman emerged, draped in a white dress that screamed innocence. Blonde hair, blue eyes, the picture of purity.

She smiled, a shy, blissful curve of her lips, and tucked her arm possessively into Anton's.

A new wave of murmurs rippled through the crowd, this time laced with shock and scandal. Brenda and Camille's practiced smiles froze on their faces, cracking like cheap porcelain.

My gaze was a scalpel, dissecting that woman from across the room.

She was petite, but there was a subtle thickness around her waist, a slight swell to her belly that the cut of the dress couldn't quite conceal. As she moved, her hand instinctively went to her lower abdomen, a brief, protective gesture.

And then, I caught it.

My senses, honed by years of secret training as a healer, were far more acute than any normal wolf's. Beneath the cloying scent of her perfume, I detected something else. A faint, almost imperceptible shift in her hormones. The unique scent of a she-wolf in the early stages of pregnancy.

There it was. The final piece of information I needed.

Anton cleared his throat, raising their joined hands high for everyone to see. His voice boomed with false pride. "I want you all to meet Alexa Acevedo. A true hero of the border conflict, and my chosen Luna for the Blackwater pack!"

The announcement hit the room like a physical blow.

Gasps echoed through the hall. Every eye-pitying, gleeful, scornful-swung to me. I was the centerpiece of their drama, the jilted mate, the public fool.

Brenda's face cycled through a storm of emotions—shock, fury, then a dawning, calculating understanding. A smile, sharp and predatory, returned to her lips as she looked at Alexa.

Camille, however, made no attempt to hide her delight. She shot me a triumphant, gloating look that screamed, You've finally been thrown away.

Alexa nestled against Anton's side, her eyes finding mine. They were glistening with unshed tears, a perfect performance of a woman who was "so sorry" for my pain, even as she reveled in her victory.

Finally, Anton deigned to look at me directly. His expression was a mixture of supreme arrogance and impatience, a silent command for me to accept my fate with dignity. To crawl away quietly.

I did not cry. I did not scream. I did not even stand.

I simply sat there, in my forgotten corner, and lifted my ice-blue eyes to meet his.

My gaze was as calm and flat as a frozen lake. There was no pain, no heartbreak. Only a profound, bottomless cold that seemed to suck the warmth from the air between us.

Slowly, deliberately, I raised the teacup to my lips and took a small sip, as if I were a mere spectator at a mildly interesting play.

His jaw tightened. My indifference was a greater insult than any outburst. He took a step forward, his Alpha aura beginning to prickle the air, ready to force a reaction.

But I was already done.

I placed the cup back on its saucer with a soft click. Leaning towards my two attendants, Celeste and Sienna, who stood silently behind me, I spoke in a low, clear voice.

"We should get ready."