He Chose His Mistress: The Pregnant Luna's Escape

Olivia POV:

The drive back to the Thorne Pack territory two days later was suffocatingly silent.

Michael was hungover and irritable, wincing at the sunlight and blaming his pounding headache on "bad wine." He didn't remember what he said the night before. He didn't remember mistaking me for her.

I let him believe his convenient lies.

"I need to stop by the office," he muttered as we entered the town limits, rubbing his temples. "Pack business."

"Actually," I said, checking my watch with deliberate calm. "You promised to visit the Memorial today. It's the anniversary of your parents' death."

He froze, his hand tightening on the steering wheel. He had forgotten. Of course he had.

"Right. Yes. We'll go now."

We drove to the cemetery on the hill. It was raining again, a fine, misty drizzle that chilled me to the bone.

When we arrived, a figure was already standing at the twin graves. A figure clad in black, holding a large umbrella.

Serena.

"Oh," Michael said, feigning surprise, though his scent spiked with interest. "Look who's here."

I stepped out of the car. "What a coincidence," I said dryly.

Serena turned, her face a mask of practiced sorrow. "Alpha Michael. Luna Olivia. I... I hope you don't mind. I heard so much about the former Alpha and Luna. I wanted to pay my respects."

"It's very thoughtful of you," Michael said, his voice thick with misplaced emotion. He walked over to her, stepping gratefully under her umbrella, leaving me exposed in the rain.

"I'll take care of you, Michael," Serena whispered, leaning in close, yet projecting her voice just enough for my wolf hearing to catch. "Just like I would have cared for them."

"I know," he replied, his shoulders relaxing as he looked down at her. "We'll be a family soon. A real home."

I stood there, water dripping down my neck, watching my husband mourn his parents with his mistress.

"Let's go eat," Michael said suddenly, turning away from the graves as if unable to bear the solemnity a moment longer. "I'm starving. And Serena looks cold."

We went to *Le Lune*, a high-end restaurant in the city center. It was Michael's favorite.

The car ride was a cruel replay of the last one. Them talking about shared interests—old movies, obscure bands, places they wanted to travel. I was a ghost in the backseat, invisible and unheard.

At the restaurant, we were seated at a round table. Michael handed the menu to Serena first.

"Get the steak," he urged her. "You need the iron."

Serena giggled, a light, tinkling sound. "You're so bossy." She glanced at me, then handed me the menu with a pitying smile. "Here, Olivia. Oh... is it just me, or does your bump look smaller today?"

My hand froze on the leather-bound menu. It was a subtle, psychological attack, designed to plant a seed of panic.

"The doctor says he is perfectly healthy," I said coldly.

"He?" Michael snapped his head up. "You know the gender?"

"I felt it," I lied, refusing to give him the satisfaction of the truth. "Intuition."

The waiter arrived with a cart of hot soups for the table next to us. The floor was slick from the rain people had tracked in from the storm outside.

It happened in slow motion.

The waiter's heel caught on a wet patch. He slipped. The cart wobbled violently. A large tureen of boiling tomato bisque tipped over, launching into the air.

It was flying directly between me and Serena.

"Watch out!" Michael roared.

He moved with Alpha speed, a blur of motion.

He lunged across the table.

He didn't reach for me. He didn't reach for his pregnant wife.

He grabbed Serena, pulling her violently into his chest and shielding her with his body, spinning them away from the table.

The tureen crashed.

The boiling soup exploded outward. Without Michael's protection, the wave of scalding liquid hit me full force.

It splashed across my left side, my arm, and—worst of all—my abdomen.

A raw, guttural scream tore from my throat, the pain instantaneous and blinding. It felt like liquid fire was eating my skin. I fell backward, my chair tipping over, crashing to the floor.

I curled into a ball, clutching my stomach, agony ripping through my nerves.

Through the haze of pain, I looked up.

Michael was on the other side of the booth, holding Serena's face in his hands.

"Are you okay?" he was shouting, his eyes frantic with terror. "Did it touch you? Serena, answer me!"

"I... I'm scared, Michael!" she wailed, though there wasn't a drop of soup on her.

"It's okay, I've got you. I've got you," he soothed, hugging her tight. "I won't let anything hurt you. You are the most important thing to me. The *only* thing."

He hadn't looked at me once.

I lay on the floor, the smell of burnt tomato and singed fabric filling my nose. The pain in my belly was a dull throb compared to the searing heat on my skin, but the pain in my chest... that was fatal.

*You are the most important thing. The only thing.*

He had said it out loud. In front of the pack members dining nearby. In front of the humans. In front of me.

Darkness began to creep into the edges of my vision. I bit my lip until it bled to keep from sobbing.

*Goodbye, Michael,* I thought as the blackness took me. *You just made your choice.*