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I Lost My Pup, then I Chose Another Alpha Novel Cover

I Lost My Pup, then I Chose Another Alpha

Following a devastating mountain road accident where she lost her pup, she watched her mate, Harvey, drive right past her. Instead of helping his bleeding wife, he shielded his human assistant's eyes from the sight, dismissed her as a bad omen, and abandoned her. Returning to their den only to find another woman's bra hidden in their closet, she realizes their bond is truly dead. Ready to reclaim her power, she contacts Mr. Miller, agreeing to leave the territory to help him run his own pack.
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Chapter 2

As I was silently comparing the way Harvey treated his assistant to how he treated me—his own mate—my thoughts slipped, and so did my fork. It clattered against the floor. When I bent to retrieve it, my hands were shaking so badly I had to pause and steady myself.

By the time I straightened, Harvey was already standing near the door, coat on, keys in hand, clearly ready to leave. He didn’t turn around.

“Something urgent came up at the office,” he said briskly, tossing the words over his shoulder. “I’ll drive you next time.”

The door shut behind him before I could respond.

Half an hour later, I limped into my cubicle at the pack-owned corporation. Almost immediately, I noticed the looks—my coworkers’ gazes lingered a second too long, filled with unease and sympathy that made my chest tighten.

Later, while refilling my mug in the break room, I heard hushed voices drifting from behind the shelves.

“So it’s true then?” one whispered. “Alpha Sloan really cast Liora aside for his assistant?”

“Absolutely,” the other replied. “You should’ve seen it this morning. Sofia showed up with a mark on her dress, and he personally lifted her into his arms right there in the conference hall. In front of everyone.”

My grip loosened. The mug slipped from my fingers and shattered against the tile, the sharp sound cutting through their conversation. Both women fell silent.

I crouched down slowly, ignoring the sting in my leg as I picked up the broken pieces. Without a word, I tossed them into the bin and returned to my desk.

I stayed late, long after most of the floor had emptied. It was already past ten when I suddenly felt a heavy warmth settle over my shoulders.

“Liora,” Harvey murmured behind me, draping his coat around me, “why didn’t you answer my messages?”

I didn’t turn. Instead, I unlocked my phone. The only message from him read:

[What kind of milkshake do you usually like?]

Three years ago, I had asked him—timidly—for the first milkshake of summer. He’d looked at me like I was embarrassing him.

“A milkshake?” he’d scoffed. “Are you a child? Liora, you’re nearly thirty. Don’t disgust me with nonsense like that.”

And now, here he was, standing behind me with one in hand.

I kept my eyes fixed on the glowing screen in front of me and ignored the drink entirely.

He shifted, clearly unsettled. “You used to beg me for this,” he said, confusion creeping into his voice.

“It’s late,” I replied flatly. “If I drink it now, I won’t sleep.”

A tense pause followed. Then his tone cooled. “I’m going to the restroom. We’ll head home together after.”

He’d barely been gone half a minute when his phone lit up on my desk. I glanced at the screen. Sofia.

[You idiot! Who buys this many milkshakes at once? Are you trying to fatten me up? I’m freezing over here!]

I looked away without a change in expression and quietly straightened the folders on my desk.

We arrived home a little after eleven. The moment the car stopped, I headed straight to the bedroom and began packing.

When Harvey came in later, freshly showered, he paused, noticing the surface of my vanity looked strangely bare. He frowned briefly, then shrugged it off.

“I’m heading to Paris next month on pack business,” he said. “If there’s anything you want, write it down. I’ll bring it back.”

I didn’t think twice. “No. I don’t need anything.”

After all, I’d be gone in a few days. What was there to ask for?

Suddenly, his towel hit the bed with a sharp snap. He stared at me, eyes icy.

“So what is this?” he demanded. “You’re sulking because I bought the wrong breakfast?”

I opened my mouth to say I wasn’t upset, but he cut me off with a scoff.

“I hate dramatic women,” he snapped. “You’re crossing a line, Liora.”

With that, he turned and slammed the door to his study.

For seven years, he had always been the first to withdraw, to punish me with silence. And every time, I had been the one to bow my head and make peace.

This time, I simply raised an eyebrow and switched off the bedside lamp.

He stayed locked in his study all night. For the first time, no one came knocking.

The next morning, I prepared breakfast as usual. I finished my portion and was gathering my things for work when he finally emerged, phone in hand.

Without looking at me, he said sharply, “Take today off. I need you to make an exact replica of that fondant cake by five.”

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