Making My Fated Alpha Mate Regrets Betraying Me

Tristan’s face twisted into something cold and cruel, his voice sharp. “Ember, what right do you have to talk to me like this? Don’t forget—you’re living in my house. I’m the Alpha. And I’m the one supporting you.”

His words hit like a slap. I bit my lip to keep from snapping back.

The oven beeped, cutting through the tension. I turned away, grateful for the distraction. I slipped on oven mitts and pulled out the cake. The scent of chocolate filled the air, warm and bittersweet.

Tristan’s gaze lingered on the cake, confusion flickering across his face. His brows furrowed. “Is today… your birthday?”

A hollow laugh escaped me before I could stop it. Of course, he didn’t remember. Today wasn’t just my birthday—it was also the third anniversary of our relationship. Three years. Three long, exhausting years.

“I’ll make it up to you,” he said quickly, guilt softening his tone. “We can go this afternoon. Pick out a bigger engagement ring. Whatever you want.”

I clenched my jaw, forcing myself to stay calm. Whatever I want. As if a ring could fix everything. As if I didn’t already know where his heart truly lay.

He sat across from me, his usual charming mask slipping back into place. “Ember, you need to stop being so jealous of Selene. We were together a long time ago. It’s over.”

Over.

The word echoed in my head, hollow and cruel. But I remembered. I remembered everything. The way he had looked at her. The things he had said when he thought I wasn’t listening. The first time I heard him say, “Anyone’s fine to be my mate. As long as I can forget Selene.”

I had convinced myself it didn’t matter. That love, real love, could overcome anything. But now, sitting across from him, I felt the weight of every mistake I’d made.

“No need,” I said, my voice cold and distant. “You go ahead. I’ll handle things myself.”

Tristan blinked, caught off guard. He wasn’t used to this version of me. The one who didn’t beg or bend. But years of playing the perfect, submissive mate had dulled his instincts. He smiled, thinking I’d forgiven him.

“Make a wish,” he said, lighting the candles.

I stared at the flickering flames. Every year, I wished for the same thing: love, happiness, a future with Tristan.

This time, I closed my eyes and whispered, I want freedom. I want peace. I want to be free from him.

When I opened my eyes, Tristan was gone. The candles still burned, the cake untouched. I glanced toward the door, where the sound of it slamming shut still echoed. He hadn’t even bothered to close it properly.

I pulled the cake and threw it on the floor. All was ruined. Three hours of my effort was wasted out of anger. Just like the three years I had spent with him.

I calmed myself and picked up my phone. Numb. I should be numb. I was about to call my best friend when a notification popped up from my socmed app: [Selene highlighted a post for you.]

I curiousy checked it. Selene posted: [I’m such a clumsy girl! Bumped into the cabinet again. But my hero is here to help me.]

Below it, Tristan had commented: [I’ll always be here for you, Selene.]

I stared at the screen, the words blurring through my tears. Always there for her. Not me. Not the woman he had promised to love.

A message buzzed in:

Tristan: Selene hurt her foot. Taking her to the hospital. Clean up her place and bring soup. No ginger.

I gripped the phone tighter, my knuckles turning white. It all made sense now. The way he exploded every time I used ginger in our meals. Not because he hated it, but because she did. Selene did.

I wanted to scream, to throw the phone against the wall. But I couldn’t. Years of conditioning kept me in place. I grabbed my coat and headed to my car.

I was already in Selene's house when I saw her draping over Tristan, her arms around his neck. He whispered something to her, soft and tender. Something I hadn’t heard in years.

When he saw me, his eyes hardened. “You’re late,” he snapped. “If Selene’s treatment gets delayed—”

“Tristan, don’t,” Selene said softly, her eyes wide and innocent. “It’s not Ember’s fault. She’s always had… bad impression of me.”

Tristan’s glare deepened. “Enough with that, Ember. Go and clean this place up. I’m not marrying a jealous mate who can’t do anything right.”

He left, carrying her out like some tragic princess. I stood there, trembling.

“I wouldn’t marry a lying, cheating Alpha either,” I whispered.

I stepped inside, the scent of stale perfume and betrayal hitting me. The bathroom floor was soaked. In the trash, two used condoms. My stomach churned. So this was it. His overtime, his excuses—it had all been for her.

Selene’s room was a shrine to luxury. Designer bags, high-end skincare, glittering jewelry. I thought about the lipstick I had asked Tristan for, just days ago. How he had sneered at me.

“Twenty-four years old and still trying to act like a teenager?”

I clenched my fists, the memory burning. I wasn’t eighteen anymore, but that didn’t make me worthless. It didn’t make me disposable.

I pulled out my phone and took pictures of everything. Not for revenge. For me. Proof of what I had endured.

Upstairs, I packed quickly. Everything I owned fit into one suitcase. Three years, and this was all I had. The only gifts Tristan had ever given me were things to keep me in my place—kitchenware, cleaning supplies. I left them all behind.

I called Cherry, my best friend. She answered on the fourth ring.

“I was wrong,” I whispered, my voice breaking. “I gave up everything for him. I want out. I need out.”

Cherry sighed. “You should’ve left years ago.”

Minutes later, a new message came through:

Cherry: Flight booked. Three days. Be ready.

The dam broke. Three years of tears, of pain, of hoping for something that would never come. They all poured out.

In three days, I would be free.

For the first time in years, I felt a glimmer of hope.