My Alpha Chose His Mistress Over Twenty-Three Pups

I spread the treaty draft across Greyson's mahogany desk, smoothing the corners with fingers that had negotiated a dozen such agreements over the past seven years. The afternoon light slanted through the office windows, catching the gold embossing on the Silverclaw Pack seal. I'd spent three weeks crafting this proposal—a trade alliance with the Northern Packs that would secure our winter supply lines and strengthen our political position.

The door opened.

I looked up, expecting Marcus, our Beta, to join us for the strategy session. Instead, Greyson entered with Paris Ramirez clinging to his arm like ivy on a dying tree.

My wolf, Aurora, stirred uneasily in my mind. *Something's wrong.*

The she-wolf's scent hit me—wild roses and something sharper, more desperate. She wore a dress cut too low for a business meeting, her dark hair cascading over bare shoulders. Her fingers traced possessive circles on Greyson's bicep.

I straightened, keeping my voice level. "I wasn't aware we were having guests for the treaty review."

Greyson didn't look at the papers I'd arranged so carefully. He didn't look at me either. His gaze fixed somewhere over my left shoulder, the way you'd avoid eye contact with a subordinate you were about to discipline.

"Kennedy." My name sounded foreign in his mouth, formal. "We need to discuss our arrangement."

*Arrangement.* Not our bond. Not our partnership. Arrangement.

I touched the moonstone pendant at my throat—a nervous habit I'd never quite broken. The stone felt cold against my skin.

"I'm listening," I said.

Paris smiled, the kind of smile that doesn't reach the eyes. She settled herself on the edge of Greyson's desk—my side of the desk, where I always sat during our planning sessions—and crossed her legs deliberately.

Greyson finally met my gaze. Seven years of shared dreams, of building this pack from a struggling territory into a regional power, and his eyes held nothing but cold calculation.

"Our bond has grown stale," he said, as casually as if he were commenting on the weather. "It lacks the spark required for a modern Alpha couple. The pack needs fresh energy, new vitality."

The words landed like physical blows, but I didn't flinch. Aurora snarled in my mind, wanting to surface, to challenge, to fight. I held her back through sheer force of will.

"Fresh energy," I repeated slowly.

"Paris will be my Chosen Mate." He said it like an announcement, like a decision already made and filed away. "The Moon Goddess made a mistake with us, Kennedy. You must see that. We've become... comfortable. Predictable."

Paris reached for my ceremonial Luna stamp—the carved moonstone seal I used for official pack documents. She picked it up, turning it over in her hands like a toy she was considering keeping.

"Put that down," I said quietly.

She looked at Greyson instead of me. He nodded, and only then did she set it down, her message clear: she answered to him now, not to me.

Greyson continued as if I hadn't spoken. "I'm being generous, Kennedy. You can remain in the pack, stay in the Guest Wing. We have the regional treaty renewal coming up, and it would look... unstable... if you left immediately. This way, we maintain appearances."

*Generous.* He thought this was generosity.

"The Guest Wing," I said.

"Paris will need the Alpha floor, naturally. You understand."

I understood perfectly. He wanted me erased, my presence scrubbed from the spaces we'd shared, but kept close enough to parade around when convenient. A decorative figurehead. A political prop.

Aurora howled in my mind, the sound of a wolf betrayed. *Reject him. Challenge him. Make him bleed.*

But I didn't. I stood there in the office where I'd planned strategies, negotiated alliances, built the very foundation of Silverclaw's current success—success Greyson had claimed as his own—and I simply nodded.

"I'll move my things," I said.

The calmness in my voice seemed to unsettle him more than tears would have. His jaw tightened. Paris frowned, clearly disappointed by the lack of drama.

I gathered the treaty papers, my movements precise and controlled. As I reached the door, Greyson spoke again.

"Kennedy. This is for the best. You'll see."

I didn't turn around. "Of course, Alpha."

The formality of the title—used for the first time in years—hung in the air like a severed thread.

I walked out and closed the door softly behind me, leaving them in the office that had once been ours, in the life that had once been mine.