My Alpha Left Me in the Fire for His Mistress

Morning light filtered through the curtains, but I couldn't feel its warmth. I lay on the cold floor of Nathaniel's office, where he'd left me after our confrontation. My body ached from the Alpha Command, but the pain in my chest—where our bond should have bloomed into love—cut deeper.

The door burst open. Martha, the Head Omega, stood there with two guards.

"Get up," she snapped. "The Alpha has summoned the pack."

I struggled to my feet, dignity the only thing I had left. "What's happening?"

"Your new position is being announced," she said with a cruel smile. "Move."

The great hall was packed with pack members. Their eyes followed me as Martha prodded me forward. Nathaniel stood on the raised platform, Presley beside him, her hand possessively on his arm.

"Pack members," Nathaniel's voice boomed. "Last night, the Moon Goddess revealed our Fated Mate."

Murmurs rippled through the crowd. I kept my eyes downcast.

"However," he continued, "there are debts to be settled before any ceremony can take place."

My heart sank as he pulled out a ledger.

"Diana Spencer's father died owing substantial debts to this pack. Until those debts are paid in full, she will serve as a slave Omega."

Gasps echoed around me. Slave Omega—the lowest possible rank, below even regular Omegas.

"Nathaniel," I whispered, forgetting protocol. "You can't—"

"Can't what?" His eyes flashed dangerously. "The bond doesn't change her status. It merely ensures your compliance."

Shay stepped forward from the crowd, her face a mask of disappointment. "I'm ashamed to call you daughter," she announced loudly. "Presley has always been the true jewel of our family."

Presley smiled, leaning into Nathaniel's side. "Thank you, Mother. I'll make you proud as our Alpha's chosen mate."

Two guards gripped my arms, dragging me toward the servants' quarters. The damp, freezing room smelled of mildew and despair. They shoved me inside.

"Home sweet home," one sneered, slamming the door.

---

Three days later, I was scrubbing floors in the main corridor when Dr. Webb appeared.

"Diana," he said with false concern. "You look pale. Let me check your vitals."

Before I could protest, he led me to the clinic. The examination room was cold, sterile.

"Your blood pressure is concerning," he muttered, though he hadn't taken it. "We need to run tests."

He prepared a syringe. Something about his movements seemed deliberate, practiced.

"What are you doing?" I asked, stepping back.

"Stay still," he ordered, grabbing my arm.

A sudden push—his hand against my back—sent me tumbling down the stone stairs outside the clinic. Pain exploded through my body as I landed at the bottom, my leg twisted at an unnatural angle.

"Oh dear," Dr. Webb said, appearing at the top of the stairs. "What a terrible accident."

Through the haze of pain, I saw Presley waiting in the doorway.

"Quickly," she urged. "She's bleeding."

Dr. Webb lifted me onto a gurney, his hands rough as he cut away my clothes. The needle plunged into my arm before I could process what was happening.

"This will help with the pain," he lied.

But it didn't help. It hurt more as he filled vial after vial with my blood. My vision blurred, darkness creeping in at the edges.

"Wake her up when it's done," Presley instructed. "I need to be at my best for tonight's dinner."

The blood flowed out of me like liquid gold. Dr. Webb worked methodically, siphoning my life force into tubes that Presley eagerly accepted.

---

A week later, I was assigned to clean the clinic. My body still ached from the "accident," but Martha wouldn't let me rest.

"The Alpha expects perfection," she'd hissed. "Or have you forgotten your place?"

I scrubbed the floors, careful to avoid the examination room where they'd bled me dry. Voices drifted from behind the partially open door.

"Another accident soon," Dr. Webb was saying. "Her body needs time to replenish the blood."

"Presley's looking healthier already," Nathaniel replied. "But she needs more. Regular transfusions."

My hands froze mid-scrub. They were planning more "accidents."

"And the girl?" Dr. Webb asked. "She's getting suspicious."

"She won't be a problem," Nathaniel said coldly. "The bond keeps her compliant."

I backed away silently, my heart pounding. That night, I slipped into the pack library while everyone slept. Ancient texts lined the shelves—including ones on mate bonds.

The Rite of Rejection. A way out.

My fingers trembled as I copied the words onto a scrap of paper. Separation papers. If I could just get Nathaniel to sign them...

But first, I needed proof. Needed to understand exactly what they were doing to me.

I tucked the paper into my pocket, determination replacing despair. They thought me weak, compliant.

They were wrong.