My Alpha Planned My Death to Give My Luna Title Away

The wood of the door splintered with a deafening crack as my boot connected with the lock.

It wasn't a conscious decision. I hadn't planned to kick it down. But the rage that surged through my veins was older and colder than the submissive mask I had worn for five years. The heavy oak door swung inward, bouncing off the interior wall with a violence that made the framed certificates shake.

Inside, the tableau of betrayal broke apart. Maddison scrambled off the desk, smoothing her crimson dress with frantic, guilty hands. Henry spun around, his face flushed, his eyes wide with a mixture of shock and fury. The scent of arousal and musk hung thick in the air, choking me.

I didn't scream. I didn't cry. I felt a terrifying, icy calm settle over my skin.

I walked into the room, my steps silent on the plush carpet. Henry opened his mouth to shout, but I cut him off by slamming the velvet box onto his mahogany desk.

*Thud.*

"It's finished," I said. My voice was steady, stripped of the tremor that usually defined my Omega persona. "Just in time for the trials you're planning to rig."

Maddison gasped, her hand flying to her mouth. She looked from me to the box, greed warring with embarrassment in her eyes.

Henry’s shock morphed instantly into aggression. He straightened his jacket, his chest puffing out as he tried to regain control of the room. He was an Alpha caught in the act, and his instinct was to attack.

"You dare?" he snarled, stepping around the desk to tower over me. "You dare kick down my door and spy on me?"

"I didn't need to spy, Henry," I replied, holding his gaze. "You were loud enough for the whole pack to hear your plans for your mistress."

"Watch your mouth!" Maddison shrieked, stepping forward. "I am the future Luna!"

I ignored her completely, keeping my eyes locked on the man I had sacrificed everything for. The man who had just promised my handiwork to another woman.

Henry’s face turned a mottled shade of red. The veins in his neck bulged. He didn't like this. He didn't like that I wasn't cowering. He didn't like that the 'wolfless' Omega was standing tall in his territory.

"Enough!"

The word didn't just leave his lips; it exploded from his chest, laced with the Alpha Tone. It was a sonic command, a psychic weight designed to crush the will of any wolf lower in the hierarchy.

*"SUBMIT!"*

The command hit me like a physical blow. The air in the room grew heavy, gravity seeming to double in an instant. My knees buckled slightly, a biological reflex to the Alpha authority. My human heart hammered against my ribs, screaming at me to drop to the floor, to bare my neck, to beg for forgiveness.

But deep inside, buried under layers of suppression, something ancient pushed back. My royal blood, though dormant, refused to bow to a weak Alpha like Henry Miller.

I gritted my teeth, forcing my legs to straighten. I locked my knees. I kept my chin up.

Henry blinked, confusion flickering through his rage. He expected me to be prostrate on the floor. When I remained standing, his insecurity flared into cruelty.

"You are nothing," he spat, stepping into my personal space. "A barren, wolfless leech. Do you think you have rights here? I fed you. I clothed you. I kept you in this house out of pity because no other pack would take a broken defect like you."

Every word was a lie. I had fed him. I had clothed his pack. I had fixed his broken walls.

"You are a stain on my reputation, Sloan," he hissed, leaning down so his spit hit my cheek. "And I am done pretending. Get out of my sight. Move your things to the servants' quarters where you belong. If I see you in the main wing again, I will have the enforcers drag you out."

The silence that followed was deafening. Maddison smirked behind him, crossing her arms in triumph.

The bond—the fragile, one-sided string of hope I had been holding onto for five years—snapped. It didn't hurt. It felt like relief.

I looked at him, really looked at him, and saw him for the first time without the filter of my own devotion. He wasn't a king. He was a small man in a big chair.

"I release you, Henry," I said softly.

He recoiled as if I’d slapped him. "What did you say?"

"I said, I release you."

I didn't wait for his dismissal. I turned on my heel and walked out of the office, leaving the shattered door hanging on its hinges.

I moved through the hallway like a phantom, ignoring the curious stares of the few pack members lingering near the stairs. I reached the master bedroom—*his* bedroom—and pulled my battered duffel bag from the closet.

I didn't pack clothes. I didn't pack the jewelry he had bought me with my own money.

I went straight to the bookshelf in the corner. My fingers found the spine of *The History of the Northern Packs*, a thick, leather-bound volume that Henry had never once opened. I pulled it down and opened the cover.

The pages had been hollowed out years ago.

Resting in the cavity was a brooch of silver and gold, shaped like a howling wolf entangled in briar roses. The Patterson Lycan Crest. It hummed against my fingertips, cool and heavy, a tether to a life I had abandoned.

I lifted it out, the metal warming instantly against my skin.

I pulled the collar of my oversized shirt aside and pinned the brooch to my undershirt, directly over my heart. The sharp pin pricked my skin, a grounding sting of pain.

I zipped the bag. I didn't look back at the bed we had shared, or the empty vanity. I had walked into this house as a wife. I was leaving it as a ghost.

But ghosts have a way of haunting the living.