My Alpha Publicly Rejected Me for His Mistress

The Healer Trials were held in a converted warehouse on the north side of town. High ceilings, exposed brick, rows of folding chairs facing a raised platform where the judges sat. It smelled like disinfectant and nerves.

I arrived early. I had my research case with me, locked tight, my presentation notes organized in a leather folder. I wore a simple gray blouse and black pants. Professional. Unremarkable. I wanted the work to speak, not the woman presenting it.

The registration table was near the entrance. I signed in, received my presenter number — 14 — and was directed to the waiting area. There were maybe thirty healers competing today. Some I recognized from regional conferences. Most I didn't.

I found a seat near the back and set my case on my lap. My hands were steady. I had practiced this presentation a hundred times. I knew every word, every transition, every answer to every possible question. This was mine. Two years of work. Two years of testing and refining and documenting every single step.

The trials began at nine. The first presenter was a middle-aged man from a northern pack. He talked about wound-closure techniques. Competent. Unremarkable. The judges took notes.

The second presenter was a young woman with a compound for reducing fever in pups. She was nervous, stumbling over her words. The judges were kind.

The third presenter was Elina.

She walked onto the stage like she had been born there. Her dress was pale blue, elegant without being showy. Her hair was pulled back in a sleek bun. She smiled at the judges, warm and confident, and introduced herself.

"Elina Gray," she said. "Certified healer, formerly with the Crescent Moon Pack in Europe."

I sat up straighter. My chest tightened.

She began her presentation. A regenerative compound for nerve damage. She described the methodology in careful detail — the extraction process, the binding agents, the proportions. She held up a small vial of pale amber liquid and explained how it worked at the cellular level.

I stopped breathing.

It was mine. Every word. Every proportion. Every step of the process I had spent two years developing. She was presenting my formula.

I looked down at my research case. Still locked. Still sitting on my lap. But the formulas inside — I had written them down, yes, but I had also explained them. That night she came to Maren's cottage. I had talked about my work. I had mentioned the regenerative compound in passing. I hadn't shown her the notes. But I had said enough.

No. More than that. She had been in the room with the case. She had moved it. I was sure of it now.

My hands started to shake. I pressed them flat against the leather.

Elina finished her presentation. The judges leaned forward, asking questions. She answered each one smoothly, confidently, like she had lived with this research for years. She produced a letter — crisp, official-looking — from a European pack healer vouching for her work. She smiled. She thanked them for their time.

The applause was polite but warm. One of the judges nodded approvingly.

I stood up. My legs felt unsteady. I walked toward the tribunal desk at the side of the stage, my research case clutched against my chest.

One of the judges — an older man with silver hair — looked up at me. "Yes?"

"That formula," I said. My voice was calm. Too calm. "The regenerative compound she just presented. It's mine."

The room went quiet. Every head turned toward me.

Elina, still standing on the stage, tilted her head slightly. Her expression shifted into something soft. Sad. "Lyra," she said gently. "I know this has been a difficult time for you. But—"

"It's mine," I repeated. I set the research case on the tribunal desk and unlocked it. I pulled out my notes, my dated documentation, my testing logs. "I developed this compound over two years. Every step is documented here. The dates. The methodology. The results."

The silver-haired judge took the papers. He flipped through them slowly, his expression unreadable.

Elina stepped down from the stage. She walked toward the desk, her movements graceful and unhurried. "I understand why this might be confusing," she said. Her voice was kind. Patient. "Lyra and I both worked in similar fields. It's possible we arrived at similar conclusions independently."

"It's not similar," I said. "It's identical."

Elina reached into her bag and pulled out a folded letter. She handed it to the judge. "This is from Dr. Halsten, a senior healer with the Crescent Moon Pack in Europe. He supervised my research. He can confirm that I developed this compound independently, over the course of eighteen months."

The judge unfolded the letter. He read it. He looked at my notes. He looked at Elina's presentation materials.

"This is a serious accusation," he said finally.

"It's the truth," I said.

Elina's expression didn't change. She just looked at me with those sad, understanding eyes. "I'm so sorry you're going through this," she said softly. "Truly. But I can't let false accusations damage my reputation."

The judge set down the papers. "We'll table this for formal review," he said. "Both parties will be notified of the tribunal's decision within two weeks."

"Two weeks?" I said. My voice cracked. "She stole my work. It's all documented—"

"Two weeks," the judge repeated. His tone was final.

I stood there, my evidence spread across the desk, while the room watched. I heard whispers. I saw people leaning toward each other, murmuring. I saw Elina step back, her face composed, her posture perfect.

I gathered my notes. I locked the case. I walked out of the hall with my head up and my hands shaking so badly I could barely grip the handle.

The parking lot was behind the building, past a stretch of unlit trees. It was late afternoon now, the sky turning gray. I walked quickly, my breath coming in short bursts. I needed to get to my car. I needed to leave.

I heard footsteps behind me.

I turned. Three men stepped out from the tree line. Rogues. I could tell by the way they moved — no pack scent, no structure, just raw, deliberate menace.

I took a step back. "I don't want trouble."

The one in front smiled. "Too bad."

They moved fast. The first blow hit my shoulder, spinning me sideways. The second caught my ribs. I tried to scream, but the air was gone. I dropped the research case. One of them kicked it into the trees.

I curled inward, trying to protect my stomach. Trying to protect the baby.

They didn't stop. Fists. Boots. A knee to my abdomen that sent white-hot pain through my entire body. I tasted blood. I felt something inside me tear.

I reached for the bond. For Ethan. Even now. Even after everything.

I felt him. Distant. Faint. He was there. He felt my terror.

And then he severed the connection.

The pain of it was worse than the blows. The bond — already shredded — snapped completely. The emptiness that followed was absolute.

I hit the ground. The rogues stepped back. One of them picked up my research case and disappeared into the trees.

I lay there in the dirt, staring up at the gray sky, and felt something warm and wet spreading between my legs.

No.

I pressed my hand to my stomach. The baby. My baby.

I tried to call for Seren. I reached for her with everything I had left.

Silence.

I was alone.