My Alpha Rejected Me for the Pack’s Traitor

The mud was still wet on my knees when the Alpha command finally released its hold on my spine. I gasped, the air rushing back into my lungs, but the humiliation burned hotter than the physical strain. I scrambled to my feet, wiping the dirt from my leggings, refusing to look at the warriors who were averting their gazes in second-hand shame.

My father, however, was not looking away. Beta Wells was staring directly at Dawson, his hands balled into fists so tight his knuckles were white.

"Alpha," my father said, his voice low and trembling with a rage I had never heard from him before. "That was… excessive. She is your Beta's daughter. She is your intended."

Dawson didn't even turn around fully. He just cast a bored glance over his shoulder, his arm still wrapped around Sasha’s waist. "She is a subordinate who disobeyed a direct order and harmed a pack member. I suggest you remember your place, Beta Wells."

"My place is to advise you when you are making a mistake," my father stepped forward, the mud squelching under his boots. "Humiliating the future Luna in front of the warriors weakens the pack's respect for the hierarchy. It weakens *you*."

Dawson stopped. He slowly turned around, releasing Sasha. The air grew heavy with ozone—the scent of an Alpha preparing to challenge. He walked right up to my father, invading his personal space.

"The future Luna?" Dawson laughed, a cruel, sharp sound. "I haven't marked anyone yet, have I? And as for my hierarchy… if you question my judgment one more time, old man, I will strip the Wells name from the records. You and your daughter will be scrubbing floors in the Omega quarters before sunset. Do not test me."

My father’s jaw worked, his eyes flashing with the instinct to fight, but he looked at me. He saw the mud on my clothes, the fear in my eyes, and he swallowed his pride. He bowed his head, stiffly. "Understood, Alpha."

"Good," Dawson sneered. "Dismissed."

As Dawson walked away with a limping, smirking Sasha, a cold realization settled in my chest, heavier than the mud. This wasn't just a bad relationship anymore. Dawson’s ego had become a parasite. He was willing to dismantle the loyalty of his strongest command staff just to protect his fragile pride. He was a danger to the Silver Moon Pack.

I didn't go to my room to cry. I went to the shower, scrubbed my skin until it was raw, and put on my sharpest blazer. Then, I went to work.

My office was a small room next to the Alpha’s suite, filled with the hum of servers. I needed to distract myself, so I pulled up the month’s security logs. The eastern perimeter wards were fluctuating again. I began typing, running a diagnostic on the firewall.

My fingers froze.

A line of red text blinked on the screen. *System Override: Level 1 Clearance.*

My heart hammered against my ribs. Level 1 was the Alpha clearance. Only Dawson and I had access to that tier—me, because I managed the accounts, and him, because he was the Alpha. But this login didn't come from my terminal, and it didn't come from Dawson’s desktop.

I traced the IP address. It was coming from a device connected to the Pack House Wi-Fi. Specifically, a tablet registered to the Guest Network.

*Device ID: Sasha_P_iPad.*

I stared at the screen, the blood draining from my face. It wasn't just a login. The user had been granted the 'Luna Authority Code.'

This code wasn't just a password. It was the master key. It granted unrestricted access to the pack treasury, the treaty archives, and most terrifyingly, the defense grid shutdown protocols. Dawson had given the nuclear codes to a manipulative Omega who had been in the pack for less than three years, just to make her feel special.

She wasn't just wearing my necklace. She was holding the keys to our kingdom.

My first instinct was to print the logs and storm into his office. I wanted to scream at him, to shake him until he understood the insanity of what he had done. I stood up, grabbing the paper—and then I stopped.

*"Kneel."*

The memory of his voice slammed into me. If I went in there now, he wouldn't listen. He would see it as another attack on his "beloved" Sasha. He would use his Alpha tone to silence me, maybe even exile me for spying.

I slowly sat back down. The sadness that had been drowning me for weeks began to evaporate, replaced by a cold, sharp clarity. Diplomatic Caroline was dead. She died in the mud this morning.

I needed irrefutable proof. I needed to show the Council not just that he was cheating, but that he was incompetent.

I opened the bottom drawer of my desk. Inside was a small black box containing surveillance equipment I had ordered for border monitoring. Micro-cameras and audio bugs, the size of buttons.

I checked the time. Dawson was at lunch with Sasha; he always took an hour.

I slipped into the hallway. The Alpha’s office was unlocked—of course it was. He never took security seriously because he assumed his title was protection enough.

I moved quickly, my heart rate steady. I knew this room better than he did. I knew where the shadows fell in the afternoon and which floorboards creaked.

I slid under his massive mahogany desk. With shaking hands, I adhered a tiny audio bug to the underside of the wood, right where he sat. Then, I moved to the bookshelf behind his chair. I wedged a micro-camera between a dusty copy of *Pack Law History* and a decorative vase. It had a perfect view of the entire room, including the safe and the desk.

"Let's see what you do when you think no one is watching," I whispered.

I was back in my office within three minutes. I pulled up the surveillance feed on a secure, hidden monitor. The image was crisp and clear. The audio feed crackled to life, picking up the ticking of the clock on his wall.

I sat back, watching the empty room on my screen. I wasn't the dutiful, nagging girlfriend anymore. I was the spy in his house. And I was going to burn his world down with the truth.