My Alpha Rejected Me for the Pack’s Traitor

For two days, the feed from the hidden camera had been nothing but empty chairs and the occasional cleaning crew. I sat in my darkened office, the glow of the laptop screen painting my face in ghostly blue light, waiting. My father thought I was sulking. The pack thought I was cowed.

But I was hunting.

It happened on a Thursday afternoon. The door on my screen swung open, and Dawson strode in, Sasha giggling as she hung off his arm. I watched, my stomach twisting into a cold, hard knot, as he swept the budget reports—reports I had spent three sleepless nights perfecting—off the desk with a careless swipe of his hand. Papers fluttered to the floor like dying birds.

I won’t describe what happened next. I forced myself to watch, not out of masochism, but out of necessity. I needed to see the absolute lack of respect he had for our shared history, for the sanctity of the office where his father had taught us both about honor. When they were finished, Sasha hopped up onto the edge of the mahogany desk, wrapping a sheet around herself.

“I hate seeing her around here,” Sasha whined, her voice tinny through the audio bug. “She walks around like she owns the place. Yesterday, she glared at me in the cafeteria.”

Dawson was buttoning his shirt, his back to the camera. “Ignore her. She’s just bitter because she knows she’s losing.”

“But when will she be gone, Dawson?” Sasha pouted, sticking out her lower lip. “You promised.”

Dawson turned, leaning in to kiss her forehead. “The Mate Ceremony is in three days. That’s when I’ll do it. I’m going to reject her publicly.”

My breath hitched. I had suspected it, but hearing it aloud felt like a physical blow to the chest.

“In front of the Elders?” Sasha asked, her eyes widening with delight.

“In front of everyone,” Dawson confirmed, a cruel smirk playing on his lips. “I need the pack to see that the old ways are done. I need a real woman by my side, Sasha. A Luna who knows how to submit and make her Alpha feel strong. Not a glorified manager who nags me about budgets.”

He checked his watch. “I have a meeting with the Gamma. Stay here and rest, beautiful.”

He left. I sat frozen in my chair, the silence of my room deafening. *A glorified manager.* That’s all I was to him. My years of service, my loyalty, my love—it was all just administrative work to him.

On the screen, the moment the door clicked shut, Sasha’s demeanor changed instantly. The pout vanished. The submissive slump of her shoulders straightened. She reached into her discarded pile of clothes and pulled out a cheap burner phone.

I leaned closer to the screen, hitting the record button.

She dialed a number, tapping her fingernails impatiently against the wood of the desk.

“It’s me,” she said. Her voice was sharp, business-like.

There was a pause as the person on the other end spoke. Then Sasha laughed, a cold, ugly sound. “Relax, Ryan. I have the codes. Dawson gave me the master key yesterday because I told him I wanted to plan a surprise party for him.”

Ryan. Ryan Cross. The Alpha of the Blood River Pack, our sworn rivals to the south.

“I’m looking at the files now,” Sasha continued, dragging a finger across Dawson’s secure tablet. “The Silver Moon southern patrol routes are weak on Tuesdays and Thursdays. There’s a two-hour gap between shifts near the river crossing. You can get your scouts in and out before anyone notices.”

My blood ran cold. She wasn’t just a homewrecker. She was a traitor. She was selling us out.

“Yeah, yeah, I know the deal,” Sasha said, examining her nails. “I don’t want cash this time. I want that custom diamond set from the jeweler in the city. The one Dawson said was too expensive. You buy it, you drop it at the dead drop, and the patrol schedules are yours.”

She hung up and deleted the call log.

I stopped the recording. My hands were shaking, not from sorrow, but from adrenaline. I saved the file to three different encrypted cloud servers. Then I saved it to a flash drive, which I hung around my neck.

I didn’t cry. The tears had dried up the moment Dawson called me a manager. Now, there was only the cold precision of the Beta blood running through my veins.

I opened my banking app. In ten minutes, I had liquidated my personal savings and transferred my trust fund to an offshore account that the pack couldn’t touch.

Next, I pulled my leather suitcase from under the bed. I didn’t pack clothes. I packed my journals—the real history of how this pack had survived the last five years. I packed my mother’s photo. I packed the hidden stash of cash I kept for emergencies.

Then, I sat down at my desk and wrote a single letter.

*To the Alpha and the Council of Elders,*

*Effective immediately, I resign from my position as Pack Strategist and Financial Advisor.*

I didn’t sign it. I didn’t print it. I just saved it as a draft, ready to be sent at the perfect moment.

My laptop pinged. An urgent email from the head of the kitchen staff: *“Miss Wells, the supplier for the Solstice feast hasn’t been paid. They’re threatening to cancel the delivery. Please advise immediately.”*

Another ping. The Gamma: *“Caroline, the roster for the border guards is a mess. Dawson said to ask you.”*

I looked at the notifications piling up on my screen. Usually, I would be scrambling to fix this. I would be on the phone, soothing egos, moving money, ensuring Dawson looked competent.

I reached out and closed the laptop.

Let the supplier cancel. Let the roster fail. Let the pack see exactly what happens when the "manager" stops managing.

I walked to the window and looked out at the moon. The Mate Ceremony was in three days. Dawson wanted a show? I would give him one he would never forget.