My Alpha Replaced Me with His Pregnant Mistress

Dr. Sarah Chen's office looked different this time. Maybe it was the late afternoon light slanting through the blinds, turning everything amber and soft. Maybe it was the way Sarah wouldn't meet my eyes when I walked in.

Or maybe it was because I'd come here to schedule my death.

"Are you sure?" Sarah asked. Her hands were folded on the desk between us, knuckles white. "Violet, there are still experimental treatments we could try—"

"How long would they buy me?" My voice came out steadier than I expected. "Weeks? A month?"

She didn't answer. That was answer enough.

I looked down at the form in front of me. Wolfsbane-Assisted Euthanasia Request. The words blurred and sharpened. Luna stirred weakly in my chest, a flutter like a dying bird.

"Next week," I said. "The anniversary of my mother's death. I want it then."

Sarah's breath hitched. "Violet—"

"Please." I picked up the pen. My hand shook so badly the first signature was illegible. I had to do it twice. "I can't do this anymore. The pain, the images she keeps sending—" My throat closed. "I just want it to stop."

Sarah reached across the desk and covered my hand with hers. She didn't try to talk me out of it again. Maybe she understood. Maybe she'd seen enough terminal cases to know when someone had reached the end of what they could carry.

I signed the last page and stood up. My legs nearly gave out, but I caught myself on the edge of the desk.

"One week," Sarah said quietly. "If you change your mind—"

"I won't."

I left before she could see me cry.

---

I woke up to agony.

Not the dull, grinding ache I'd grown used to. This was different—sharp and immediate, like someone had replaced my blood with battery acid. I tried to scream but my throat locked. My back arched off the mattress.

Something was wrong. Something was *wrong*.

Through the haze of pain, I caught movement near the door. A figure in scrubs, a surgical mask covering most of her face. But I knew those eyes. I'd known them since we were children.

"Ana?" The word came out broken.

She pulled the mask down, and her smile was the cruelest thing I'd ever seen.

"You were going to die anyway," she said, holding up an empty syringe. "I just made sure it would hurt more."

She was gone before I could move, before I could think. The door clicked shut and I was alone with the fire spreading through my veins.

I looked down at my arms. Black lines were crawling beneath my skin, branching out from the injection site like roots. The necrosis—it was accelerating. Days of deterioration happening in minutes.

I tried to reach for my phone. My hand wouldn't cooperate. Luna was screaming inside me, a sound I felt rather than heard, and then she went silent.

Completely silent.

I don't remember calling for help. I don't remember much of anything after that except the black veins and the certainty that Anastasia had just stolen even my controlled exit. She'd turned my death into something worse.

---

Three days later, Nash's Beta delivered the order personally.

I was in bed, because standing required crutches now and even that was agony. Marcus Reid stood in my doorway looking uncomfortable, holding a formal pack summons like it might bite him.

"The Alpha requests your presence at the hospital ribbon-cutting ceremony," he said. "Tomorrow at noon."

"Tell him no."

Marcus shifted his weight. "It's not a request, Violet. He said—" He stopped. Started again. "He said it's about pack unity. Appearances. With the neighboring Alphas attending and the press—"

"I can barely walk."

"I know." His voice dropped. "I'm sorry."

He left the summons on my dresser and saw himself out.

I stared at the ceiling and tried to find Luna. There was nothing. Just a vast, empty space where my wolf used to be. The black veins had faded to a sickly gray-green, but the damage was done. Whatever Anastasia had injected me with had accelerated the final stages. My body was shutting down.

But Nash wanted appearances.

I laughed, and it hurt my ribs. Of course he did. The pack needed to see their Luna, even if she was a hollow shell. Even if she could barely stand.

I would go. Not for him. Not for appearances.

I would go because I wanted to look Anastasia in the eye one last time before I died.

---

The ceremony was already underway when I arrived.

I'd borrowed a cane from the clinic—the crutches were too obvious, too pitiful. The cane let me pretend I had some dignity left. My dress hung loose on my frame. I'd lost weight I couldn't afford to lose.

The hospital's new wing gleamed in the autumn sun, all glass and steel and promise. Cameras flashed. Neighboring Alphas stood in clusters, their power rolling off them in waves that made my skin prickle. Nash stood at the center of it all, Anastasia at his side, her hand resting on her belly.

I made it halfway across the courtyard before she moved.

It happened fast. She stepped back as if startled, her foot hooking behind mine. I felt myself falling and couldn't stop it—my legs were too weak, my balance too far gone.

I hit the ground hard. The cane clattered away. Pain exploded through my hip and shoulder.

And Anastasia screamed.

"She pushed me!" Her voice was shrill, panicked, perfectly pitched for the cameras. "She tried to hurt my baby!"

I looked up from the pavement. Every eye was on me. The press. The Alphas. The pack.

And Nash, staring down at me with something that might have been disgust.

Nobody helped me up.