My Mate Believed His Mistress Until I Disappeared

The summons came through the pack link just after dawn. Richard's voice, low and clipped: *My office. Thirty minutes.*

I pressed my thumb against the inside of my wrist and counted to five. Lyra stirred uneasily in my chest. She could still feel him through the bond — that pull of cedar and rain that used to make her howl with longing. Now it just made her restless.

I pulled on clean clothes and walked across the pack house grounds. The healing wing was quiet this early. Most of the staff wouldn't arrive for another hour. I passed the lab where I'd spent five years developing treatments that saved lives across three territories. The door had Chelsea's name on it now.

Richard's office was on the third floor. I took the stairs. My wolf needed the movement.

He was standing by the window when I entered, hands clasped behind his back. Alpha posture. I knew it well. He didn't turn around immediately.

"Close the door," he said.

I did. The click echoed.

He turned then, and for a moment — just a flash — I saw something complicated cross his face. Guilt, maybe. Or exhaustion. Then his expression smoothed into the mask he wore for pack business.

"This isn't personal, Skye."

I said nothing. I'd learned that silence made people reveal more than questions ever did.

He moved to his desk, leaning against the edge. "Chelsea has been working extremely hard in the healing wing. She's ready to take on more responsibility. The pack needs leadership that's... visible. Engaged."

My chest tightened. I kept my face blank.

"I'm reassigning the lead-researcher position to her, effective immediately." His voice dropped into that Alpha register — the tone that expected obedience without question. "You'll continue in a support capacity. Your work is valuable, but the pack needs a more public-facing representative for our research initiatives."

I pressed my thumb harder against my wrist. "I see."

"It's a strategic decision," he continued, as if I'd argued. "Chelsea has strong relationships with the allied packs. She can leverage those connections in ways that—"

"When do you need me to transition my files?" My voice came out level. Calm. It surprised me.

He blinked. "I... within the week. But Skye, I need you to understand—"

"Is there anything else, Alpha?"

Something flickered in his eyes. He straightened, and his jaw tightened. "Actually, yes. There is."

He walked around the desk and sat down. The power move was deliberate. I remained standing.

"Your sister's care is expensive. The resources we're dedicating to her long-term treatment... they're significant. The council has raised concerns about the allocation."

My heart stopped. Then started again, too fast.

"Concerns," I repeated.

He wouldn't meet my eyes. His gaze shifted slightly left — I'd seen that tell a hundred times and never understood what it meant until now. "If you're not willing to support the pack's leadership decisions, I'll need to reevaluate whether we can continue justifying that expense."

The words landed like a physical blow. Lyra snarled inside me, a sound of pure betrayal.

"You're threatening to cut Elianna's access to healing resources." I said it quietly. Factually. "Unless I surrender my position to Chelsea without complaint."

"I'm making a strategic decision about resource allocation," he corrected, still not looking at me. "And asking you to be a team player."

I stared at him. At the man the Moon Goddess had chosen for me. The man whose scent used to make me feel safe. The man who had never once marked me, never once chosen me, and was now using my sister's coma as leverage.

Five years of longing died in that moment. Not in rage. Not in tears. Just... gone. Like a candle blown out.

"Do you understand what you're asking me?" My voice was still level. Still calm. It seemed to unnerve him more than shouting would have.

"I'm asking you to put the pack first." He finally met my eyes. "The way I do. Every day."

I looked at him for a long moment. Really looked. And saw, with perfect clarity, that he would never choose me. Not over his guilt. Not over Chelsea. Not over his own comfort.

"I need twenty-four hours to transition my files properly," I said.

Relief flooded his face. He thought I was complying. He thought my composure was acceptance.

"Of course. Take the time you need. And Skye—" He stood, as if to come around the desk. "I know this is difficult. But you'll see. This is better for everyone."

I turned and walked out before he could say anything else. Before he could touch me. Before the cedar-and-rain scent could make Lyra whimper the way she was whimpering now, low and broken in my chest.

I made it back to my quarters before my hands started shaking.

Then I sat down at my desk, opened my laptop, and began to plan my exit.