My Mate Stole From the Pack to Spoil His Mistress

I sat in the front row of Emberlynn's school auditorium, my hands folded in my lap, my smile fixed in place. Around me, other parents leaned together, whispering and laughing. I sat alone.

Emberlynn walked onto the stage in her favorite blue dress, clutching the book she'd practiced reading for three weeks. Her eyes scanned the crowd. I waved. She found me and smiled, but I saw the flicker of disappointment when she looked at the empty seat beside me.

Denver had called two hours before the showcase. "Emergency alliance meeting with Silverfang," he'd said, his Alpha tone clipped and busy. "You understand, Florence. Pack business."

I understood. I always understood.

Emberlynn's voice rang clear as she read her passage. I clapped louder than anyone else, filling the space where two parents should have been. When she took her bow, I stood. My wolf stirred softly in my chest, a low hum of pride mixed with something sharper I couldn't name yet.

After the showcase, I drove Emberlynn home. She talked the entire way, recounting every moment as though her father had been there to see it. I listened and responded in all the right places. By the time I tucked her into bed, she was smiling.

"Dad will be so proud when I tell him tomorrow," she said sleepily.

"He will," I said, smoothing her hair. My voice didn't crack. I'd had ten years of practice.

I waited until her breathing evened out before I closed her door.

The pack house was quiet. Denver's office light was still on downstairs. I walked past it toward the kitchen, then stopped. Something pulled at me. Not suspicion exactly. Just wrongness.

I turned back.

His office door was half-open. His desk lamp cast a pool of yellow light across the scattered papers and the phone charging on the corner. Not his main phone. The secondary one he said he used for pack business.

My wolf pressed forward suddenly, her instincts sharper than mine. *Smell,* she whispered. *Wrong smell.*

I stepped inside. The room carried Denver's cedarwood scent, but underneath it was something floral and sweet. Perfume. Not mine.

I picked up the phone. No password. My hands were steady as I opened the gallery.

The first photo was Sutton Reynolds in red lingerie, her lips parted, her eyes half-closed. The second was her at a restaurant, laughing over wine. The third was timestamped two hours ago: Sutton at a Halloween festival, Denver's hand visible at the edge of the frame, holding hers.

I scrolled. And scrolled. And scrolled.

2,400 photographs.

My mate bond mark flared hot against my neck, a sudden acid burn that made my breath hitch. My wolf howled inside my chest. *Mate? Why does it hurt? Why does he smell like her?*

I pressed two fingers to the mark, grounding myself. My vision narrowed. My hands stopped shaking.

I opened the screenshots folder on my own phone and began copying. Every photo. Every timestamp. Every location tag. I worked methodically, my breathing even, my mind cold and clear.

When I finished, I placed Denver's phone back on the charger exactly as I'd found it. I turned off the desk lamp. I walked upstairs.

I climbed into bed, pulled the covers to my chin, and closed my eyes.

An hour later, I heard the front door open. Denver's footsteps moved through the house. The shower ran. When he finally slid into bed beside me, his cedarwood scent was buried under soap and forest air. An obvious cover. An amateur mistake.

He thought I was asleep.

My wolf whimpered softly, confused and grieving. I silenced her and kept my breathing steady.

By morning, I had found Sutton's social media account.

Her handle was aesthetic and carefully curated: muted tones, luxury details, cryptic captions. "The wolf who chooses you is worth more than the one fate assigns," read one post beneath a photo of a diamond bracelet. Another showed a candid shot at a high-end restaurant: "When he knows exactly what you deserve."

The comments were full of heart-eye emojis and questions. *Who is he?* *Tell us more!* *You're glowing, babe.*

Sutton never answered directly. She just posted more photos. More gifts. More hints.

I screenshotted everything.

Then I drove to Annalise's herbal shop in the human town.

The bell above the door chimed softly as I stepped inside. The shop smelled like lavender and sage. Annalise looked up from behind the counter, her healer's instincts reading my face before I said a word.

She didn't ask if I was okay. She came around the counter and locked the door.

"What do you need me to find?" she asked quietly.

I set my folder on the table between us. She opened it. Her expression didn't change as she flipped through the screenshots, but her jaw tightened.

When she finished, she reached under the counter and pulled out a folder of her own. She laid it beside mine.

"I flagged these eight months ago," she said. "Supply orders that don't match inventory. Payroll entries for positions that don't exist. Pack expenditures with no verification."

I opened her folder. Line after line of financial discrepancies. Dates that aligned with Denver's unexplained absences. Amounts that matched the luxury gifts in Sutton's photos.

We looked at each other across the table.

"He's been stealing from the pack treasury," I said.

Annalise nodded. "To fund her."

My wolf snarled. My human mind went colder.

"Then we find everything," I said. "Every transaction. Every lie. Every piece of evidence that will destroy him."

Annalise's smile was sharp and fierce. "I'll start tonight."

I drove home with both folders locked in my trunk. My mate bond mark still burned. My wolf still whimpered.

But my hands were steady on the wheel, and my mind was already three moves ahead.