On My Birthday, My Alpha Fed His Mistress

The soup incident had bought me silence, but it hadn’t bought me safety.

Back in the guest room, the Shift Fever was no longer just a fire in my blood; it was a physical weight, crushing my lungs and making my bones ache with a deep, grinding throb. My wolf was scratching at the back of my mind, desperate to break free, but I couldn't let her out. Not yet. Not while I was surrounded by enemies in the very house I had paid for.

I needed a guard. A real one. Not the pack warriors who bowed to Keaton’s borrowed authority, and certainly not Keaton himself, who was likely plotting his next move with Scarlet over dry-cleaned cashmere.

I pulled a burner phone from the hidden compartment in my jewelry box. I had kept it for emergencies, a habit from my father’s paranoia. I dialed the number of a man the pack whispered about in terrified tones.

Twenty minutes later, a shadow detached itself from the hallway darkness.

Hugo Martinez didn't look like a wolf; he looked like a weapon carved from granite. He was a rogue mercenary, scarred and brutal, wearing worn leather and a scent that smelled of rain and old blood. He leaned against my doorframe, his dark eyes assessing my trembling form with zero pity.

"You look like hell, Princess," he rumbled.

I didn't have the energy for banter. I reached into my pocket and pulled out a velvet pouch. Inside were my diamond stud earrings—two carats each, flawless clarity. I tossed them to him.

"Guard the door," I rasped, leaning heavily against the dresser. "No one comes in. especially not the Alpha."

Hugo caught the pouch effortlessly. He peeked inside, a smirk tugging at his scarred lip. "Steep price for a babysitter. But for you? I’ll make an exception."

He stepped into the hallway, crossing his massive arms over his chest. He was a wall of muscle and menace, a stark contrast to the polished, soft-handed boys Keaton surrounded himself with.

It didn't take long for the peace to break.

"What is this filth doing in my Pack House?"

Keaton’s voice boomed down the corridor. I dragged myself to the doorway, needing to see this. Keaton was storming toward us, his face still flushed from the restaurant humiliation. Two Delta warriors trailed behind him, looking unsure.

Hugo didn't even uncross his arms. He just looked down at Keaton like he was a particularly noisy chihuahua.

"Move, rogue," Keaton spat, puffing out his chest to maximize his height. "You are trespassing on Silverfang territory."

"I was invited," Hugo drawled, his voice a low gravel that vibrated in the floorboards. "By the lady. She’s paying better than you do."

Keaton’s eyes snapped to me, narrowing with fury. "You hired a rogue? A murderer? Have you lost your mind, Valentina? Get him out of here before I have the warriors skin him!"

"He stays," I said, my voice weak but steady. "Since my fiancé is too busy feeding his mistress, I had to outsource my protection."

Keaton snarled, his control snapping. "I am the Alpha! I decide who stays!"

He threw a punch. It was fast, powered by his anger, aimed squarely at Hugo’s jaw.

It never connected.

Hugo moved with a speed that blurred the air. One hand shot out, catching Keaton’s fist mid-swing. The sound of flesh hitting flesh was a dull thud. Hugo didn't flinch. He didn't even shift his weight.

Keaton gasped, his eyes widening as he tried to yank his hand back. Hugo held him fast, twisting his wrist just enough to force Keaton onto his toes.

"Sloppy," Hugo tsked, shaking his head. "Too much weight on your front foot. Your center of gravity is all wrong."

Hugo shoved him back. Keaton stumbled, flailing to keep his balance before crashing into the opposite wall. The Delta warriors took a step forward, but Hugo flashed a feral grin, his canines lengthening. They froze.

"That's a Beta stance, 'Alpha'," Hugo mocked, dusting off his hands. "You fight like a secretary."

The silence that followed was absolute. The insult hung in the air, heavy and suffocating. To call an Alpha a Beta was the ultimate disrespect, but to have it proven so effortlessly... it was a castration.

Keaton’s face turned a violent shade of purple. He straightened his suit jacket, his hands shaking with impotent rage. He knew he couldn't win this fight. Not physically.

"You will regret this," Keaton hissed, pointing a trembling finger at me. "You think you can embarrass me? You think you can bring stray dogs into our home? I’ve called a meeting."

He smirked, regaining some of his slimy confidence. "My parents are on their way. And so are yours. Let’s see how high and mighty you act when Richard and Eleanor Bishop see what a mess their daughter has become."

He spun on his heel and marched away, barking at his warriors to follow.

Hugo looked back at me, raising an eyebrow. "Parents? That’s his big play?"

"He thinks he can shame me into submission," I whispered, a cold smile touching my lips. "He has no idea."

An hour later, the sound of engines drew me to the window. The fever was peaking, sweat drenching my back, but I refused to lay down.

Below, in the circular driveway, a silver Mercedes sedan pulled up. Keaton’s parents, Margaret and John Hayes, stepped out. Margaret was wearing a fur coat that was far too warm for the season, dripping in gold jewelry that looked gaudy in the afternoon sun. She looked around the grounds with a critical, hungry eye, as if calculating the property value.

Then, the atmosphere shifted.

The air grew heavy, static charging the space between the trees. The gravel crunched under the weight of heavy tires as a motorcade of three black, armored SUVs rolled through the gates. They moved in perfect formation, silent and predatory. There was no chrome, no flash. Just military-grade precision.

The lead vehicle stopped. The driver, a Lycan warrior twice the size of Keaton, stepped out and opened the rear door.

My father, Alpha Richard Bishop, emerged. He wore a simple black suit, but the power radiating off him was palpable even from the second floor. He didn't look at the house. He didn't look at the Hayes family, who were now staring with open mouths.

He looked up, straight at my window.

Even through the glass, I saw his eyes flash gold. Beside him, my mother, Luna Eleanor, stepped out, her expression carved from ice.

Keaton thought he had called my parents to scold a rebellious child. He didn't realize he had just summoned the executioners.