On My Birthday, My Alpha Fed His Mistress

The conference room air conditioner was humming, but it did nothing to cool the magma rushing through my veins. I sat at the far end of the long mahogany table—a table I had paid for—clutching the armrests so tightly the wood groaned under my grip. Every joint in my body felt like it was being pried apart with a rusty crowbar. The Shift Fever was peaking.

Margaret Hayes, however, didn't seem to notice my agony. She was too busy enjoying the sound of her own voice.

"Look at her, John," Margaret sniffed, gesturing at me with a manicured hand laden with gold rings. "She's sweating like a sick dog. Is this the image of a Luna? Is this who we want representing the Silverfang name?"

Keaton sat beside his mother, looking smug. He had framed this meeting as an intervention, a way for our parents to "talk sense" into me after my outburst at the restaurant. My parents, Alpha Richard and Luna Eleanor, sat opposite them. They hadn't said a word since they arrived. They were statues carved from obsidian, their eyes unreadable.

"I expected better from a Bishop," Margaret continued, her voice shrill. "Keaton has been working himself to the bone for this pack. He needs a partner who lifts him up, not a hysterical girl who hires rogue mercenaries to guard her bedroom door!"

I opened my mouth to speak, to tell her exactly who had been lifting whom for the past four years, but the heavy oak doors burst open.

Scarlet Nguyen stumbled in. Her hair was perfectly messy, her eyes rimmed red with theatrical tears. She wasn't wearing her usual tight office attire; she was in a soft, oversized sweater, looking small and vulnerable.

"I... I didn't mean to interrupt," she sobbed, clutching a crumpled tissue. "But I couldn't keep it a secret anymore. Not with everything happening."

Keaton stood up, feigning concern. "Scarlet? What is it?"

She looked up at him through her lashes, then turned her teary gaze to Margaret. With a trembling hand, she pulled a small plastic stick from her pocket. Two pink lines.

"I'm pregnant," she whispered, though her voice carried clearly in the silent room. "I'm carrying the Alpha's heir."

The silence that followed was deafening. I felt a crack in my chest, not from heartbreak, but from the sheer absurdity of it.

Margaret gasped, her face transforming from scowl to delight in a heartbeat. She shoved her chair back and rushed to Scarlet, wrapping the Omega in a fierce hug. "An heir! Oh, finally! A true heir for the pack!"

She turned to me, her eyes gleaming with malice. "You see, Valentina? This is what a real mate does. She provides a legacy. You? You provide nothing but drama."

Keaton looked at me, a victorious smirk playing on his lips. He thought he had won. He thought this was the checkmate that would force me to submit to his little arrangement.

Then, the temperature in the room dropped ten degrees.

"Are you quite finished?"

The voice was low, calm, and terrifying. My father, Alpha Richard Bishop, stood up. He didn't look at Margaret. He didn't look at the sobbing Scarlet or the preening Keaton. His golden eyes were locked on me.

"Valentina," he said softly. "Are you done playing house?"

The question hung in the air, heavy with four years of disappointment and patience. I looked at him—really looked at him—and saw the power I had been running from. I saw the legacy I had tried to shrink myself to fit into Keaton's small, insecure world.

Tears hot as lava slid down my cheeks. I nodded. "Yes, Daddy. I'm done."

Richard turned to the Hayes family. The look on his face was one of absolute boredom.

"You speak of legacy, Margaret," my father said, reaching into his suit jacket. He pulled out a thick, leather-bound ledger and tossed it onto the table. It landed with a heavy thud that made everyone jump. "Let's discuss legacy."

He opened the book. "The expansion of the Pack House? Paid for by the Bishop trust. The new training facility? Funded by my personal accounts. The weapons, the vehicles, even the suit your son is wearing right now—all of it came from Valentina's inheritance."

Margaret's mouth opened and closed like a fish. Keaton went pale.

"You... you can't prove that," Keaton stammered.

"I have the receipts, boy," Richard said, his voice hardening. "You are not an Alpha. You are a charity case. And as of this moment, the charity is closed. I am withdrawing all funding. The Bishop family is severing ties with the Silverfang Pack immediately."

"You can't do that!" Margaret screeched. "We'll be ruined!"

"You were ruined the moment you bit the hand that fed you," my mother added, her voice like clipped ice.

The stress of the revelation, the vindication, and the sheer power radiating from my parents hit my fever-wracked body like a lightning bolt.

*SNAP.*

The sound of my collarbone breaking was loud enough to silence Margaret's screaming. I fell out of my chair, hitting the carpet as a scream tore from my throat. But it wasn't a scream of pain. It was a roar.

"Val?" Keaton took a step toward me, fear replacing his arrogance.

"Get back!" my father commanded, pulling my mother behind him.

My back arched off the floor. The fever burned away, replaced by a blinding, searing power. My bones reorganized, snapping and reforming with a violence that shook the floorboards.

A blinding golden light erupted from my body. It wasn't just a shift; it was an explosion. The force of my aura blasted outward, hitting the Hayes family like a physical blow. Scarlet was thrown against the wall, shrieking. Keaton was knocked off his feet, scrambling backward over the carpet.

I rose.

I wasn't the small, suppressed wolf they expected. I stood seven feet tall on my hind legs before dropping to all fours. My fur was pure, shimmering white, but my eyes... my eyes were burning pools of liquid gold.

The room smelled of ozone and terror. I bared teeth that were too long, too sharp, and too lethal for a normal wolf. The growl that rumbled from my chest vibrated the glass in the windows until it shattered.

Keaton looked up at me, trembling, realizing too late that he hadn't been caging a pet. He had been poking a sleeping monster. And now, the monster was awake.