Rejected Luna's Justice

Five years. Five years of smiles that never quite reached his eyes. Five years of a mate bond that felt like a door left ajar rather than flung open. Five years of telling myself it was enough.

I smoothed down the silk of my gown, preparing for the annual Alpha Summit being hosted at our pack house. The grand hall buzzed with the voices of visiting Alphas and their Lunas, a sea of power and politics that I'd learned to navigate with practiced grace.

"You look beautiful tonight," Marcus said, his hand briefly touching the small of my back as he appeared beside me. His touch was warm through the fabric, but it never lingered—it never did.

I offered him the smile I'd perfected over the years. "Thank you, Alpha."

He nodded, satisfied with our brief performance of marital harmony, before moving to greet Alpha Rodriguez from the southern territories. I watched him go, tall and commanding, every inch the powerful leader. My mate. My protector. My...

A sharp pain lanced through my temples, interrupting my thoughts. I pressed my fingers against my forehead, momentarily disoriented as unfamiliar voices echoed in my mind.

*—can't keep doing this, Marcus. The transfers are getting too large to hide—*

*She doesn't check the accounts, Elias. She never has.*

I froze, recognizing the voices instantly. Marcus and his Beta, Elias, their thoughts flowing through a mind-link that had somehow, impossibly, included me.

*It's been five years. Don't you think it's time to tell her the truth? That you only claimed her as your mate to sign the settlement agreement?*

*And say what exactly? 'Sorry, Luna, I never wanted you—I just needed your signature to free Rachel from justice'?*

The crystal champagne flute slipped from my fingers, shattering against the marble floor. Conversations halted as heads turned toward me, but all I could hear was the roaring in my ears, the howl of agony from Cinnamon as she thrashed against my consciousness.

"Luna Claire?" Someone touched my arm. "Are you alright?"

I looked up to find Marcus watching me from across the room, his expression shifting from annoyance to concern. Could he tell? Could he sense that I'd heard everything?

"I'm fine," I managed, my voice steady despite the earthquake happening inside me. "Just clumsy tonight."

A servant rushed forward to clean up the mess as conversations resumed. I excused myself with a practiced smile, walking—not running, never running—toward the exit.

Five years of lies. Five years of a sham mating. Five years of sleeping beside the man who had betrayed me as thoroughly as Leo and Rachel ever had.

Rachel. The name burned like acid. *He protected her. All this time.*

I made it to the archives, my sanctuary, before the first tear fell. The cool, dark room welcomed me as I collapsed into my chair, hands shaking as I pulled open the drawer where I kept the financial ledgers.

How had I never questioned it? How had I been so blind?

I flipped through pages of accounts, seeing them with new eyes. There—large transfers to an offshore account, recurring every quarter for five years. The amounts were staggering, enough to build a new life. A new pack.

I traced the account number, cross-referencing it with other documents until I found what I was looking for: a shell company registered to R.T. Enterprises.

Rachel Torres.

With trembling fingers, I unlocked the cabinet where Marcus kept his private correspondence. Inside, I found what my heart already knew would be there: detailed blueprints for a lavish pack house in a territory far from ours. Notes in Marcus's handwriting about construction timelines. And photographs—Rachel, smiling beside her growing estate, building her own pack with my mate's money.

My mate, who had never been mine at all.

Cinnamon howled again, the sound of a wolf betrayed, as I stared at the evidence of five years of deception spread before me. The perfect life I thought I'd rebuilt from the ashes of my first betrayal had never existed.

And in that moment, something inside me—something that had been bending for years—finally broke.

But in its place, something else began to form. Something harder. Colder. Stronger.

I carefully replaced the documents, wiped away my tears, and straightened my spine. The pack celebration would continue for hours. Marcus wouldn't miss me—he never truly had.

And I had plans to make.