Rejected Mate's New Life

The morning light filtered through the curtains as I lay beside Vincent, watching his chest rise and fall with each breath. Five years of sharing this bed, and now every memory felt tainted by what I'd discovered. The man I'd devoted my life to had been using me as a shield all along. My fingers traced the mate mark on my neck—the mark I once believed was sacred, now revealed as nothing more than a practiced deception.

Emma stirred within me, her anger a constant presence since our discovery in Vincent's study. *We need more proof,* she urged. *Something we can use when the time comes.*

I waited until Vincent left for his morning patrol before slipping out of bed. Our bedroom—a space I'd once considered a sanctuary—now felt like the center of his elaborate lie. My eyes scanned the room, searching for anything that might have escaped my notice during five years of blind devotion.

The antique wardrobe in the corner had always been Vincent's private space. He'd claimed it contained pack heirlooms too precious to display. I'd respected his privacy, never questioning why certain areas of our shared quarters remained off-limits to me.

"No more secrets," I whispered, approaching the wardrobe with determined steps.

The lock gave way easily under my touch—another sign of Vincent's arrogance. He'd never expected his Luna to question him, to search for truth behind his carefully constructed facade.

Inside, past the hanging clothes and folded linens, my fingers found a false panel at the back. Emma growled in satisfaction as it slid open, revealing a hidden compartment filled with photographs.

My hands trembled as I pulled them out. Each image was like a physical blow—Vincent and Sophia together in the sacred mating clearing, performing rituals that mirrored exactly what he'd done with me. The positions, the ceremonial words written in notes along the margins, even the angle of his head as he marked her neck—all identical to my own mating ceremony.

"Rehearsals," I read aloud, the word scrawled across one photo in Vincent's precise handwriting. "Position needs adjustment. More force on the marking bite to ensure proper scarring."

I sank to the floor, the photographs scattered around me like evidence of a crime. These weren't memories of stolen moments between lovers—they were clinical documentation of practice sessions, ensuring he could perform our "sacred" bond perfectly when the time came.

*He practiced on her to make it look real with you,* Emma snarled. *Everything was choreographed.*

I gathered the most damning photos and slipped them into the inner pocket of my robe. Evidence. Ammunition for when I would need it most.

---

Later that afternoon, I spotted Marcus walking alone down the east corridor, his attention focused on pack reports in his hands. Perfect timing. I'd been waiting for an opportunity to get him away from Vincent's side.

"Marcus," I called, infusing my voice with worry. "Do you have a moment? There's something concerning the security detail I need to discuss."

He looked up, momentarily surprised. "Of course, Luna. What seems to be the problem?"

I lowered my voice, stepping closer. "I've noticed the patrol schedule has gaps in the northern sector. With the recent rogue sightings..."

As I'd hoped, his Beta instincts immediately engaged. "Show me where you've noticed this," he said, following me toward the administrative wing.

I led him down the hallway, past the council room, gesturing animatedly about imaginary security concerns. As we approached the supply storeroom—my actual destination—I pretended to drop my bracelet.

"Oh! That was my mother's," I gasped, bending down. "Marcus, could you check if it rolled under that cabinet? I'll look over here."

While he dutifully searched where I'd pointed, I slipped the small key I'd taken from Vincent's desk into the storeroom lock. With Marcus's back turned, I quietly pushed the door open just enough to slip inside, closing it silently behind me.

The storeroom was dimly lit, shelves stacked with supplies for the pack house. But I wasn't interested in cleaning products or linens. My target was the locked cabinet at the back—the one I'd seen our pack healer access when preparing Vincent's "special tea."

The cabinet yielded to the same key, revealing rows of carefully labeled vials. My breath caught as I read the labels: "Bond Stabilizer – Luna Dose #137." Another was marked "Emotional Amplifier – For Luna's Tea Only."

I pocketed several vials, my hands steady despite the rage building inside me. These weren't healing herbs or supplements—they were control mechanisms, chemicals designed to maintain the illusion of a mate bond where none existed.

Emma's fury matched my own. *He's been drugging us,* she growled. *Making us feel a connection that was never real.*

As I relocked the cabinet, a terrible clarity washed over me. The constant tea Vincent insisted I drink for my "health." The special blend he claimed would "strengthen our bond." The way I'd always felt physically ill when separated from him for too long—withdrawal symptoms, not mate-bond anxiety.

I slipped out of the storeroom unnoticed, the vials heavy in my pocket. Marcus was still searching for my nonexistent bracelet, his loyalty to Vincent making him blind to my deception.

"Never mind, I found it," I called, holding up my wrist with the bracelet I'd never actually dropped. "Thank you for your help with the security concerns."

He straightened, nodding respectfully. "Anytime, Luna."

Little did he know, his Luna was no longer the compliant shield they'd created. With each piece of evidence I gathered, the path to my freedom became clearer. Vincent Kane had spent five years perfecting his deception.

Now it was my turn.