The Alpha Who Chose His Mistress

I arranged my daughter’s burial myself.

From the moment the pack infirmary released her small, lifeless body into my care until the final rites at the sacred pyre were completed, I handled every step alone. I signed every document. I chose the white dress she would wear. I stood before the Elders while the flames rose and swallowed what remained of my child.

The attendants spoke to me in softened tones, their gazes heavy with sympathy. Some of them had seen Elodie when she was still breathing—when her tiny fingers were wrapped tightly around the vial of medicine meant for another she-wolf. They did not dare say much, but the silence in their eyes carried more warmth than my mate had shown in years.

For two entire days, Alpha Matteo Strongclaw did not call.

Not once.

A decade of marriage unraveled in those forty-eight hours of absence.

I did not eat. I barely drank. Grief carved through me until even drawing breath felt unnecessary. The bond between us had long grown cold, but now I felt it clearly—an empty thread humming with nothing.

I drafted the separation papers myself. As Luna of the Strongclaw Pack, I knew the formal process. I printed the agreement and placed it carefully on the low table beneath the carved crest of the Strongclaw wolf. Then I waited for him to return from wherever he had chosen to spend his nights.

When he finally entered the mansion, he did not ask about his daughter.

Instead, he removed his gloves and said flatly, “Where is the medicine I told you to have Elodie deliver? Did she take it with her into the grave? Because of her delay, Valeria ended up in the healer’s ward for two days.”

For a brief, surreal second, laughter almost escaped me.

Take it to the grave?

Yes. That was precisely where it had gone.

He shrugged off his tailored coat with visible annoyance and tossed it onto the sofa. The faint but unmistakable scent of a she-wolf’s perfume drifted across the room—sweet, unfamiliar, clinging to the fabric like proof of betrayal.

My chest tightened painfully. Without speaking, I crossed to the drawer, retrieved my allergy tablets, and swallowed one without water. The fragrance was already scratching at my throat.

He noticed and gave a derisive snort. “What are you trying to imply? Valeria is the one who reacts to alcohol. Now you suddenly have the same problem? She’s covered in rashes and lying in the infirmary, and instead of going to apologize, you’re acting dramatic?”

His tone sharpened. “Where is Elodie? Call her down here immediately. Valeria didn’t even blame her. She was miserable and still defended that child. You’ve indulged her too much. I’ll discipline her myself tonight.”

Discipline.

The word split something open inside me.

I picked up the separation agreement and flung it toward him. The papers scattered at his feet.

“Sign it,” I said, my voice steady despite the tremor in my hands. “You don’t need to pretend you’re correcting her behavior. You will never raise your voice at her again. I’m stepping out of your life. That should make things easier for you and Valeria.”

His expression darkened instantly. He strode forward, grinding the papers beneath his heel before bending to tear them in half.

“Elodie made a mistake and you’re turning it into a spectacle?” he snapped. “Valeria chose to be generous. That doesn’t mean I allow my daughter to grow reckless. And now you’re talking about separation because I want to teach her responsibility? Have you completely lost your senses?”

Each word struck with merciless precision.

I rose too quickly, and black spots clouded my vision, but I forced myself to remain upright.

“Responsibility?” I asked quietly. “What wrongdoing required a five-year-old pup to cross the territory alone at night? Do you even know what happened to her on the way—”

“That’s enough.” He cut me off with a raised hand. “I told her to buy medicine. The streets were crowded. Nothing could have happened. Did she run back to you crying again? You’ve raised her soft.”

Soft.

Our daughter had been bleeding on cold pavement while clutching medicine for his mistress.

From his inner pocket, he withdrew a small velvet box and tossed it onto the table between us.

“Will this end your dramatics?” he said impatiently. “Now call Elodie down. I’ll speak to her myself. From now on, you stay out of how I train my heir.”

I did not move.

In that moment, clarity settled over me like winter frost.

There was no point telling him that Elodie was gone.

He would not mourn her.

He would only ask whether Valeria had been inconvenienced.

A dry, bitter laugh slipped from my lips. I reached forward and opened the box.

Inside was a bottle of perfume.

The same scent lingering on his coat.

He had not even attempted discretion. He had simply bought two identical gifts—one for his chosen she-wolf, one for his Luna—as if affection could be duplicated and distributed evenly.

Every perfume contains alcohol.

He knew I was severely allergic. In ten years of marriage, I had never worn fragrance. Meanwhile, Valeria, who constantly claimed alcohol triggered her reactions, bathed in scent without consequence.

But Matteo had never paid enough attention to notice the contradiction.

In the past, I had accepted every careless gift with gratitude because I loved him. I told myself intention mattered more than thoughtfulness. I believed loyalty would eventually be returned.

Perhaps that was why he thought my love required no care.

Perhaps that was why he believed our daughter’s life held no weight.

Elodie’s face rose in my memory—her bright eyes, her small hands, the way she would tug at my sleeve. Tears finally blurred my vision.

“Sign the papers,” I said softly. “Elodie will never trouble you again. She doesn’t require forgiveness. She never did anything wrong.”

Her only mistake had been being born into the Strongclaw Pack.

My refusal to bend hardened his features.

“I’ve tolerated enough,” he said coldly. “I bring you a gift and you still demand more? She’s not an infant anymore. And you threaten separation over discipline? Listen carefully—if you leave, don’t even think about taking her. I’ve already shown you more generosity than most Alphas would.”

Generosity.

The word echoed hollowly through the hall.

After venting his anger, he turned and headed toward the staircase as though this confrontation were no different from our past arguments. For ten years, whenever he lost his temper, I was the one who yielded first. I would prepare his meals, wait quietly beside him, and allow the silence to dissolve.

He likely believed tomorrow would follow the same pattern. He would wake and find me in the kitchen, just as always.

But there would be no morning reconciliation this time.

When his footsteps faded upstairs, I gathered the mansion keys and placed them neatly beside the shredded agreement. I signed a fresh copy of the separation document and set it where he could not overlook it.

Then I walked out of the Strongclaw estate—the home I had lived in for five years—leaving behind the title of Luna, the power of the pack, and the Alpha who never even realized his daughter had already been carried to the pyre beneath the moon.