The Luna Who Banished Her Alpha Mate

Two months had passed since the loss—an accidental fall, a sudden pain, and then... silence. The kind of silence that followed you like a shadow. Today, I had my final checkup at the pack infirmary, alone again. Preston said he'd come. He always said that. But true to form, he vanished just before the appointment began.

The healer handed me the last round of medication. I nodded silently, my limbs moving on autopilot as I left the sterile room. There was no anger this time. Just a hollow echo where pain used to live.

By the time I got back to the pack house, the emptiness had settled in my bones. I sat down and, out of habit, opened my phone. Twitter blinked up at me. A new post. Gwen again.

"Only a tiny cut, but Preston insisted I see a doctor. He’s been by my side ever since. Still the sweetest!"

My eyes skimmed the words, unmoved. So that’s where he was—again.

There was no sting of betrayal, no ache of jealousy. I should have felt something, anything. But I didn’t. It was like all the love I’d once carried for Preston had been wrung dry, leaving only resignation.

Later that night, I saw him return. He wasn’t alone. In his arms was a little boy—Gwen’s son. They looked... content. Domestic. From where I stood, just a few steps away, they resembled a family. One I clearly didn’t belong to.

I smiled faintly, almost mockingly. “Looks like the child could use a father figure. Spend more time with them, Alpha,” I said coolly, turning to leave.

His hand gripped my arm. Desperate. “Marcia, why are you like this now? Why don’t you care anymore?”

I stared at him blankly. He didn’t know? I stopped caring the day he made me feel invisible.

**

Earlier that afternoon, before the checkup, Preston had reached out through our bond.

"Something came up. You’ll be alright heading home on your own, right?"

I remembered pausing, phone in hand, unsure whether to scream or laugh.

"Sure. No problem," I replied, detached.

On the ride home, something tugged at me to glance back. That’s when I spotted his car—still parked near the infirmary. He hadn't left for some urgent Alpha task. No. He had stayed. Just not for me.

When I arrived home, curiosity got the better of me. I checked again. Another tweet from Gwen. Same tone. Same Preston.

"He took me to the hospital for a tiny scrape—won’t let me out of his sight."

I remembered the shirt Preston wore in that photo. I bought it for him on his birthday.

I remembered her too—Gwen Thompson. The she-wolf from his past. The childhood flame who once left with another Alpha. After her mate died, she'd returned with a child and nothing else. No title. No power. No pack.

And yet, the moment she returned, it was like I’d never mattered.

He had always been hers, hadn’t he?

I’d been the stand-in Luna. Temporary. Convenient.

**

That night, I drifted into a medicated sleep. But not for long.

A creak. The door opened. Preston entered quietly. I felt the mattress dip as he sat beside me, brushing his fingers through my hair.

“What did the healer say?” he asked softly, voice dipped in fake tenderness.

I caught the faint scent clinging to him—floral, unfamiliar, female. Not mine.

I pulled away, pretending not to notice. “She said I’m healing well,” I lied.

Preston gave a small nod. “I’ve just been so busy with Alpha duties lately…”

I said nothing. The air between us was thick with everything unspoken. Finally, I turned my back to him and murmured, “You should shower before bed.”

He lingered a second, as if waiting for an invitation to explain or justify himself. None came.

The bathroom door clicked shut behind him, the water starting its steady stream. I stared at the wall, numb, listening to the sound of my mate bathing in someone else’s scent.

Sleep never came back.