The Luna Who Banished Her Alpha Mate

The days passed in a dull, unchanging rhythm. After Preston’s outburst and abrupt exit, he vanished for several days. I didn’t ask where he had gone, nor did I care to. It wasn’t until the third day that he finally reached out through the mind link.

“I’m off to attend a meeting with another pack,” he said simply.

“Alright, take care,” I replied, a dry laugh slipping out as the connection faded.

Trying to distract myself, I absently scrolled through my social media. That’s when a post from Gwen on Twitter caught my attention.

[First vacation in ages. Never thought I’d miss the feeling of sand under my feet! Someone insisted we take a beach trip.]

The photo attached showed a familiar hand—Preston’s—still wearing the mateship ring I had given him. The location tagged in her tweet matched the exact place he had just mentioned to me.

Suddenly, the ring on my own finger felt like it was searing into my skin. Without a second thought, I yanked it off and shoved it into the drawer, as if hiding it could also bury the betrayal clawing at my chest.

From that moment, I immersed myself in my role as Luna. I poured all my energy into work, task after task, using my responsibilities like armor. I stopped asking about Preston’s whereabouts. I stopped wondering when he’d come home. I just kept moving, pushing myself until exhaustion dulled the ache inside.

Then one evening, I was caught off guard when Preston unexpectedly pulled into the driveway. His car was parked outside the pack house, and seeing it gave me a jolt I hadn’t anticipated. I was drained from another long day, my body heavy with fatigue as I stepped outside.

“What brings you here?” I asked, my voice low and tired.

“Did you forget what today is?” he responded, holding the car door open for me. “It’s our mateship anniversary.”

“Oh,” I mumbled, caught off guard. “I’ve been busy. It must’ve slipped my mind.”

Preston looked at me, disappointment creeping into his features. “You used to care about these things more than anyone. How could you not remember?”

It was true. In the past, I had gone out of my way to make our special days memorable—throwing parties, planning private dinners, picking out thoughtful gifts. I gave everything I had to show him how much he meant to me. But those efforts, once welcomed, had eventually become sources of shame for him.

I could still remember the birthday surprise I’d planned at a fancy restaurant. I had decorated the space, invited the people closest to him, and prepared a heartfelt speech. Instead of being touched, Preston had scowled.

“Marcia, this is too much. Everyone’s watching. Do you have to make a scene?” he had hissed before pulling me aside in front of the pack warriors and his Beta.

Now, standing in front of him years later, I realized something important—there was no point in celebrating what no longer existed. Whatever joy we once shared had long since withered away.

“Come on,” he urged, gently ushering me into the car. “Let’s go have dinner.”

The drive was tense. The silence between us pressed in like a weight, thick and uncomfortable. Preston kept glancing over, clearly searching for signs of excitement or affection.

“Are you upset about something?” he finally asked, trying to break the quiet.

I shook my head. “No.”

“No?” he echoed, irritation creeping into his tone. “Then why are you acting like this? I’m trying, Marcia. I went out of my way to pick you up, and you’re sitting there like I forced you.”

His frustration hovered in the air, but I had no energy left to argue. The man who once meant everything to me now felt like a stranger. His gestures felt rehearsed, devoid of sincerity.

“I’m not upset, Alpha,” I said, the title slipping out of habit more than respect.

Preston let out an exasperated breath. “Fine. Look, I’ll stop seeing Gwen. No more contact. I promise.”

I turned to him, eyes narrowed slightly. Did he really think a simple vow could undo the months of lies and emotional neglect?

“Happy now?” he asked, clearly fishing for reassurance.

I didn’t answer. I looked away, letting the silence speak for me.

We eventually pulled up to an elegant restaurant. Preston had gone all out—our table was decorated with fresh flowers, and a gift box sat neatly beside my plate. The place exuded charm and romance, and a few of the other diners shot us admiring looks.

But I felt detached, as though I was watching it all unfold from a distance. The beautifully arranged table, the polished silverware, the candlelight—it all felt like part of someone else’s love story.

Just as I was about to open the gift, Preston’s phone rang. He answered quickly, his expression changing the moment he heard the voice on the other end.

“A fever? Did you give him anything? I can’t bring you to the infirmary right now—I’m... I’m busy. That high? Okay, okay. I’m coming. Just hang on.”

He ended the call and looked at me, his face a mixture of discomfort and guilt. “It’s Gwen. Her kid’s sick. High fever. I need to go check on him.”

A lump formed in my throat, but I swallowed it down, keeping my expression neutral. “It’s fine. Go. The child needs you.”

He lingered for a second, almost as if waiting for me to object. But I didn’t.

“I’ll come back to pick you up. Don’t go anywhere,” he said before hurrying out.

Left alone, I stared down at the half-eaten dessert on my plate. The rain began to fall harder outside the window, its rhythm matching the quiet storm within me. I took one more bite of the cake—sweet, despite everything—then stood up and left the restaurant.

As I stepped outside, a car approached slowly and came to a stop beside me. The window rolled down, and Beta Clifton’s familiar face greeted me. He stepped out without a word and opened the door for me. I slid in silently, grateful for his unspoken understanding.

The ride back was quiet, but unlike the silence with Preston, this one was comforting. It felt safe, like a warm coat in a cold wind.

When we arrived, I realized I didn’t have an umbrella. The rain was still coming down, light but persistent, the droplets cold against my skin as I prepared to run inside.

“Wait, Luna,” Clifton’s deep voice called out. I turned to see him holding an umbrella over me.

“Here. Use this,” he said softly, offering it to me.

“Thank you,” I whispered, taking it from him.

Back inside, I went straight to the shower. The hot water washed away the chill in my bones, but it couldn’t erase the ache in my heart.

Later, wrapped in a towel, I sat on the edge of my bed and picked up my phone again. Another tweet from Gwen appeared on my timeline, accompanied by a photo.

It showed Preston, sitting beside her and her child, their faces warm in the golden glow of a softly lit room. They looked like a family, cozy and content.

And as the rain continued to fall outside, I stared at that image—at the life he had chosen to share with them instead of me.