When My Mate Chose Her Over Me

That night, Dean didn’t sleep in our shared room.

Whenever we argued, if I didn’t take the first step to make amends, he would never approach me. I knew he expected me to come knocking on the guest room door, all apologetic, as if I were the one who had wronged him. But this time, I was drained, unwilling to be the one to bridge the gap again. The guest room door creaked open and shut, making quite a racket as Dean paced deliberately in the living room, his heavy footsteps echoing through the pack house. Once he realized I was ignoring him, he finally quieted down, the silence settling like a thick fog.

That night, I slept soundly for the first time in weeks. No one to steal the blankets, no one to shove me to the edge of the bed, and I didn’t have to wake him up in the morning. When I woke up the next day, Dean had already left for his duties as Beta in the Crimson Fang Pack. The empty house felt lonely, with only the sheer curtains swaying gently in the breeze, letting in the faint scent of pine from the forest surrounding the pack territory.

I got ready quickly and headed to the pack’s administrative building, where I worked as an Omega, organizing records and managing communications. I threw myself into work, occupied with meetings and data crunching, trying to forget the tension between us. It wasn’t until I happened to check my phone that I realized it was already eight in the evening.

My father had sent me a message: "Jessica, it’s your birthday today. I ordered a cake to be delivered to your place!" It hit me then—it was my birthday. In the six years with Dean, he hardly ever remembered my birthday, but my parents always did. When my mother was alive, she’d order a cake for me every year. My eyes suddenly stung with tears, the weight of her absence pressing on my chest.

I hurriedly gathered my things and rushed home, the cold night air biting at my skin as I ran through the pack grounds. As I opened the door to our house, I was greeted by Lucia Weaver, the high-ranking Gamma who always seemed to hover around Dean. "The birthday girl is home!" she exclaimed, her voice dripping with false sweetness. She wore my loungewear, sporting an apron, looking like she owned the place. As I stood there, stunned, Dean appeared, affectionately taking the spoon from her hand.

"Lucia remembered it was your birthday today, so she came over to cook and celebrate with you," Dean said, his tone casual, as if this were perfectly normal. He hadn’t finished speaking before I pushed past him, my eyes anxiously scanning the room.

Finally, in the corner of the coffee table, I spotted the cake my father had ordered. But it wasn’t intact—a piece was missing. Dean noticed my confusion and offered an explanation. "You came home late, and Lucia insisted on waiting for you for dinner. Her blood sugar dropped, so I cut a piece of cake for her as a quick fix. You don’t mind, do you, Jessica?"

I clenched my fists and bit my lip hard, walking over to the cake my father had thoughtfully prepared. The inscription “Wishing Jessica Eternal Happiness” was missing the word “Happiness,” ruined by their careless hands. Tears finally spilled over, the humiliation and anger bubbling up inside me.

"Dean, I do mind! How could you, without my permission..." But before I could finish, a familiar scent hit me—ravioli, the dish my mother used to make for me on my birthdays. My heart paused in that instant, the memories flooding back, and I felt my wolf stir in the back of my mind, her quiet presence a small comfort in the chaos.

Lucia stepped forward, her smile soft but her eyes sharp. "Jessica, I’m sorry if I overstepped. I just wanted to make sure you had a nice birthday. Dean and I thought it would be a good surprise."

I swallowed hard, the bitterness coating my throat. "It’s fine," I muttered, though it was anything but. I picked up the ruined cake, the weight of it heavy in my hands, and walked past them to the kitchen. As I set it down, I caught Dean’s reflection in the window, his expression unreadable. For a moment, I thought I saw something—guilt, maybe?—but it was gone as quickly as it appeared.

That night, I sat alone in the kitchen, the faint hum of the refrigerator the only sound in the house. I took a small bite of the cake, the sweetness doing little to ease the ache in my chest. My wolf’s presence lingered in my mind, her silent support a reminder that I wasn’t entirely alone. But as I looked at the empty chair across from me, I couldn’t shake the feeling that I was losing something far more important than just a birthday.