When the Alpha Realized I Was No Longer His

Kaia’s POV

I spent the night tucked away in a tiny lodge at the very edge of pack territory—just me, the freezing wind, and the echo of a mate bond I could no longer feel. I thought distance might numb the ache clawing through me, but all it did was make the silence louder. Space didn’t heal me; it reminded me how completely I’d shattered.

When dawn crept in, I returned to the packhouse. One hand instinctively cradled my belly as I stepped inside. I paused at the threshold, breath catching. The scent wasn’t the one I left. Marinal’s perfume—sweet lilac rolled in synthetic rosewater—hung in the air like poison, weaving through the home that used to be mine.

My wolf rumbled with warning, her ears pinned back.

I climbed the stairs slowly, dread tightening around my ribs. Voices drifted from my room—healers’ low tones, nurses murmuring softly. And her voice. Marinal’s. In my space.

My pulse thundered so loudly it drowned everything else. That room held every tender dream I ever had—warm evenings curled on the window seat, quiet nights whispering plans for a family, love painted in soft colors and candlelight.

All of it soiled.

I swallowed hard, steadied my wolf, and pushed the door open.

The world tilted.

She was sprawled across my bed like it already belonged to her, wrapped in the sheets I’d chosen—my sheets. The vanity I used every morning had been scrubbed clean of me, now cluttered with her perfumes and brushes. Her photos sat smugly where my journal and crystals used to rest.

Rage detonated inside me. My vision tunneled red. I marched forward and seized her arm, yanking her upright.

“What are you doing in here?” My voice erupted like a snarl.

Before I could drag her from the bed, strong arms ripped me backward.

“Alpha!” she screamed dramatically. “Help me!”

And as if summoned by her tears, Alden appeared, storming toward us.

“Kaia, stop!” he barked, voice cracking with anger. His grip on me was iron cold, pulling me out into the hallway. “You’re losing your mind.”

I ripped myself free, tears burning. “This is my room. Mine. You—”

“Enough,” he snapped, slicing his hand through the air. “Marinal likes this room. I offered it to her. Find another.”

I stared at him, stunned. “Those healers are here for me. I’m sick, Alden. I’m dying—”

He cut me off. “She fell. You hurt her. She needed care, so I brought them. And if you keep acting like this, maybe being mated to you was a damn mistake.” His voice dripped with disgust. “You’re exhausting to deal with. You don’t listen to me at all.”

Something inside me turned to ice.

“You don’t mean that,” I whispered, barely breathing.

His gaze was flat. “If you can’t behave, then leave. Raise your pup somewhere else.”

The world scraped away beneath my feet. My knees hit the ground before I realized I’d collapsed, arms wrapped around my belly like I could shield my unborn child from his cruelty. My throat burned but no sound came out.

I didn’t plead. I didn’t scream.

I simply stood, legs trembling like they might snap, and walked toward the hall.

Later, lying on the stiff guestroom mattress he told me to use, I didn’t have anger left—not for him, not for her. Weariness soaked into my bones. The illness gnawed through my body, my joints stiff, skin feverish. My wolf curled close within me, little presence pressed against my soul like she wanted to shield me too.

My phone buzzed. I lifted it weakly.

A message from Marinal.

I opened it.

Alden brought little postcards for the baby. Isn't he the sweetest father?

Something inside me cracked.

Another recording.

Marinal, I hope you’re resting. Kaia acted up again but don’t worry, I scolded her. This stress isn’t good for you.

His tone—tender, gentle—was like a blade sinking into my back.

A third.

I hesitated. Then hit play.

Alden’s voice poured out, warm, devoted.

Don’t worry, love. I made you chamomile tea. Our pup is healthy. You’re glowing.

My hands trembled so violently the phone nearly slipped.

Everything that was supposed to be mine—our Luna suite, the shared study, our bed—felt like a memory. A script. I had been the rehearsal. Marinal was the final performance.

A laugh scraped out of my throat—too hollow to be humor. My wolf whimpered, and I wrapped both arms around my belly.

“It’s alright,” I whispered to my pup, voice shaking. “It’s just us now.”

A soft kick answered beneath my palm.

“I’ll protect you,” I vowed quietly. “Whatever it costs.”

No tears came. I refused to give him another piece of me.

I closed my eyes, exhaling slowly.

Freedom was rising on the horizon. I wasn’t there yet—but I was moving toward it.

For now, I had my unborn child. My failing body. And a heart still beating despite every fracture.

And soon, I would have my life back—far away from a mate who never deserved me.