While I was Abducted, the Alpha was with My Half-sister

Ivy’s POV

For two years, I’ve worn the Luna title like an ill-fitting cloak—heavy, burdensome, never truly mine. And even after all this time, Alpha Ethan and I don’t share a bed.

He once told me, “I just sleep better alone.” But the way he said it—the way he wouldn’t even look me in the eye—told me what he really meant. He didn’t want to sleep beside me. Me, specifically.

Today, as the late sun cast long shadows through the tall windows of the pack house, Ethan stood in the middle of the hall and announced that Farah would be staying for a while. Not just staying—she’d be taking the Luna quarters.

My quarters.

I didn’t flinch. I didn’t argue. I gave a small nod and murmured, “Alright.” I could feel his eyes on me, waiting for a reaction, probably even expecting a fight. But I was too tired. There was no point fighting for a place I was already being pushed out of.

When I turned away to begin packing, his footsteps echoed down the corridor—and just like that, he was gone. Again. With Farah.

In my old room, sunlight streamed through the windows, painting golden streaks on the carpet. I stood in the middle of the space I once tried so hard to make feel like mine. Now, it just felt hollow.

I pulled down a framed photo from the shelf—our wedding photo. The same one Farah knocked over earlier that morning. The glass was still cracked, but I hadn’t had the heart to throw it away. As I laid it flat inside the box, I didn’t see the broken edge sticking out.

My hand slipped.

“Shit—” I gasped as I fell to the floor, my knee landing squarely on the jagged glass. Pain shot up my thigh like fire, hot and biting. Blood immediately began to trickle down my leg, staining the hem of my dress. The wound wasn’t small—it was deep, and I could already feel the skin around it swelling.

But when I looked toward the door, it was empty. No footsteps. No scent of my so-called mate. He hadn’t even noticed I’d hurt myself. He hadn’t bothered to check on me.

I bit down hard on my lower lip, swallowing the sob that threatened to escape. My fingers trembled as I pressed the edge of my shirt against the bleeding wound. This pain was nothing compared to the one in my chest.

Not once in two years had he offered me comfort. Not when I had nightmares. Not when I was sick. Not even when I was kidnapped and thrown to rogues like a piece of meat.

Farah waltzes in and he hands her my bed, my room, my title—like it all belonged to her all along.

By sunset, I’d finished moving out of the Luna quarters. I carried the last box into one of the guest rooms, limping slightly as the pain in my knee worsened. The smell of antiseptic still clung to my hands after treating it myself. No healer had been called. I didn’t want to give anyone another reason to whisper about me being “too weak to be Luna.”

When Ethan finally returned, still smelling faintly of Farah’s jasmine scent, he glanced at the stack of boxes lining the hallway.

“Why are you packing up so much stuff?” he asked, his tone casual—as if the past few days hadn’t turned my world upside down.

I gave him a small smile. “Just clearing things I don’t need anymore.”

His brow twitched, but he didn’t press. “Farah’s just staying temporarily.”

I nodded. “Of course.”

He said nothing else and walked away.

Later that night, he informed me, in a clipped tone, that we’d be attending the Alpha Gathering.

“You want me to come?” I asked, surprised.

“You’re still Luna, aren’t you?” he said flatly. “You’re expected.”

Right. Of course. But I wasn’t the only woman on his arm that night.

Farah came too, draped in emerald silk, her glossy hair braided with moonflowers. She looked radiant. Ethan didn’t hide the way he admired her. The way his eyes trailed her every movement.

We arrived at the venue, a towering hall lit by chandeliers and filled with the scent of power and polished silver. Alphas from across the region mingled in tailored suits, their Lunas standing gracefully beside them. When we entered, the host—a thickly built Alpha from Granite Ridge—approached us with a warm smile.

“Alpha Ethan, Luna Ivy—how lovely to see you again.”

Before I could even return the greeting, Ethan corrected him.

“She’s not my Luna,” he said quickly, gesturing toward me with barely a glance. “This is Farah—daughter of the Snowland Pack.”

The host blinked in confusion, then quickly recovered with a courteous nod. “Of course.”

I said nothing. Not a flicker of pain showed on my face. But inside, I felt something wither.

He didn’t even call me by title. Just my name. Like I was no more than a former acquaintance tagging along.

We sat at our table, and I tried to swallow the bitterness building in my throat. My wolf stirred uncomfortably in my chest, restless, angry, humiliated.

But then something strange happened.

As I sat there, staring at the golden-rimmed plates, my stomach turned. A strange scent filled the air, faint but intoxicating. My heartbeat picked up, and my palms grew clammy.

I inhaled again, sharper this time.

That scent. My wolf suddenly lifted her head, ears alert.

She began to pace inside me, growling low with confusion and… anticipation?

The scent was pulling at her. At me. Like a magnet. Like fire to dry wood. It wrapped around my senses and squeezed.

I couldn’t breathe.

“I need some air,” I said quickly, rising to my feet. The room was suddenly too loud, too bright, too suffocating.

I didn’t wait for Ethan’s permission. I slipped through the side door of the hall, heart racing.

Because that scent didn’t belong to Ethan.

And whoever it did belong to… my wolf recognized him.

And that terrified me.