After His Mistress Claimed Pregnancy, I Took His Pack

The Black Moon pack house blazed with light on New Year's Eve, every chandelier burning like a constellation brought down to earth. I stood in the corner where the glow didn't quite reach, my back against the cold wall, watching the pack celebrate in a ballroom that had never felt like home.

My grandmother's voice cut through the music before I saw her. "Ruby. Ruby!" Sharp. Impatient. The way she'd said my name for as long as I could remember—like it tasted bitter on her tongue.

I turned. She stood near the refreshment table with my uncle Derek, her face pinched with that familiar expression of disappointment she wore whenever she looked at me. Derek's smile was worse—slick and satisfied, like he'd just won something.

"Don't just stand there like a shadow," my grandmother snapped. "Make yourself useful for once. The Alphas' glasses need refilling."

Around us, pack members glanced over with that particular blend of pity and contempt reserved for Omegas who couldn't even shift properly. Wolfless, they whispered. Broken. I felt the weight of every stare like stones in my pockets.

My hand drifted to my neck—the unmarked side, the one that had never borne anyone's claim. The gesture was automatic now, a tell I couldn't quite break. The legal document tucked inside my jacket pressed against my ribs with every breath, a secret that felt heavier than paper had any right to be.

"Of course," I said quietly. I always said of course.

Derek laughed, the sound oily and self-satisfied. "Look at her, Mother. Twenty-six years old and still playing servant. Some wolves are just born to kneel."

I picked up the wine bottle with steady hands and began moving through the crowd. The pack parted around me the way water parts around a stone—not with respect, but with the casual indifference given to things beneath notice.

That's when the energy in the room shifted.

The main doors opened, and Zhuri Boyd made her entrance.

My cousin had always known how to command attention. Tonight she wore it like a second skin—a emerald dress that caught every light, her Beta aura radiating confidence as she glided into the ballroom. But it wasn't Zhuri alone that made the crowd go silent.

Marcus Mendoza walked beside her, his arm casually linked with hers.

My mate. My husband in name only. The Alpha whose mark I'd never been allowed to bear, whose indifference had carved out everything soft inside me and left only the hard, aching parts behind.

He looked exactly as he always did—commanding, untouchable, his Alpha presence filling the room like a storm front. He didn't glance my direction. He never did.

Zhuri's eyes found mine across the ballroom, and her smile sharpened.

She steered Marcus directly toward me, her heels clicking against the marble floor with the precise rhythm of someone who'd rehearsed this moment. When they reached the space where I stood, Zhuri's hand—the one not draped possessively over Marcus's arm—swept out in a careless gesture