After My Alpha Exposed His Mistress, I Reclaimed My Power

I woke to the soft glow of dawn filtering through the floor-to-ceiling windows of our Central Park penthouse. For a moment, just one blessed moment, I forgot who I was, where I was, and who I shared this gilded cage with. Then reality crashed back as my gaze fell on the delicate black lace draped across my pillow.

Amber's lingerie. On my side of the bed.

The scent hit me next—her deliberate marking, that sickly-sweet perfume she wore mixed with something more primal. A declaration. A challenge.

Eighteen. She was the eighteenth. I'd counted each betrayal, each she-wolf who'd warmed my mate's bed over our eight years together. But none had dared this level of disrespect—to place her scent directly on my pillow, in the bed I was supposed to share with my Alpha.

My fingers trembled as I picked up the lace, the wolf inside me—Claire—growling low and dangerous. *Destroy it. Destroy her.*

"Don't," I whispered to myself, carefully folding the offending garment. "Not yet."

I slipped from the bed, padding silently to the bathroom where I caught sight of my reflection. Luna Victoria Hayes, the broken mate of Alpha Marcus Sterling. My eyes, once bright with hope, now held shadows that no amount of makeup could disguise. I traced the mate mark on my neck—the scar that bound me to a man who had never truly seen me.

*He'll be at the Hamptons gala tonight,* Claire reminded me. *With her.*

"I know," I murmured, turning away from my reflection. I couldn't bear to look anymore.

In my private studio—the one room Marcus allowed me to keep locked—I pulled out my sketchbook. My fingers moved across the page, recreating the sacred stones of my mother's memorial shrine. The only piece of her I had left. Drawing centered me, reminded me of who I was beyond this mate bond. Beyond being Luna to a pack that followed their Alpha's lead in treating me as invisible.

I was also V. Morgan. And soon, they would all know it.

---

The Hamptons estate gleamed under the evening stars, pack members in their finest attire mingling on the sprawling lawn. I wore silver—a subtle rebellion, the color of my mother's eyes rather than the deep blue Marcus preferred. My sketch was tucked safely in my clutch, a talisman of sorts.

"Victoria." Marcus's voice carried no warmth as he approached, his hand possessively on Amber's lower back. "You're late."

"Forgive me, Alpha." The words tasted like ash.

Amber's smile was all teeth, her golden dress cut scandalously low. "We were beginning to think you wouldn't show. Again." Her hand rested deliberately on her flat stomach, a gesture that made several nearby she-wolves exchange knowing glances.

I felt the familiar pain twist inside me. Eight years. Three miscarriages. Each one mourned alone while Marcus complained about my failure to provide an heir.

"I wouldn't miss it," I replied, my voice steadier than I felt.

The evening progressed as these events always did—Marcus holding court, Amber