After My Mate Chose His Rogue Mistress

I smoothed the midnight blue silk of my gown one last time, watching my reflection in the full-length mirror. The dress was perfect—regal without being ostentatious, modest enough to play the dutiful Luna while concealing the small vial of Wolfsbane antidote tucked into my clutch alongside the flash drive that would change everything.

My wolf, Luna, stirred restlessly beneath my skin. "Tonight," she whispered, her voice carrying the weight of months of careful planning.

Tonight.

"Mommy?" Amy's small voice pulled me from my thoughts. She stood in the doorway, her silver eyes—so like mine—wide with concern. "Why is Daddy angry lately?"

I knelt down, gathering my daughter into my arms. The mate mark on my neck throbbed, a constant reminder of the bond I'd soon sever. "Sometimes, sweetheart, people forget what's truly important." I brushed a strand of dark hair from her face. "But remember this—the truth always howls loudest."

She nodded solemnly, too wise for her years. My heart ached for what she'd witness tonight, but it was necessary. Better a sharp, clean break than years of slow poison.

A soft knock interrupted us. Diana Cross slipped inside, her expression carefully neutral for any watching eyes. But I caught the slight dip of her chin—the signal we'd arranged.

Marcus Sterling had arrived. The trap was set.

"It's time, Luna," Diana murmured.

I straightened, squaring my shoulders. The Luna they expected would walk into that hall tonight. But the woman who walked out would be someone else entirely.

The grand hall of the Silverfang Pack House blazed with crystal chandeliers, their light catching on champagne glasses and designer gowns. I paused at the entrance, letting my presence register. Conversations stuttered. Heads turned.

Then came the whispers.

"...heard she's been seeing someone..."

"...poor Alpha Rhys, such a devoted mate..."

"...always knew she wasn't good enough for the Brooks bloodline..."

Angie's handiwork. My former mother-in-law had spent weeks poisoning the well, priming the pack for tonight's performance. I could smell her satisfaction from across the room, cloying and sweet like rotting fruit.

I kept my expression serene, my steps measured. Let them whisper. Let them judge. They'd learn soon enough.

Rhys stood on the dais, and my wolf snarled at the sight. His arm wrapped possessively around Marigold Shaw, who preened in a crimson dress cut so low it bordered on obscene. She'd worn red deliberately—a challenge, a claim. Look at me, the color screamed. I'm the one he wants now.

I met Rhys's eyes across the room. For a moment, something flickered there—guilt, perhaps, or fear. Then his jaw hardened, and he looked away.

Coward.

"Distinguished Alphas, honored guests," Rhys's voice boomed through the hall, amplified by his Alpha tone. The command in it made weaker wolves straighten instinctively. "Welcome to the Midnight Moon Gala. We are especially honored to host Marcus Sterling, representative of the Lycan King himself."

Applause rippled through the crowd. I found Marcus in the front row—a silver-haired wolf with eyes that missed nothing. Our gazes met