After Our Son Died, I Rejected My Alpha Mate

The nursery was the only place in the Pack House where the air didn’t feel like it was choking me. It was a small room on the third floor, far away from the Alpha’s luxurious suite—the suite that should have been mine by right, but was currently occupied by a woman who wasn't.

"Mama, look," Tommy whispered, holding up a drawing. It was a crude, crayon depiction of a large black wolf standing next to a smaller, golden one. "That's Daddy. And that's me."

My heart clenched, a familiar, dull ache that had been my constant companion for seven years. Tommy had never seen Remington’s wolf form up close. My mate, Alpha Remington Stevens, barely looked at our son, let alone shifted for him. To Remington, Tommy was just a reminder of a political shackle he was desperate to break. To me, Tommy was the only reason I was still breathing.

"It's beautiful, baby," I said, smoothing his dark hair. He had Remington’s eyes—piercing, intelligent, and demanding. But he had my heart.

The peace shattered instantly. The heavy oak door to our quarters didn't just open; it slammed against the wall with enough force to crack the plaster.

Tommy flinched, dropping his crayon. I stood up immediately, placing myself between my son and the intruder.

Anya Diaz stood in the doorway, radiating a scent that made my stomach turn—synthetic vanilla and an underlying rot that no amount of perfume could mask. She wore a silk robe that I recognized. It was one Remington had bought for me years ago, a gift for a mating ceremony that never happened. Now, it was draped over her, cinched tightly above the slight swell of her stomach.

"You're still here?" Anya sneered, her eyes raking over the modest furniture of the nursery. "I told the Omegas to clear this trash out an hour ago."

I straightened my spine, summoning the scraps of dignity I had hoarded over the years. "This is my son's room, Anya. We aren't going anywhere."

Anya stepped into the room, her heels clicking sharply on the hardwood. She placed a hand on her belly, a gesture she performed constantly in public, especially when Remington was watching. "Not for long, Seraphina. Remington and I decided this floor is perfect for the *true* heir. My pup will need the space. Your... mistake... can take the basement."

The insult to me was one thing; I was used to being the 'Late Bloomer,' the weak Luna who couldn't hold her Alpha's attention. But calling Tommy a mistake? My wolf, usually dormant and quiet, stirred uneasily beneath my skin.

"Get out," I said, my voice low. It wasn't an Alpha command—I didn't have that power—but it was the voice of a mother. "Do not speak of my son that way."

Anya laughed, a harsh, grating sound. "Or what? You'll cry to the Elders? Remington doesn't want you. The pack doesn't respect you. You are nothing but a title on a piece of paper."

She closed