Alpha's Arrogance, His Downfall

The weekly pack meeting droned on as I sat in my usual spot at the far corner of the grand hall, invisible as always. Eight years of being Alexander's mate, yet I might as well have been a ghost haunting the Blackwood Pack house. My fingers absently traced the silvery scars on my palms—permanent reminders of the healing ritual that had bound us together and saved his life.

I kept my eyes down, focusing on the intricate patterns of the wooden floor rather than the cold, dismissive glances from Eleonora Blackwood across the room. The former Luna never missed an opportunity to remind me of my place—a placeholder, an inconvenience, never truly worthy of standing beside her son.

'So we're agreed on the territory negotiations with the Silver Creek Pack?' Alexander's commanding voice filled the room, his Alpha aura pulsing with authority that made the wolves around him instinctively lower their gazes.

All except me. The mate bond had granted me that small mercy at least—immunity to his Alpha tone. Sometimes I wondered if that was why he resented me so deeply.

'Yes, Alpha. And about the other matter...' Beta Caleb's voice trailed off meaningfully.

I was about to tune out as I always did during these discussions when suddenly Alexander's voice slipped into my mind through our pack link. He wasn't speaking to me—he never did—but to Caleb.

'I've already spoken with Victoria. Once the rejection ceremony is complete, she'll move into the Luna quarters. Make sure everything is prepared.'

My heart stopped. The blood in my veins turned to ice.

'Are you certain about this, Alpha?' Caleb's concerned voice echoed in the mind-link. 'The consequences of rejecting a true mate—'

'She was never my true mate.' Alexander's mental voice was sharp with contempt. 'The bond was an accident, a mistake. Victoria is who I've always wanted. The Moon Goddess will understand.'

I sat perfectly still, my face a careful mask while my soul shattered into a thousand pieces. Eight years of hoping, of enduring his coldness, of telling myself that someday his wolf would recognize me—all of it had been for nothing.

The meeting concluded, and wolves filed out around me. I remained seated, unable to trust my legs to carry me. Only when the hall emptied did I finally rise, moving like a sleepwalker through the corridors of the pack house that had never been a home.

Night fell, and Alexander didn't return to our chambers—he rarely did. I paced the room, my wolf whimpering inside me, urging me to find answers, to understand how he could so casually discard what should have been sacred.

His desk drawer was slightly ajar—unusual for someone as meticulous as Alexander. Something pulled me toward it, a desperate need to find some explanation for the years of suffering.

Inside lay a leather-bound journal I'd never seen before. My hands trembled as I opened it, knowing I was crossing a line but beyond caring.

The entry was dated eight years ago, the