Betrayed by Her Mate: The Awakening of the White Wolf

I unlocked my mate's tablet to check the time, but a notification caught my eye: Project Luna.

Curiosity turned to horror as I opened the file. It wasn't a diary. It was a spreadsheet.

Task #104: Public display of affection. Status: Complete.

Task #215: Gift pearls. Status: Complete.

I wasn't Jaxon's soulmate. I was a quarterly projection inherited from his dead brother to secure the pack's assets.

The reality of his indifference nearly killed me at our engagement gala. When the massive chandelier snapped above us, Jaxon didn't shield me.

He used my body as a launchpad to dive toward his mistress, Janice.

I was crushed under lead crystal and silver wire, my flesh burning from the poison. While I lay bleeding on the marble floor, Jaxon carried a scratch-free Janice to safety, screaming at the guards to ignore me.

But the physical scar on my arm was nothing compared to what I found next.

I hacked into Janice’s private account. There was a marriage certificate from Vegas, dated six months ago.

On the exact night I miscarried our child alone on the bathroom floor, begging him to answer his phone, he was marrying her.

He let our pup die while he pledged his life to another.

When he tried to buy my forgiveness with a necklace, only to let Janice snatch it from his hand, I finally snapped.

I threw his money in his face, rejected the bond, and vanished to Norway.

Jaxon thought I would die without him.

He didn't know that the Alpha Supreme of Europe had been waiting a lifetime to find me.

Chapter 1

Elfrieda POV:

The screen of the tablet glowed in the darkness of the penthouse, illuminating the tears that I refused to let fall. It was Jaxon’s private device, left carelessly on the coffee table while he took a call on the terrace. I had only meant to check the time, but the notification had popped up.

Project Luna: Denzel’s Legacy.

Curiosity killed the cat, but it was about to slaughter the wolf. I tapped the file. It wasn't a diary. It wasn't a love letter. It was a spreadsheet.

My breath hitched in my throat. It was a checklist. A literal, itemized checklist of over four hundred tasks.

Task #104: Public display of affection at the Summer Solstice. Status: Complete.

Task #215: Gift jewelry (pearls preferred by high society). Status: Complete.

Task #302: Northern Lights trip. Status: Pending.

Next to every single interaction we had shared over the last three years, there was a tag: For the Glory of the Tate Pack.

I felt sick. My stomach churned, twisting into a tight knot. I wasn't his soulmate. I was a line item. I was a quarterly projection inherited from his dead brother.

The glass door to the terrace was cracked open. The night wind carried the scent of rain and Jaxon’s scent—forest pine and ozone. Once, that scent made my knees weak. Now, it just smelled like a lie.

I focused