His Loss, Her Eternal Unbreakable Love

My husband, Jackson, the Alpha of the Dorsey Pack, was supposed to be my partner, my equal. I paid for everything, from his suits to our private jet. Today, the man I loved told me I wasn't flying with him to the Alpha Summit.

Instead, he declared his mistress, Amber, "fragile" and needing my jet, while I got an economy ticket. His mother, Cornelia, added my healing "aura" was too "intense" for Amber.

My heart shattered from the public humiliation. Jackson kissed Amber, a tenderness denied me for years, while the pack looked away. He even blocked our mind-link, the ultimate rejection.

A searing, cold rage erupted. For five years, I suppressed my royal White Wolf blood, enduring their disdain for a man who now cast me aside like trash.

As my jet lifted into the sky, something inside me unleashed. I pulled out my phone, fingers trembling with resolve. "Cancel the Gulfstream's flight. Ground them. Cut everything. The game is over."

Chapter 1

Haley's POV:

The wind on the tarmac pierced through my coat, but it was nothing compared to the ice spreading through my veins.

The engines of the Gulfstream G650 were already emitting a high-pitched whine.

It was a magnificent machine. And it should be. After all, I paid for it.

Just like I paid for the Italian wool suits our warriors wore, the thousands of gallons of fuel in the tanks, and the Alpha Summit invitation currently resting in my husband's pocket.

"Haley, step back," Jackson said. There was no mate-like warmth in his voice, only a tone of sheer impatience.

I blinked, trying to process the absolute absurdity of the situation. "Excuse me? We need to board. The summit's opening ceremony starts in four hours."

Jackson didn't even look at me. He was adjusting his cufflinks-gold, studded with diamonds. My anniversary gift to him.

"You're not flying with us," he stated flatly.

My heart skipped a beat. "What? Jackson, I'm the Luna. I'm the one who secured the Dorsey Pack a seat at the table of power. Why wouldn't I-"

"Amber is fragile," he interrupted, finally meeting my eyes. His gaze was icy, stripped of the tenderness it held five years ago. "She just came back from the wild. Her wolf is weak, and she needs the comfort of a private jet."

I looked past him. Standing at the top of the stairs, posing like a tragic heroine, was Amber Compton.

She was wearing a custom-made silk dress I had tailored for myself. It hung loosely on her frame, accentuating an overly deliberate sense of frailty.

She offered me a faint smile. The kind of smile a shark gives right before it bites.

"But there are twelve seats," I argued, fighting to keep my voice steady. "There's plenty of room."

"Haley, this isn't about space," Jackson's mother, Cornelia, chimed in.

She stood by the luggage cart, her hands tightly clutching the designer bag I bought her for Christmas last year.

"It's about the vibes. Amber