Luna Rejects Fated Mate

The manila envelope landed on my desk with a soft thud that somehow echoed like thunder in my chest. My assistant's nervous expression told me everything I needed to know before I even opened it.

"Luna Aria, these came from our media contacts this morning," she whispered, her eyes darting toward the door as if Alpha Tate might materialize at any moment. "They're asking for comment before publication."

My fingers trembled as I pulled out the glossy photographs, and the world tilted on its axis. There he was—my mate, my Alpha, my husband of three years—walking beside Angelica Garcia, his hand protectively placed on the small of her back. But it wasn't his protective gesture that made my breath catch in my throat. It was her hand, curved lovingly over the unmistakable swell of her pregnant belly.

The pack healer's clinic. The intimate way he guided her through the entrance. The radiant smile on her face as she looked up at him with pure adoration.

I stared at the images until they blurred, my professional mind automatically cataloging the damage while my heart shattered into a thousand pieces. The photographer had captured multiple angles—Tate opening the car door for her, his hand steadying her as she stepped out, the tender way he looked down at her rounded stomach.

"How far along?" The question escaped my lips before I could stop it.

My assistant shifted uncomfortably. "The photographer estimates four to five months, based on... well, the visible signs."

Four to five months. While I'd been planning pack events, managing our public image, and sleeping beside him every night, he'd been creating a life with someone else. The timeline made my stomach lurch—this wasn't some recent mistake or moment of weakness. This was a sustained betrayal that had been growing inside another woman while I remained obliviously devoted.

I forced my Luna training to kick in, pushing down the screaming anguish threatening to consume me. "Draft a statement," I heard myself say, my voice surprisingly steady. "Something about respecting the privacy of pack members during personal medical visits. Don't confirm or deny anything specific."

"Luna, are you—"

"Just do it." My tone carried enough authority to send her scurrying from the office, leaving me alone with the photographs that had just destroyed my world.

I spread them across my desk like evidence at a crime scene, studying each one with the detached precision of a publicist rather than a betrayed wife. In one image, Angelica's face glowed with the kind of happiness I remembered feeling once, back when I'd carried Tate's child for those brief, precious weeks before the rogue attack stole everything from us.

Before I lost our pup trying to save his life.

Before he blamed my "weak wolf" for the miscarriage I'd never had the courage to tell him was caused by my desperate attempt to protect him.

My hand instinctively moved to my neck, fingers tracing the mate mark that suddenly felt like a brand of ownership