Mate's Affair with Rival

Something was wrong with Roman's scent.

I noticed it first on a Tuesday evening when he returned from what he called "emergency pack meetings." The familiar warmth of cedar and mountain rain that had comforted me for six years was still there, but underneath it lurked something foreign—a musky, exotic floral scent that clung to his clothes like a possessive whisper.

My wolf, Luna, stirred uneasily in my chest as I helped him out of his jacket. The scent was distinctly feminine, rich and heady in a way that made my stomach clench with an inexplicable dread. I buried my face in the fabric, pretending to straighten the collar while my heart hammered against my ribs.

"Long meeting?" I asked, keeping my voice light as I hung the jacket in our closet.

Roman's response was a noncommittal grunt as he headed for the shower. "Pack business. Nothing you need to worry about."

The dismissal stung more than it should have. As Luna, pack business was my business too. But I swallowed the hurt and focused on the auburn hair I'd found clinging to his shoulder—long, silky strands that definitely weren't mine.

Over the following days, the signs multiplied like cracks in glass. Phone calls that ended abruptly when I entered the room, his voice shifting from intimate whispers to the formal Alpha tone he used in official pack business. Late nights became the norm, with Roman claiming urgent research meetings that couldn't wait until morning.

"The new researcher is brilliant," he'd say, his eyes lighting up in a way they hadn't for me in months. "Alessandra's work on pack genealogy could revolutionize how we understand bloodlines."

Alessandra. Even her name felt like a thorn in my throat.

I tried to push down the growing anxiety, telling myself I was being paranoid. Roman was my fated mate, chosen by the Moon Goddess herself. The bond between us was sacred, unbreakable. But Luna whimpered in my mind, sensing something I wasn't ready to acknowledge.

The formal pack gathering arrived like a storm I'd been watching build on the horizon. Our main hall buzzed with conversation as pack members mingled, discussing territory disputes and upcoming ceremonies. I moved through the crowd with practiced grace, offering refreshments and warm smiles while my eyes constantly searched for Roman.

I found him in the corner near the research displays, and my world tilted.

He was laughing—really laughing—in a way I hadn't heard in months. The sound was rich and genuine, the kind of laughter that came from deep joy rather than polite obligation. But it wasn't directed at me.

Alessandra Thomas stood beside him, her auburn hair catching the light like burnished copper. She was beautiful in an exotic way that made my own gentle features feel plain and forgettable. Her hand rested on Roman's arm as she spoke, her fingers tracing small circles on his sleeve with intimate familiarity.

My breath caught in my throat. That gesture—casual, possessive, unconscious—spoke of a relationship far beyond professional