My Alpha Chose His Bastard Over Our Pup

The scent hit me like a physical blow.

I stood frozen in the marble lobby of Silvercrest Pack's corporate headquarters, my nostrils flaring as I processed what I was smelling. Vanilla and rose—a sickeningly sweet combination that I knew all too well. Victoria's signature fragrance.

But that was impossible. This morning, I had personally scent-marked Ryker with cedar and mint before he left for his meetings. I remembered the way his skin had warmed under my touch, how he'd kissed my forehead absently while checking his phone. Now, five hours later, he reeked of another woman.

My wolf stirred restlessly beneath my skin, a low growl building in my chest that I fought to suppress. Not here. Not in front of the pack employees who were already whispering about their Alpha's wife standing statue-still in the lobby like some kind of madwoman.

"Mrs. Blackwood?" The receptionist's voice seemed to come from underwater. "Are you alright?"

I forced my lips into what I hoped resembled a smile. "Fine. Just waiting for my husband."

But I wasn't fine. Nothing about this was fine.

The elevator doors chimed, and Ryker emerged, his dark hair slightly disheveled, his usually pristine suit wrinkled in a way that spoke of... activities. His gray eyes met mine across the lobby, and for a split second, I saw something flicker there. Guilt? Annoyance? It was gone before I could be sure.

"Serena." His voice was carefully neutral as he approached. "What are you doing here?"

The scent grew stronger as he neared, that cloying vanilla-rose mixture that made my stomach turn. I wanted to step back, to put distance between us, but my feet seemed rooted to the marble floor.

"I brought the Hartwell contracts for your signature." The lie came easily. In truth, I'd come because something had felt wrong all day—a nagging intuition that had driven me from our penthouse to seek him out. Now I knew why.

Memories crashed over me like a riptide, pulling me back five years to when I'd first arrived at Silvercrest as Ryker's bride. An orphan with no pack, no family, no bloodline worth mentioning. His mother had made it clear from day one that I was beneath them, that I was lucky her son had chosen me at all.

"She's not even from a notable pack," Luna Margaret had whispered to her friends at our mating ceremony, loud enough for me to hear. "No breeding, no connections. I don't know what Ryker sees in her."

What he'd seen, apparently, was someone malleable. Someone who would smile and nod while he built his empire on my back. Because while Ryker played Alpha, I was the one who'd transformed Silvercrest from a debt-ridden pack into a billion-dollar corporation. Every late night, every brutal negotiation, every sacrifice—that had been me.

And through it all, I'd endured the whispers about my "weak wolf" every time I miscarried. Three times in five years, three times his mother had looked at me with that mixture