My Alpha Credited My Work to His Dead Mate

The bleach fumes burned my throat, a familiar sting I’d grown used to over the last five years. My knees ached against the cold tile of the scullery floor, the harsh bristles of the scrub brush turning my knuckles raw and red. But today, the pain felt distant. Today was the day everything changed.

Above the industrial sinks, the mounted television flickered, broadcasting the live feed from the pack grounds just outside. The roar of the Silver Creek Pack vibrated through the speakers, a wall of sound cheering for one man.

Cullen.

My heart hammered a frantic rhythm against my ribs. He looked magnificent on the podium, his sandy hair catching the sunlight, his posture radiating the new strength of an Alpha. I paused my scrubbing, wiping a soapy hand on my stained apron. We had talked about this moment in hushed whispers late at night, tangled in sheets he never let me stay in past dawn. He promised that once he was Alpha, once his power was secure, he wouldn’t need to hide me anymore. He would reveal my designs. He would reveal *us*.

"Brothers and sisters of Silver Creek," Cullen’s voice boomed, smooth as velvet and sharp as a blade. "Today, we do not just celebrate a new leadership. We celebrate a new era of safety."

He gestured to a large easel covered in a velvet cloth. My breath hitched. This was it. The 'Moonlight Fortress.' I had spent three years agonizing over those blueprints, calculating load-bearing walls by candlelight, designing hidden escape tunnels for the pups and elders. I had poured my soul into that graphite.

Cullen yanked the cloth down.

A collective gasp rippled through the crowd on the screen. There they were. My drawings. My life’s work.

"This masterpiece," Cullen said, his voice dropping to a theatrical, trembling whisper, "was not born of my mind alone. It was guided by a spirit far purer than mine."

Tears pricked my eyes. *He’s going to say it. He’s going to say my name.*

He looked directly into the camera, his eyes shimmering with fake tears. "I dedicate this fortress to my late Fated Mate, the beautiful Sofia Barnes of the Blood Moon Pack. Her spirit guided my hand. She whispers the designs to me in my dreams."

The scrub brush clattered from my hand, splashing gray water onto my face.

*Sofia Barnes?*

The dead daughter of the Alpha we were trying to ally with? The girl he had never even met?

"No," I whispered, the word scraping out of my throat. "No, that’s… that’s mine."

The crowd erupted into sympathetic applause. I saw Alpha Barnes on the screen, weeping, embracing Cullen like a son. Cullen had stolen my work. He had stolen my voice. And he had buried me under the ghost of a dead girl.

I didn't think. I didn't care about the dirt on my uniform or the smell of bleach clinging to my skin. I scrambled up, my wet shoes squeaking on the linoleum