My Alpha Rejected Me for His Mistress, Then Begged Back

Eight years.

Eight years of sleepless nights, of pouring over maps and intelligence reports, of calling in favors from pack leaders who owed me nothing, of fighting battles that weren't mine just to keep the Crescent Pack breathing. And today, after three grueling weeks of negotiation that nearly broke my body, I had finally done the impossible.

I had secured the Lycan Council's protection treaty.

The signed documents were still warm in my hands when Elena Sorin fell into step beside me in the pack house corridor. The Council envoy was a composed woman with sharp eyes and a sharper mind, someone I had come to genuinely respect over these past weeks. She gave me a small, approving nod as we walked.

'You should rest, Jocelyn,' she said quietly. 'What you just accomplished — that hasn't been done in three decades.'

I almost smiled. Almost.

I was seven months along, and my body felt every single day of it. My lower back had been a steady, burning complaint since sunrise. My feet were swollen inside my boots. But I had learned a long time ago not to let pain show in front of people who might use it against me.

I was nearly to Jayson's office when a gentle hand caught my elbow.

'Hey. Stop. Just for one second.'

Petra Vane. The pack healer was the one person in this entire building who looked at me like I was actually a person rather than a walking strategy manual. She was scanning my face with that quiet, clinical concern that never quite left her eyes these days.

'You're exhausted,' she said flatly. It wasn't a question.

'I'm fine.'

'You're not.' She pressed two fingers gently to my wrist, checking my pulse with practiced efficiency. Her frown deepened. 'Jocelyn, the stress you're under right now—' She hesitated, lowering her voice. 'It's not good for the pup. You need to slow down.'

I placed my free hand over my belly. A reflex. Something I'd started doing weeks ago without even meaning to. 'I just need to deliver this treaty. Then I'll rest.'

Petra looked like she had more to say. She always did. But she read something in my expression and let me go, squeezing my hand once before stepping back.

I straightened my spine and walked to the Alpha's office.

I smelled it before I even touched the door handle.

Sweet. Floral. Thick and cloying in a way that turned my stomach. A she-wolf's scent, wound so tightly around Jayson's woodsy musk that they had clearly been close for a long time. Far longer than today.

I opened the door.

They were tangled together on his desk. Papers scattered. His shirt half-open. The woman pulling herself upright was young, pretty in an angular way, with dark hair and the cold, calculating eyes of someone who had practiced being charming for so long she'd forgotten what genuine looked like.

Camila Vargas. Marcus's assistant. She fixed her blouse with the unhurried ease of someone