The Alpha Wants My Son Dead

“Smile,” the attendant hissed under her breath. “They’re watching.”

I already knew.

The moment I stepped through the towering doors of the Ravenscroft estate, eyes locked on me—curious, gleeful, cruel. Their whispers brushed against the marble like wind through brittle leaves. I held my head high.

The hunting banquet was the crown jewel of our pack’s calendar. A night of feasting, boasting, and legacy.

As Luna, I should have been at the center. Instead, I stood in a borrowed shadow, heart braced for what I knew was coming.

Gasps broke like waves across the hall.

I didn’t need to turn to tell. He had arrived.

Chris.

My Alpha, my mate. The father of my son.

Walked in with another woman on his arm.

Bella slinked beside him like a queen already crowned, her hand draped over his in a possessive curl. A gleam against her neck—a black gold chain, elegant and ancient.

The hall split in reverence as they walked. Every inch of me burned

It was my chain.

The Luna’s chain.

Now on Bella’s neck. As if it belonged to her.

My nails dug into my palm.

"Alpha Ravenscroft and his mate have arrived!" the master of ceremonies called out, voice booming.

Mate.

The word slapped harder than a punch. My title—my name—was gone. Stripped from me like the necklace that once belonged to generations of Lunas before me.

I barely noticed the young Beta who approached until he cleared his throat awkwardly.

“Luna Whitmore,” he said, the name tasting foreign even to him. “You’ve been seated at the east table.”

I blinked. East table.

It was the table for the unmated. The outsiders.

I nodded as if he'd offered me a place of honor.

“Thank you.” My voice didn’t shake, but something deep inside did. I walked toward my new seat, spine straight, face still. Just like Father taught me. A Luna never bends. Even when her bones are splintering.

The whispers followed.

“...finally made it official…”

“...Whitmore blood’s thinned out…”

“...even her son’s sickly…”

Leo.

The name made me freeze.

The shame I could endure. But not him. Not my son.

A young she-wolf at the table glanced up, then dropped her gaze quickly, guilty just for looking at me. No one spoke. No one dared. I might as well have been a ghost.

“Wine, Luna?” an older Beta woman asked, voice soft with sympathy.

“Yes. Thank you.” I gripped the glass like a lifeline.

From here, I could see everything. Chris held court at the head table—my table—laughing like nothing was broken. Bella leaned into him, her red dress clinging to every curve. She was everything the pack admired: radiant, fertile, dominant. And now she wore my title.

Marcus Thornfield approached her, bowing deeply. “Luna,” he said, loud enough for the room to hear. “The hunt was glorious. Your Alpha brought down a stag fit for legend.”

Bella’s laugh rang clear and triumphant. “My Alpha is unmatched,” she purred, casting a glance my way that landed