After His Mistress Killed My Baby, I Stole Her Future

The pen felt like a dagger in my hand, heavy and sharp enough to draw blood. I stared at the cream-colored cardstock on the mahogany desk, the ink blurring under my gaze.

"Stop trembling, Clara," Alpha Colton’s voice sliced through the silence of his office. It wasn’t a request; it was a command laced with the Alpha tone that forced my wolf to cower in submission. "It’s pathetic."

I gripped the pen harder, my knuckles turning white. "You can’t do this, Colton. Please."

Colton turned away from the window, his silhouette imposing against the afternoon sun. He looked every bit the powerful Alpha—broad shoulders, sharp jawline, radiating an aura that used to make my heart flutter. Now, it just made me cold. He walked over to the desk, his fingers idly straightening his diamond cufflinks—a nervous tic he thought I didn’t notice.

"It is already decided," he said, his voice devoid of any emotion. "Kimora and I agree that the boy needs a strong, sacred name to legitimize his position as Future Alpha. He will be named Jedidiah."

The name hit me like a physical blow to the chest, knocking the air from my lungs. *Jedidiah.* The name I had whispered to my own belly for months. The name I had screamed when my son was born too early, too small, and then... gone.

"That was his name," I whispered, the words scraping my throat. "That was *our* son’s name."

Colton leaned down, placing his hands flat on the desk, invading my space. His scent—cedar and rain—was suffocating. "Your son didn't survive, Clara. My heir needs a legacy, and you are going to give it to him. You will write these invitations by hand. You will organize the presentation. And when the pack looks at you, you will smile. Do not embarrass me."

He tapped the paper with his index finger. "Write it."

With a shaking hand, I forced the nib to the paper. *Future Alpha Jedidiah.* Each letter was a betrayal. Each curve of the ink felt like I was erasing the memory of the tiny, cold bundle I had held for only a moment before they took him away.

***

That night, the Pack House was alive with the noise of preparation, but my world had shrunk to the size of a closet. I pushed aside the rack of heavy winter coats and pressed my palm against the back wall. The hidden panel clicked softly, sliding open to reveal the only thing that kept me sane.

It was a small alcove, lit by a single battery-operated candle. In the center sat a small, silver urn. I knew, deep in the paranoid corners of my mind, that it might be empty. Colton had handled the cremation so quickly, so secretly. But it was all I had.

I sank to my knees, the plush carpet offering no comfort. My fingers traced the cold metal. "I'm sorry, baby," I choked out, the tears finally spilling over. "I'm so sorry I couldn't stop them."

Suddenly, a breeze drifted in through the cracked window, carrying a scent that made my stomach turn. Moon Flowers. Sickeningly sweet, nocturnal blooms that only opened in the dark. Colton had planted a garden of them for Kimora right below my window.

It used to be our scent. Now, it smelled like her.

The aroma triggered a memory—Colton laughing, tucking a flower behind my ear—and then it twisted into the reality of him holding Kimora, giving my son's name to her bastard.

My breath hitched. The walls started to close in. A panic attack rose like a tide, threatening to drown me. I couldn't scream; Colton would hear. I shoved the fleshy part of my hand into my mouth and bit down. Hard. The sharp, metallic taste of blood filled my mouth, grounding me. I focused on the pain, letting it anchor me to the floor until the shaking stopped.

***

The Great Hall was a masterpiece of my own torture. I had directed the servants to hang the gold banners, ordered the expensive wine, and arranged the seating chart that placed me at the far end of the head table—visible, but separate.

I stood in the shadows of the archway, wearing my ceremonial Luna robes. They used to fit perfectly, accentuating my curves. Now, the heavy velvet hung loosely on my gaunt frame, swallowing me whole. I felt like a ghost haunting my own life.

The music swelled, a triumphant orchestral piece I had been forced to select. The double doors opened, and the pack went silent.

Colton walked in, his head held high. On his arm was Kimora. She wore a dress of shimmering silver that clung to her body, leaving little to the imagination. And in her arms, she carried the toddler.

"Welcome, everyone!" Colton’s voice boomed, utilizing his Alpha command to demand attention. "Tonight, we celebrate the future of the Obsidian Shadow Pack!"

He led them to the dais, the platform where I should have been standing. The pack members cast furtive glances in my direction—pity, scorn, embarrassment. I kept my face a mask of ice, my chin lifted just enough to show I wasn't broken, even if I was crumbling inside.

"I present to you," Colton shouted, lifting the boy high into the air like a trophy, "Future Alpha Jedidiah!"

The cheers were deafening, forced but loud. Kimora turned her head, scanning the room until her eyes locked on mine. A slow, cruel smirk spread across her red lips. She leaned in and kissed Colton’s cheek, a possessive mark for everyone to see.

I didn't flinch. I didn't cry. But deep inside the recesses of my mind, where I had kept her locked away for her own safety, my wolf stood up. She didn't whimper in grief this time. She paced the cage of my consciousness, her claws scratching against the walls of my skull, demanding blood.