Alpha, I Don't Need Your Love

The crystal chandelier above cast a warm glow over the Moonstone Pack's grand ballroom, its light catching the delicate beading on my custom-designed white gown. I stood at the center of the stage, my heart racing with anticipation as hundreds of guests filled the opulent space—Alphas and Lunas from neighboring packs, their eyes fixed on me with a mixture of curiosity and judgment.

Seven years. Seven years of love, devotion, and dreams had led to this moment.

I smoothed my hands over the silk of my dress, the fabric I had personally selected and sewn with trembling fingers just weeks ago. Every stitch had been infused with hope, every pearl carefully placed with the vision of becoming Vincent's Luna. Around me, the white roses I had arranged this morning filled the air with their intoxicating fragrance—imported from Europe at Vincent's insistence, or so I had believed.

"Ladies and gentlemen," the MC's voice boomed through the sound system, his enthusiasm infectious as he gestured toward the elaborate floral arrangements. "Before we begin this sacred marking ceremony, let us take a moment to appreciate the incredible thoughtfulness of our future Alpha, Vincent Howard."

My cheeks warmed with pride as murmurs of appreciation rippled through the crowd. The elders of Moonstone Pack, who had never quite accepted my humble origins, nodded with what looked like grudging respect. Elder Malcolm, his silver hair gleaming under the lights, even managed a tight smile in my direction.

"These exquisite white roses," the MC continued, his voice rising with theatrical flair, "were personally selected and flown in from the finest gardens of Provence. Alpha Vincent spared no expense to ensure this day would be perfect for his beloved mate."

I bit my lip to keep from beaming too widely. Vincent had always been thoughtful, but this gesture felt like a public declaration that I was worthy of such luxury, worthy of being his Luna despite what the pack elders whispered behind closed doors.

The massive screen behind me began to descend with a mechanical hum, and I felt my pulse quicken. Vincent had mentioned a surprise video—a retrospective of our seven years together, from our first meeting as teenagers to this moment. I could already picture the images: our first dance at the summer solstice celebration, the night he first told me he loved me under the full moon, the countless moments that had woven our lives together.

"And now," the MC announced, his voice dropping to a reverent whisper that somehow carried to every corner of the ballroom, "let us journey through the beautiful love story of Vincent Howard and Constance Stewart."

The lights dimmed, and I turned toward the screen with a smile that felt like it might split my face in half. This was it—the moment that would cement my place not just as Vincent's mate, but as the future Luna of Moonstone Pack.

But the image that flickered to life made my blood turn to ice.

It wasn't our first dance or our first kiss. It wasn't any moment from our seven years together.

Instead, the screen showed the sterile white walls of Saint Mary's Hospital, the maternity ward's distinctive blue and pink striped wallpaper clearly visible in the background. My breath caught in my throat as the camera focused on a figure I knew as well as my own reflection.

Vincent.

He was holding a tiny, squirming bundle wrapped in a blue blanket, his face soft with an expression I had never seen before—pure, unadulterated tenderness. The baby's small fist waved in the air, and Vincent's finger traced the infant's cheek with infinite gentleness.

"Vincent," a weak but satisfied voice came from the hospital bed, and the camera panned to show Sandra Morgan, Vincent's secretary, her dark hair spread across the pillow like a halo. She looked exhausted but radiant, the way new mothers do in movies. "Our son looks just like you."

The words hit me like a physical blow. The ballroom around me seemed to tilt, the faces of the guests blurring into a sea of shocked expressions and gaping mouths. But what made my knees nearly buckle wasn't just the baby or Sandra's words—it was the glint of light catching on her left hand as she reached toward Vincent.

A diamond ring. The exact same cut, the exact same setting as the one currently weighing down my own finger.

The baby's cry pierced through the stunned silence of the ballroom, a sound that seemed to echo off the crystal chandeliers and marble floors. I stood frozen on the stage, my white gown suddenly feeling like a costume, like I was playing dress-up in someone else's life.

The gasps and murmurs from the audience grew louder, a rising tide of shock and disbelief. I caught sight of Elder Malcolm's face, his earlier grudging approval replaced by something that looked almost like satisfaction, as if this moment confirmed every doubt he'd ever harbored about my worthiness.

"What the hell is this?" Vincent's voice cut through the chaos, but he wasn't looking at me with the same shock and confusion I expected. Instead, his eyes were fixed on the technical booth at the back of the ballroom, his jaw clenched with anger rather than surprise.

The screen continued to play, showing Vincent pressing a gentle kiss to the baby's forehead while Sandra smiled up at him with exhausted adoration. The intimacy of the moment was unmistakable—this wasn't a boss checking on an employee, this wasn't a kind gesture from an Alpha to a pack member in need.

This was a family.

My family. The family I thought I was building with Vincent.

The sound of heels clicking against marble cut through my shock, and I turned to see Sandra herself emerging from behind the stage's velvet curtains. She moved slowly, carefully, as if she were still recovering, and in her arms was the same baby from the video—very much alive, very much real.

Sandra's eyes met mine across the stage, and for just a moment, I saw something flicker in her gaze. Not guilt or shame, but something else entirely. Something that looked almost like triumph.

"I'm so sorry about this," Sandra said, her voice carrying clearly through the ballroom's sound system as she approached. Her tone was apologetic, but there was something underneath it that made my skin crawl. "I never wanted to disrupt such a beautiful ceremony."

She shifted the baby in her arms, and the infant's face was clearly visible to everyone in the ballroom. Even from a distance, even through my shock, I could see the resemblance. The strong jawline, the dark hair, the way the baby's eyes crinkled when he yawned—it was like looking at a miniature version of Vincent.

"You see," Sandra continued, her voice gaining strength as she spoke, "I'm just a single mother trying to make the best of a difficult situation. Alpha Vincent has been so kind, so generous in helping me through this challenging time."

The baby chose that moment to let out another cry, the sound cutting through Sandra's explanation like a knife. She bounced him gently, making soft shushing sounds that seemed practiced, natural.

Motherly.

Vincent stepped forward, his face a mask I couldn't read. But instead of rushing to my side, instead of offering an explanation or demanding answers, he nodded at Sandra's words.

"That's right," he said, his voice carrying the authority of an Alpha addressing his pack. "Sandra is a valued member of our pack, and it's my duty to ensure the welfare of all our members, especially those in vulnerable situations."

His words should have been reassuring, should have explained away the impossible scene playing out before me. But something in his tone, something in the way he avoided my eyes, made my chest tighten with a fear I couldn't name.

The ballroom had fallen into an eerie quiet, broken only by the baby's soft whimpers and the rustle of expensive fabric as guests shifted uncomfortably in their seats. I could feel hundreds of eyes on me, waiting to see how the future Luna would handle this unexpected revelation.

But all I could do was stand there, my hands trembling at my sides, staring at the man I had loved for seven years as he defended another woman holding his child.