I stood frozen at the edge of the clearing, my hand instinctively protecting my swollen belly as I watched Dylan among the gathered pack leaders. My mate—my Alpha—had been missing for seven days, and now I knew why.

Cynthia Green clung to his arm like a vine, her delicate fingers possessively wrapped around his bicep. She wore a flowing white dress that accentuated her slender frame, making me acutely aware of my own heavily pregnant body. But it wasn't her beauty that made my blood run cold—it was the way Dylan looked at her, with an intensity he hadn't shown me since our marking ceremony.

"Look at her," Luna growled within me. "She's touching our mate."

I tried to push forward, to demand answers, but something held me back. Maybe it was the way the other pack leaders circled around them, or how Dylan's hand rested on the small of her back—a gesture so intimate it made my stomach twist.

"Grace," Marcus whispered beside me. "We should go."

"No," I said, my voice steadier than I felt. "I need to know."

Before I could approach, Cynthia turned to face the crowd. Her smile was radiant as she gestured toward something behind her.

"Ladies and gentlemen," she announced, her voice carrying across the clearing. "I'd like to share something special with you all."

A large screen descended from the trees—some kind of projection system I hadn't seen before. My heart pounded as images began to appear.

Me.

Private moments I'd shared with Dylan in our most intimate hours.

"That's..." I gasped, unable to finish as I recognized myself in various stages of undress, in positions and places I'd only ever been with my mate.

The crowd erupted in laughter. I scanned the faces of the pack leaders—men and women I'd met at formal gatherings, who'd bowed to me as Luna of Silvercrest. Now they stared at the screen with amusement, some pointing and whispering.

"Is that really the Luna?" someone called out.

"The desperate Hart orphan who threw herself at an Alpha," another replied, loud enough for me to hear.

My face burned with humiliation as more images appeared—some I didn't even recognize, clearly manipulated to make me look worse. In one particularly cruel photo, I appeared to be begging Dylan for attention while he turned away.

"Stop," I whispered, but no one heard me over the jeers.

Luna howled in agony within me, clawing at my consciousness. The mate bond burned like acid in my chest as I watched my dignity being stripped away piece by piece.

"That's enough," I finally managed, my voice carrying across the clearing.

The crowd fell silent as I stepped forward, my head held high despite the tears threatening to fall.

"Dylan," I said, using our mind-link. My voice shook with betrayal as I pushed into our connection. "What is this?"

His eyes widened when he saw me, guilt flashing across his face before it hardened into defensiveness.

"Grace," he replied through our bond, his tone dismissive. "You shouldn't be here."

"Why are they showing these pictures?" I demanded, fighting to keep my composure as another image flashed across the screen—me sleeping peacefully beside him, clearly taken without my knowledge.

"This isn't the place," Dylan said, glancing around at the watching crowd. "You're embarrassing yourself."

"Embarrassing myself?" I echoed, incredulous. "You're the one who—"

"Just go home," he cut me off. "Now."

Luna snarled, urging me to challenge him, to fight for our position. But before I could respond, something glinted at Cynthia's throat.

My breath caught as I recognized the delicate silver chain and crescent moon pendant—my mother's ceremonial Luna necklace, passed down through generations of Hart Pack Lunas.

"Dylan," I whispered, reaching out to touch the necklace through our bond. "That's my mother's."

He didn't deny it. Instead, he stepped closer to Cynthia, his hand protectively covering hers where it rested on his arm.

"You said it was destroyed during the rogue attack," I accused, my voice breaking as the final piece fell into place.

Cynthia's smile widened as she fingered the pendant. "He gave it to me as a symbol of our bond," she said, loud enough for everyone to hear. "Since you lost yours."

The crowd murmured approval, many nodding as if this made perfect sense. As if my mate giving away my family heirloom to another woman was somehow acceptable.

I stared at Dylan, waiting for him to deny it, to defend me, to do anything that showed he still valued our bond.

Instead, he simply said, "Go home, Grace. We'll talk later."

Luna's howl of anguish echoed through my mind as something inside me began to break.

I stumbled back to Silvercrest Pack territory, my mind still reeling from the humiliation at the inter-pack gathering. Luna paced restlessly within me, her rage a tangible force threatening to tear through my skin.

"Control yourself," I whispered, one hand protectively cradling my swollen belly. "We need to think, not react."

The pack grounds were quiet as I entered, most members avoiding my gaze. News traveled fast in wolf packs—they all knew what had happened. I straightened my spine and lifted my chin, refusing to show weakness.

"I am still Luna of this pack," I reminded myself, touching the mark on my neck that bonded me to Dylan.

With newfound resolve, I made my way to the pack administration building. As Luna, I had access to records and communications that might reveal what Dylan was planning.

"I need to review the quarterly territory reports," I told Marcus, who guarded the entrance. "Alpha Dylan requested my input."

Marcus hesitated, his eyes darting to my face. "Luna Grace, I'm not sure—"

"Are you questioning my authority?" I kept my voice level but let a hint of Luna's power seep through.

"No, Luna." He stepped aside, allowing me entry.

Once inside, I made my way to Dylan's private office. The room still smelled of him—pine and earth and power—but underneath lurked another scent. Floral. Sweet. Her.

I pushed the thought away and sat at his desk, accessing the pack's financial records. What I found made my blood run cold.

For months, Dylan had been systematically transferring pack resources—land deeds, financial accounts, even ancient artifacts—to a separate territory at the northern border. A territory registered under one name: Cynthia Green.

"He's building her a kingdom," Luna growled within me.

I dug deeper, my fingers trembling as I uncovered more. Construction permits for a new pack house. Security systems. Even a nursery design.

My hand instinctively moved to my stomach as a wave of nausea hit me. "No," I whispered. "It can't be."

But the medical records confirmed my worst fear. Cynthia Green was pregnant with Dylan's pup. The estimated due date was just three weeks after mine.

Luna's howl of anguish echoed through my mind, clawing at my consciousness with such force that I doubled over.

"Rip her apart!" Luna demanded. "Tear her throat out! Protect our mate and our pup!"

"No," I gasped, forcing myself to breathe through the rage. "We need to be smarter than that."

I closed the files and carefully erased all evidence of my presence. Dylan couldn't know I'd discovered his plans—not yet.

Back in my quarters, I pulled out a small communication device I'd kept hidden since the Hart Pack massacre. It was time to reach out to the one person who might understand what I was going through.

"Mrs. Johnson," I whispered into the device. "I need you."

Three hours later, I sat in a small cabin at the edge of neutral territory, facing the woman who had raised me after my parents' death.

"You look terrible," Mrs. Johnson said bluntly, her weathered hands grasping mine.

"I feel worse," I admitted, the tears finally breaking free.

She listened silently as I recounted everything—the photos, the necklace, the resources being diverted, the pregnancy.

"There's something not right about this Cynthia," Mrs. Johnson said when I finished. "No she-wolf could infiltrate an Alpha's defenses so quickly unless..."

"Unless what?" I prompted.

"Unless she's not what she seems." Mrs. Johnson's eyes narrowed. "I'll investigate her background. In the meantime, you need to stay strong and think strategically."

For the first time since seeing Dylan with Cynthia, I felt a glimmer of hope. I wasn't alone anymore.

Three days later, Dylan returned to the pack. I was in our quarters when he appeared, his expression unreadable.

"We need to talk," he said coldly.

I followed him to his office, my heart pounding. He closed the door behind us and turned to face me.

"I'm keeping both of you," he stated flatly.

"What?" I whispered, though I'd suspected this was coming.

"You as my marked Luna for political stability and pack legitimacy." His eyes were devoid of emotion. "Cynthia as my chosen mate for passion and genuine connection."

The words hit me like physical blows. "You can't do that," I said, my voice shaking. "The Moon Goddess—"

"The Moon Goddess gave me this position," he cut me off. "And as Alpha, I decide what's best for this pack."

He stepped closer, his Alpha aura pressing down on me. "You will not interfere with my relationship with Cynthia. That is an Alpha command."

I felt the weight of his words like chains around my neck. Luna snarled and fought against the command, but even she couldn't resist an Alpha's direct order.

"Do you understand?" he demanded.

I had no choice but to nod, though inside, something hardened into resolve.

"Yes, Alpha," I whispered, hating how easily the words came.

As he turned away, satisfied with my submission, I caught something in his eyes—a flicker of doubt, perhaps even regret.

Too little, too late.