My Alpha Punished Me for His Luna’s Lies

The Pack House doors swing open with a force that rattles the windows, and I know—before I even see him—that Alpha Stefan has returned.

I'm in the back hallway folding linens when the Alpha Command hits. It's like invisible chains wrapping around my spine, forcing my knees to buckle. Every wolf in the house drops simultaneously, heads bowed, necks exposed in submission. I hit the floor hard, my palms catching on the rough stone.

"Welcome home, Alpha!" The chorus rises from dozens of throats.

I keep my head down, counting the cracks in the floor tile. One, two, three—

"Maya Weaver." Stefan's voice cuts through the air like a blade. "Come here."

My stomach drops. Of course he saw me. Of course.

I rise on shaking legs and make my way through the crowd of bowing wolves. They part for me like I'm diseased, which I suppose I am—wolfless, mateless, worthless. The Omega uniform I wear hangs loose on my frame, the gray fabric marking me as the lowest of the low.

Stefan stands in the foyer, tall and commanding in his black Alpha coat. His dark hair is windswept, his jaw set in that familiar hard line. And beside him, draped on his arm like expensive jewelry, is Harlow Duncan.

She's glowing. That's the only word for it. Her auburn hair cascades over her shoulders in perfect waves, and her hand rests protectively over the swell of her pregnant belly. The future Alpha heir. The pack's salvation. Everything I can never give him.

Everything I already gave him, years ago, before his wolf went silent and his memories disappeared.

"On your knees," Stefan says, and the Alpha tone in his voice leaves no room for defiance.

I drop. The cold marble bites into my kneecaps.

"Look at this mess." Harlow's voice is sugar-sweet, laced with poison. She lifts one delicate foot, showing off designer boots caked in mud. "The future mother of the Alpha heir shouldn't have to walk through filth, should she?"

Stefan's eyes—those gray eyes that used to look at me with such warmth—are ice-cold now. "Maya, clean her boots. And the floor. The Luna-to-be deserves pristine ground."

Luna-to-be. The title that should be mine.

I swallow the words burning in my throat and reach for Harlow's boot. My fingers tremble as I unlace it, feeling the weight of every watching eye. The pack members shift uncomfortably. Some look away. Others stare with pity or contempt.

Harlow giggles—actually giggles—as I work. "Be careful, Maya. These cost more than you'll earn in a year."

I don't respond. I learned long ago that silence is survival.

When both boots are clean and the foyer floor scrubbed, Stefan dismisses me with a wave of his hand. I retreat to the shadows, my knees aching, my pride in tatters.

But the humiliation isn't over.

Two hours later, Harlow summons me to the master bedroom—the room that should have been mine. She's sprawled across the massive bed like a queen, her laptop open beside her.

"Maya, darling, I need your help." Her smile is all teeth. "Come here."

I approach slowly, every instinct screaming danger.

"Log into the Alpha's account for me." She gestures to the laptop. "I need to make some purchases for the Mating Ceremony."

My hands move automatically, typing in the credentials I've memorized from years of managing the pack's finances. The screen loads, showing a balance that makes my chest tighten. I built that wealth. I managed every transaction, every investment, every—

"Perfect." Harlow snatches the laptop away. "Now, let's see..."

She pulls up a lingerie website, scrolling through sets of sheer white lace and silk. Each piece is more revealing than the last, designed for a Mating Ceremony—the sacred ritual where a wolf claims his mate.

Where Stefan should have claimed me.

"What do you think?" Harlow holds up the laptop, modeling a barely-there teddy against her body. "Will this please your Alpha? Oh wait—" She laughs, sharp and cruel. "He's not your Alpha anymore, is he? He prefers the scent of a fertile wolf. Someone who can actually give him an heir."

The words land like physical blows. My womb—burned out by the Wolfsbane Stefan forced down my throat months ago—aches with phantom pain.

"I think," I say carefully, my voice steady despite the storm inside me, "that white suits you."

Harlow's eyes narrow, searching for sarcasm, but I keep my face blank.

"Good girl." She adds three sets to the cart, each one more expensive than the last. "You may go."

I leave before she can see my hands shake.

That night, when the Pack House finally quiets, I slip into the kitchen. The ledger books are spread across the table—a mess of errors and miscalculations that the Beta made this week. If I don't fix them, supply orders won't go through. Warriors won't get paid. The pack will suffer.

So I work. I always work.

I'm halfway through correcting a logistics error when footsteps echo in the hallway. I freeze, pen hovering over the page.

Stefan appears in the doorway, barefoot and shirtless, clearly heading for water. He stops when he sees me, his expression unreadable.

For a moment—just a heartbeat—he inhales deeply. His nostrils flare. His hand twitches toward me, fingers reaching—

Then his gaze drops to my Omega uniform.

The warmth in his eyes dies instantly, replaced by cold dismissal.

"Stop pretending you understand pack business," he says flatly. "Go back to the servants' quarters where you belong."

He grabs his water and leaves without another word.

I sit alone in the kitchen, surrounded by the ledgers that prove I understand pack business better than anyone in this house, and I let myself feel it—just for a moment.

The rage. The grief. The burning, desperate need for this to end.

Soon, I promise myself. Soon.