The vibration of my phone against the nightstand sounded like a jackhammer in the silence of the bedroom. It was past midnight, and the empty space on the mattress beside me was cold to the touch. Cyrus wasn’t home.

I snatched the phone, my heart already hammering a frantic rhythm against my ribs. It was Jasmine.

"Elena?" Her voice was a hushed, frantic whisper. "You need to get down to the Grand Hotel. Now."

My grip tightened on the device. "What? Why? Is it Cyrus?"

"It’s him," she hissed, the sound of static crackling in the background. "He just went into Room 304. Elena... he’s with Sarah. I saw room service bring up a bottle of champagne. I tried to stop them, but—"

The air left my lungs. Sarah. His new, twenty-two-year-old personal assistant. The one with the wide, innocent doe eyes and the legs that seemed to go on forever. I had told myself I was being paranoid. I had told myself that a Beta like me should be grateful an Alpha like Cyrus Hall even looked her way.

"I'm coming," I choked out.

"Hurry," Jasmine urged, her voice dripping with what sounded like terrified concern. "Before it’s too late to save this."

I didn’t remember the drive. I only remembered the red haze of jealousy that clouded my vision, turning the city lights of New York into blurred streaks of fire. I was the future Luna of the Black Moon Pack. I was supposed to be composed, regal, and strong. But right now, I felt like a cracked mirror, holding together by sheer will.

When I reached the third floor of the hotel, Jasmine was already there, pacing near the elevator. She looked impeccable as always, her dark hair cascading over her shoulders, her face pinched with worry. She grabbed my arm the moment I stepped out.

"Elena, breathe," she whispered, pulling me toward the door. "Just... prepare yourself."

I didn't want to prepare. I wanted to burn it down.

I didn't knock. I didn't wait. I simply shoved the door open. It wasn't locked—a detail that felt like a slap in the face.

Inside, the scene wasn't the orgy I had feared, but the intimacy of it was undeniable. Cyrus was sitting on the edge of the bed, his tie loosened, a glass of amber liquid in his hand. Sarah was standing too close to him, leaning over a spread of documents on the duvet. There was a silver bucket on the nightstand. Champagne.

They both jumped as I stormed in.

"Elena?" Cyrus stood up, his brow furrowing. "What the hell are you doing here?"

"What am I doing?" My voice rose to a shriek, stripping away all my Beta training. "What are *you* doing with her in a hotel room at one in the morning, Cyrus? Champagne? Really?"

"Ms. Nelson, please, we were just reviewing the merger schedule!" Sarah stammered, clutching a folder to her chest, her face draining of color.

"Don't lie to me!" I lunged forward. Jasmine, who had followed me in, rushed to intercept me, her hands grabbing my waist.

"Elena, stop! Look at them!" Jasmine cried out, pulling me back. But in the scuffle, her hip checked a tall ceramic floor lamp. It teetered and crashed with a deafening shatter, sending shards of pottery skidding across the carpet.

The noise was like a gunshot. I froze. Sarah screamed.

"ENOUGH!"

The command didn't just hit my ears; it slammed into my soul. Cyrus used his Alpha tone. The power of it rolled off him in a suffocating wave, forcing the air from the room. My knees buckled, my wolf whimpering in submission inside my head. It was a physical blow, a heavy weight pressing my forehead toward the floor. I gasped, clutching the doorframe to stay upright, tears of humiliation stinging my eyes.

The silence that followed was absolute.

Cyrus stood over me, his eyes glowing a faint, menacing amber. He wasn't looking at me with love. He was looking at me with disgust.

"Get out," he growled, his voice low and dangerous. "All of you. My office. Now."

***

Thirty minutes later, the silence in the Alpha's office at the pack house was worse than the shouting. I sat on the leather sofa, trembling, my hands clasped so tightly my knuckles were white. Jasmine sat beside me, rubbing my back in slow, soothing circles.

Cyrus stood behind his desk, staring out the window at the dark skyline. Sarah stood in the corner, sobbing quietly into a tissue.

"You have disappointed me, Elena," Cyrus said, not turning around. His voice was cold metal. "My mate is supposed to be a pillar of stability. Instead, you burst into a business meeting like a deranged rogue, destroying property and terrorizing my staff."

"Business meeting?" I whispered, my voice cracking. "There was champagne, Cyrus. It was a hotel room."

"Because the conference room was booked for the Delta summit, and we are on a tight deadline for the Silver Pack alliance," he snapped, turning to glare at me. "The champagne was a gift from the hotel management. It was unopened."

My stomach dropped. I hadn't checked the bottle.

He turned his gaze to Sarah. The young girl flinched. "Sarah."

"Yes, Alpha?" she wept.

"Pack your things," he said, his face impassive. "You're fired."

"No!" I gasped, standing up. "Cyrus, you can't. If nothing happened, why fire her?"

"Because you made it impossible for her to work here," Cyrus said, pointing a finger at me. "You humiliated her. The rumors will start by morning because of *your* outburst. I have to let her go to protect the pack's reputation from your instability. This is on you, Elena."

Sarah ran out of the room, her sobs echoing down the hallway. I sank back onto the sofa, the guilt crushing me like a boulder. I had ruined an innocent girl's livelihood because of my own insecurity.

Cyrus sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. "I can't look at you right now. Go home."

He stormed out, slamming the door behind him.

I buried my face in my hands, letting the tears fall. "I'm so stupid. I ruined everything."

"Shh, shh," Jasmine cooed, pulling me into her embrace. She stroked my hair, her voice soft and sweet like poisoned honey. "It's okay, El. You just love him too much. That's your problem. You get so crazy when you're jealous."

She leaned close to my ear. "You really need to control yourself, honey. If you want to be a good Luna, you can't be so... unstable. But don't worry. I'm here. I'll help you fix this."

I nodded against her shoulder, grateful for the only friend I had left, completely unaware that the woman holding me together was the one who had just shattered me.

The guilt from the hotel incident hung around my neck heavier than any jewelry. For three days, I had walked on eggshells, replaying Cyrus’s disappointed glare and the sound of Sarah’s sobbing. I was the villain in my own love story, the insecure Beta who couldn’t handle the pressure of being an Alpha’s mate. I told myself I had to be better. I had to be the Luna he deserved.

That resolve was tested on Tuesday afternoon.

We were in the pack house living room, organizing the seating charts for the upcoming mating ceremony in New York. Jasmine was helping me, her fingers flying over her tablet as she coordinated with the florists. As she reached for a glass of water, the sunlight caught her wrist, sending a sharp, prismatic flare into my eyes.

I froze. Wrapped around her slender wrist was a vintage diamond bracelet. The setting was unmistakable—a delicate filigree of white gold shaped like twisting vines, holding teardrop diamonds. It was the exact piece Cyrus had told me was lost during a vault transfer two months ago. It had belonged to his grandmother.

"That bracelet," I said, my voice tight. "Is that..."

Jasmine didn’t flinch. She glanced down at her wrist and laughed, a light, airy sound. "Oh, this? Pretty, isn't it? I found a jeweler downtown who does high-end replicas. I’ve always admired the vintage style, so I treated myself."

"A replica?" I asked, staring at the stones. They didn't look like glass or cubic zirconia. They held the deep, cold fire of the real thing.

"Yeah, cost me a fortune, but it looks real, right?" She smiled, tilting her head. "Why? You don't think I'd steal from the Alpha, do you, El?"

My wolf stirred in the back of my mind, a low, rumbling growl of warning. *Liar,* she whispered. *It smells like him.*

But I shoved the instinct down. I had listened to my jealousy at the hotel, and look where that got me. I couldn't afford another outburst. "No, of course not," I forced a smile. "It's beautiful, Jas."

She patted my hand. "Thanks, babe. Now, about these centerpieces..."

I buried the suspicion, but the unease remained, a splinter under my skin. I needed to make things right with Cyrus. I needed to prove I trusted him.

Two days before the ceremony, I made a decision. I booked a flight to New York, twenty-four hours earlier than planned. I stopped at a specialty liquor store and bought a bottle of Macallan 25, Cyrus's absolute favorite. It was an apology, a peace offering, and a promise that I would be the supportive partner he needed.

I arrived at the penthouse building just as the city was settling into twilight. The doorman recognized me, tipping his hat as I breezed past. My heart fluttered with nervous excitement. I imagined the look on Cyrus's face—surprise, then relief, then that warm smile I hadn't seen in weeks.

I punched my emergency code into the private elevator. The numbers glowed soft blue under my trembling fingers. As the lift ascended to the top floor, I practiced my apology in the reflection of the brass doors. *I'm sorry I doubted you. I love you.*

The elevator doors slid open silently. The penthouse was dimly lit, the panoramic view of the Manhattan skyline painting the room in hues of purple and gold. I stepped out, clutching the heavy gift bag to my chest.

"Cyrus?" I called out softly, expecting him to be in his study.

Silence answered me. Then, a sound drifted from down the hallway. A giggle. High-pitched and familiar.

My stomach dropped. I took a step forward, the plush carpet swallowing the sound of my heels. The door to the master bedroom was cracked open just an inch, spilling a slice of warm, yellow light into the hallway.

"...so pathetic," a voice said. Jasmine's voice. "Did you see her face when she saw the bracelet? She actually bought the replica story. God, she’s so desperate to believe you."

I stopped breathing. The world narrowed down to that sliver of light.

"Elena has always been easy to manage," Cyrus’s voice replied. It wasn't the cold, professional tone he used with the pack, nor the gentle one he used to use with me. It was relaxed, amused. Arrogant. "She’s soft. That’s why she’ll never make a real Luna."

I crept closer, my hand trembling so violently the bottle in the bag clinked softly. I peered through the crack.

They were in our bed. The bed we had picked out together.

Cyrus was leaning back against the headboard, shirtless, a glass of whiskey in one hand. Jasmine was straddling his lap, wearing nothing but one of his dress shirts—the one I had ironed for him last week. Her hands were tangled in his hair.

"So why keep the engagement?" Jasmine traced a finger down his chest. "Why not just reject her and mark me? You know I’m better for the pack."

Cyrus laughed, a dark, throaty sound that made my blood run cold. "Politics, Jas. You know the Black Moon Pack is leveraged to the hilt. We need the Silver Pack’s alliance, and more importantly, their dowry. Elena comes with the Hansen family connections and her brother’s trade routes."

He took a sip of his drink, his eyes gleaming with malice. "Let me get the ring on her finger. Let me secure the funds. Once the alliance is legally binding... well, accidents happen. Or maybe she just fades away into the background like a good little Beta."

Jasmine smirked, leaning down to kiss his neck. "And me?"

"You," Cyrus growled, gripping her hips, "are my true mate in everything but title. She’s just the bank account."

The bag slipped from my fingers. I caught it just before it hit the floor, clutching it against my stomach so hard the cardboard box dented.

The pain I expected didn't come. Or perhaps it did, but it was so immense, so absolute, that it bypassed agony and went straight to numbness. The gaslighting, the firing of Sarah, the lectures on my insecurity—it all crystallized in that moment.

I wasn't crazy. I wasn't jealous. I was being played.

My wolf let out a howl of pure, unadulterated rage inside my head, thrashing against the mental barriers I had erected. She wanted to burst through the door, shift, and tear their throats out. She wanted blood.

*No,* I told her, my own internal voice icy and detached. *Not yet.*

If I walked in there now, I would be the hysterical ex-fiancée. He would spin it. He would say I misunderstood. He would use his Alpha command to force me to submit, just like at the hotel. I had no leverage. I had no proof other than my word against an Alpha's.

I backed away. One step. Two steps.

My eyes were dry. The tears wouldn't come. The Elena who had cried over a fired assistant was dead, killed in that hallway by the man she had loved for a decade.

I reached the elevator and pressed the button, watching the light on the panel blink. Inside the bedroom, the bedsprings creaked, followed by Jasmine’s soft moan.

I didn't shatter. I calcified. I stepped into the elevator, the doors closing on the scene of my destruction, and as the car began its descent, I made a promise to the skyline of New York.

He wanted the Silver Pack alliance? He wanted the Hansen connections?

He was going to get exactly what he bargained for. And it was going to destroy him.

The urge to scream clawed at my throat, a physical thing with talons and teeth, but I swallowed it down. My wolf was pacing in the back of my mind, snarling, demanding blood, demanding that I shift and tear through that mahogany door. But the human part of me—the part that had just heard the man I loved call me nothing more than a bank account—froze.

If I burst in there now, I knew exactly what would happen. Cyrus would use his Alpha voice. He would force me to my knees. He would spin a web of lies about how I was hallucinating, how I was unstable, just like he did with Sarah. And without proof, the pack would believe their Alpha over a jealous, emotional Beta.

My hand trembled violently as I reached into my purse. Not for a weapon, but for my phone.

I pressed my back against the cold wall of the hallway, making myself as small as possible. I focused on suppressed my aura, pulling every scrap of my energy inward until I felt like nothing more than a ghost. It was a skill I’d learned as a child to avoid attention during pack meetings, and now, it was the only thing keeping me safe.

I held the phone up to the crack in the door. The camera lens found them instantly.

On the screen, the betrayal was in high definition. Jasmine’s hand tangling in Cyrus’s hair. The glint of the whiskey glass. The way he looked at her with a hunger he used to save for me.

"...accidents happen," Cyrus’s voice drifted through the speaker, clear and damning. "Or maybe she just fades away into the background like a good little Beta."

I hit the stop button. The video saved.

I didn't stay to hear more. I couldn't. The bile was rising in my throat, acidic and burning. I backed away, one silent step at a time, my heels hovering over the plush carpet. When I reached the elevator, I slipped inside and pressed the button for the lobby. As the doors slid shut, sealing away the sliver of light from the bedroom, I didn't feel relief. I felt dead.

I drove on autopilot. I didn’t go back to the pack house, and I certainly didn't go to the apartment I shared with Cyrus. I found a nondescript chain hotel near the airport, the kind of place where no one asked questions and everyone paid in cash.

The moment the door to Room 214 clicked shut behind me, my legs gave out. I barely made it to the bathroom before I was violently ill, my body purging the shock that my mind couldn't process. I stayed there on the cold tile floor for a long time, shivering, clutching the toilet bowl as if it were a life raft.

Eventually, the trembling stopped. Not because I felt better, but because there was nothing left to feel.

I pulled myself up to the sink and splashed icy water on my face. I looked into the mirror. The woman staring back at me looked like a stranger. Her skin was gray, her eyes hollow and dark, stripped of the light that had lived there for ten years.

I reached up and touched the silver pendant at my throat—my grandmother’s necklace. It was cool against my feverish skin.

"He wants a good little Beta," I whispered to the reflection. My voice sounded raspy, foreign. "He wants the Hansen money. He wants the alliance."

A tear leaked out, but I wiped it away angrily. The Elena who cried over fired assistants was gone. She had died on the floor of a cheap hotel bathroom.

"I will give you exactly what you want, Cyrus," I vowed, my eyes hardening into flint. "And then I will take everything."

The next morning, the sun was offensively bright. I wore my best dress—a soft, powder-blue number that Cyrus had once said made me look "sweet." I applied my makeup carefully to hide the dark circles and practiced my smile in the rearview mirror until it looked genuine.

I met them for brunch at a bistro in the Upper East Side. When I walked in, they were already seated. They looked perfect together, chatting over menus, looking for all the world like a loyal Alpha and his dutiful pack member.

"Elena!" Cyrus stood up as I approached, a wary look in his eyes. He was checking my scent, looking for suspicion. "I didn't expect you to call for brunch. Are you feeling better?"

I didn't flinch when he kissed my cheek. I didn't recoil when I smelled Jasmine’s perfume clinging to his collar.

"I am," I said, my voice steady and soft. I sat down and placed my hand over his on the table. "I wanted to apologize, Cyrus. For everything. The hotel with Sarah... I was out of line. I let my insecurities get the best of me."

Cyrus blinked, surprised. His shoulders dropped an inch. The tension evaporated from his frame. "Well... yes. You were. But I'm glad you realize that."

I turned to Jasmine, who was watching me with narrow, calculating eyes. I widened my smile, injecting it with as much warmth as I could muster.

"And you, Jas," I said, reaching out to squeeze her hand. The same hand that had been on my fiancé's chest last night. "Thank you for taking care of him when I’m being crazy. I don't know what I’d do without such a loyal friend."

Jasmine stunned for a split second, and then a smug, victorious grin spread across her face. She thought I was pathetic. She thought she had won.

"That's what friends are for, El," she purred.

"Exactly," Cyrus said, squeezing my hand back, his arrogance returning in full force. "We're a team, Elena. As long as you trust me, everything will go according to plan."

"I know," I said, picking up my menu to hide the cold fire burning in my eyes. "I trust you completely, Alpha."

I ordered my coffee black. I needed the bitterness to remind me of the truth, while they drank their sweet mimosas and toasted to a future that I had already begun to dismantle.