Alessia POV:

My heart felt like a lead weight in my chest as I turned from the gallery. The air, thick with cigar smoke and the cloying scent of Serena’s cheap perfume, was suffocating. I needed to get out. I needed to breathe air that wasn't tainted with betrayal.

I took the back staircase, my hand trailing along the cold stone wall, avoiding the celebration, avoiding the pitying or scornful looks.

As I reached the bottom of the stairs, a figure stepped out from the hallway, blocking my path.

Serena.

She held a glass of champagne, a smug, victorious smile on her perfectly painted lips. “Alessia. I didn’t expect to see you down here. Shouldn’t you be resting?” The fake concern in her voice was like nails on a chalkboard.

“I was just leaving,” I said, my voice flat. I tried to step around her.

She moved with me, blocking me again. “Leaving so soon? But the party is for us. For my son. Your future stepson.”

“He will never be my stepson,” I said, the words cold and sharp.

Her mask of friendliness dropped, replaced by a venomous sneer. “Oh, but he will be. Dante adores him. He adores me. He’s tired of a cold wife who can’t even give him the time of day.” She took a deliberate step closer, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. “He told me everything. He’s going to reject you. Tomorrow. In front of everyone.”

Her words confirmed the thought I’d intercepted, but hearing them from her lips was a fresh wave of pain. My body swayed, and I reached out a hand to steady myself against the wall.

“I will be the Don’s wife,” she hissed, her eyes glittering with triumph. “And you… you will be nothing.”

The bond I shared with Dante, the sacred link that connected our souls, felt like it was being stretched to its breaking point. A sharp, searing pain shot through me, so intense it made my vision swim.

Just then, down the long corridor, a figure emerged from the main hall.

Dante.

Serena’s eyes flickered towards him, and in an instant, her entire demeanor changed. Her triumphant sneer vanished, replaced by a look of wide-eyed terror.

Before I could even process what was happening, she let out a piercing shriek. Her hand, the one not holding the champagne, flew to her own arm, her sharp nails digging into her flesh, drawing blood.

“No, Alessia, please!” she screamed, her voice filled with manufactured panic. “Don’t hurt me! I’m sorry!”

Dante was there in a flash, the blur of his movement a testament to the power he commanded. He didn’t even look at me. His entire focus was on Serena, his hands gently taking her arm, his eyes dark with fury as he saw the bloody scratches.

“What did you do?” he snarled, his gaze finally snapping to me. It was filled with so much hatred it felt like a physical blow.

“Dante, I didn’t…”

“Be silent,” he commanded.

He used the Don’s Command. It wasn’t a shout; it was a low, guttural order infused with his power, a force that demanded obedience. It slammed into me, an invisible fist that stole my breath and clamped down on my will. My body froze, my mouth refusing to form the words of my defense. My own soul, bound to his, was being used as a weapon against me.

“Get out of my sight,” he commanded, his voice shaking with rage as he cradled Serena against his chest.

Every instinct screamed at me to stay, to fight, to make him see the truth. But the Command was absolute. It was a physical force, pushing me, compelling me. My feet began to move against my will, each step an agonizing betrayal of my own body.

My own inner wolf, the core of my being, whimpered in confusion and pain. He was our mate. He was supposed to be our protector. Why was he hurting us?

“Dante, please,” I managed to whisper, the words tearing from my throat despite the force holding me silent. “I am your mate. I carry your son.”

He didn’t even look at me. His eyes were fixed on Serena, his expression softening as he comforted her. “Leave,” he said, his voice cold and final. “Now.”

My heart didn’t just break. It shattered. The pieces turned to dust inside my chest.

As I turned, forced away by his power, I whispered one last thing, so quietly I knew he wouldn’t hear it over Serena’s fake sobs.

“Goodbye, Dante.”

Each step away from him was agony, his power a crushing weight on my soul. But with each step, the dust of my shattered heart began to solidify, not into love, but into something hard and cold and unbreakable.

Ice.

Alessia POV:

The walk back to our wing of the house felt like traversing enemy territory. The scent of him, of them, was everywhere. Serena’s cheap floral perfume mixed with Dante’s masculine scent of leather and spice. It was a violation, an invasion that made my stomach churn.

This wasn’t my home anymore. It was a cage tainted by lies.

When I pushed open the door to our bedroom, the combined scent was so strong it felt like a slap. I saw her things—a silk robe draped over my reading chair, a pair of her shoes by the bed.

Something inside me snapped.

A raw, desperate energy surged through me. I stalked into the room, grabbing the silk robe and flinging it out into the hallway. Then her shoes. A book she’d been reading. I didn’t care who saw. I didn’t care what they thought. I was cleansing my space, exorcising her presence with a fury I didn’t know I possessed.

I was in the middle of dragging Dante’s clothes from the closet, intent on throwing them out too, when a sleek black car pulled up to the front entrance.

Dante emerged, Serena clinging to his arm. He was holding her child, whispering soothing words to him.

“This will be your new home now, little one,” I heard him say, his voice carrying on the still night air. “I’ll protect you both.”

An elderly pack member, Mrs. Bianchi, was walking by and stopped, her face breaking into a warm smile. “Don Rossi! What a beautiful family. Congratulations on your heir.”

Serena beamed, preening under the praise.

My blood ran cold. The lie was spreading. It was becoming truth in the eyes of our people.

Dante didn’t correct her. He didn’t even hesitate. He simply nodded, a possessive hand coming to rest on Serena’s waist, pulling her closer. It was a clear, public declaration.

In their eyes, I was already replaced.

He finally looked up and saw me standing in the doorway, his clothes in a heap at my feet. A flicker of annoyance crossed his face.

“Alessia,” he said, his voice tight. “I thought I told you to wait for me.”

It was such a blatant lie, such a transparent attempt to paint me as the disobedient one, that a bitter laugh almost escaped my lips.

“Why didn’t you tell her the truth, Dante?” I asked, my voice dangerously quiet. “Why didn’t you tell her that child isn’t yours? That I am the one carrying your heir?”

“Don’t make a scene,” he hissed, his eyes darting around to see if anyone was listening.

The baby in his arms began to fuss, a thin, reedy cry that instantly captured all of Dante’s attention. He turned his back on me completely, focusing on cooing at the child.

“Serena and the boy will be staying here,” he said over his shoulder, his voice devoid of any emotion. “In the master suite. You can take the guest room at the end of the hall.”

The guest room. The omega’s quarters. It was the lowest-status room in the house, reserved for visiting members of no importance. It was a public and deliberate humiliation.

He was not just replacing me. He was demoting me. Erasing me.

Any lingering flicker of hope, any tiny, stupid ember of the love I once felt, was extinguished. There was nothing left now but a hollow, aching void.

He wanted to put me in my place. Fine.

I would find a new one.

Alessia POV:

Dante settled Serena and her child into the room right next to our—my—bedroom. The message was clear. They came first.

A wave of nausea washed over me, a combination of morning sickness and the soul-deep sickness of his betrayal. My body felt weak, drained. My inner wolf, the life force tied to his, was restless and agitated, confused by the actions of its mate. It was a constant, low-grade thrum of pain under my skin.

I stumbled into the small, cold guest room he had assigned me and collapsed onto the bed.

A few minutes later, the door creaked open. It was Dante. He approached the bed, his face a mask of false concern.

“Are you unwell?” he asked, his voice a soft murmur. He reached out and stroked my hair, a gesture that once would have brought me comfort. Now, it felt like a lie.

His hand was tainted. I could smell her on him. The cloying floral scent mixed with the sour smell of her baby’s milk. The scent was an invasion, a physical presence in the room that made my nausea worse. My body recoiled from his touch, a primal rejection of the foreign scent on my mate.

“I need some water,” I whispered, my throat dry. My own body was fighting against me, protesting the poison in our lives.

He nodded, turning to leave the room. But just as he reached the door, I felt it—a private, intimate mental link opening between him and Serena. It was a connection he had never shared with anyone but me.

*Dante, my love,* her thoughts simpered, dripping with fake vulnerability. *The baby is crying. He needs you. I need you.*

His hesitation was nonexistent.

*I’m coming,* he sent back instantly, his thought a warm caress I hadn't received in months.

He turned back to me, his expression hardening slightly. “Serena needs me. I’ll send a servant with your water.”

And then he was gone.

He left me, his pregnant, mated wife, lying sick and weak, to run to her side.

A bitter, painful lump formed in my throat. I couldn't stay here. I couldn't breathe this air. I pushed myself up, my legs trembling, and made my way down the hall towards the kitchen.

As I passed Serena's room, the door was ajar. I tried to look away, to keep walking, but my eyes were drawn to the scene inside against my will.

It was a perfect picture of domestic bliss. A fire crackled in the hearth. Serena was lying on the bed, looking artfully exhausted, while Dante sat beside her, gently rocking her baby in his arms. He was humming a lullaby, the same one my mother used to sing to me.

I froze, my hand flying to my mouth to stifle a sob. My body was a statue of pure, unadulterated pain.

Then I heard her voice, soft and venomous. “When will you do it, Dante? When will you finally reject her and sever the bond?”

I watched in horror as he leaned down and pressed a soft kiss to her forehead. “Soon, my love,” he promised. “Very soon. I’ll give you and this little one the life you deserve. I promise.”

My world, which had been cracking for months, finally shattered into a million irreparable pieces.