Burned By My Own Alpha’s Love

My Mate, Alpha Ronan, locked me in our penthouse. All for his childhood sweetheart, Jessica. It was her birthday. That was the night fire consumed our home. I clutched my five-month pregnant belly. The pain was too much. I couldn't shift. I desperately called the pack guards. "Help me... I'm locked in. The apartment's on fire—" Silence. Then a cold voice. It was his right-hand man. "Amelia, the Alpha gave an order. Any alarms from the penthouse tonight are just you having a meltdown. Don't waste the pack's resources." The line went dead. I tried the pack's medical team. The operator hesitated. "Luna, I'm sorry. The Alpha has declared the penthouse off-limits. We can't enter without his direct order." Then the call was rerouted. To my Alpha. To Ronan. I heard his ice-cold voice. "She's losing it. My Mate loves to make a scene. Ignore her." Smoke filled the room. I shattered the balcony's glass door and jumped. From the 30th floor. I survived. But the doctor told me the fall and the shock had been too much. I’d gone into labor. My pup, our heir… was gone. And I could never have another. That same night, my Alpha was clasping the Luna's moonstone necklace around another woman's throat. A birthday gift for her.