My Alpha Will Never Learn to Be Loya

Right after sending that message, a sharp, burning pain coiled in my chest—my wolf whimpered, claws scraping against the inside of my ribcage.

It wasn't just heartbreak.

It was the mating bond unraveling thread by thread.

Through the restaurant's glass window, I spotted Alpha Martin on the dance floor, twirling Yvonne. Their hands were clasped too tightly, and even from here, I could hear the laughter echoing like a slap to the face.

"Kiss! Kiss!" someone hollered.

Martin hesitated for a split second，but then leaned in and pressed a kiss to Yvonne's cheek.

The crowd roared like they'd just witnessed a royal coronation.

"Wishing Alpha Martin and Luna Yvonne a lifetime of happiness!"

Luna. Luna.

I let out a short, bitter laugh, tossed my untouched blood-orange mousse into the trash, and turned on my heel without looking back.

Clearly, Martin still remembered one of the promises he made me.

"Simona, you're the only one I'll ever kiss."

But he forgot the other promise.

The one that really mattered.

"If you ever betray me, I'll leave without hesitation."

And now here I was. Hesitating.

The bond between mates isn't easy to break—it digs in deep, fuses souls at the bone. But I could feel mine fraying, pulling apart like torn sinew. my wolf, paced in my mind, agitated.

Let go, she growled. He's not ours anymore.

I drove back home, my knuckles white on the wheel. The moment I opened the door, I was hit with a wave of… rose petals?

Thousands of crimson petals were scattered across the floor.

Warren, the butler, emerged from the shadows with a cake cart. Behind him, the pack house staff stood in a perfect line, each holding a pastel balloon .

"Happy birthday, Miss Simona!" they all chorused.

I blinked, stunned—and then my eyes burned, and damn it, tears slipped free.

Warren fumbled toward me. "Miss Simona, please—don't cry! Alpha Martin was busy with work today, but he prepared all this for you! And the gifts! Look—"

I glanced toward the living room. It looked like Christmas morning exploded in there. Gifts of every size, wrapped with ribbon and scented spell paper, were stacked so high they practically brushed the chandelier.

I forced a smile and wiped my face. "It's okay. I'm not sad. Just… really touched."

My wolf made a sound like a dry retch.

"Let's cut the cake," Warren said gently.

I nodded, grabbed the knife, and did the ceremonial slice. I handed out cake to everyone like a perfect Luna, then transferred each servant ten thousand in pack funds as a thank-you.

The gasps of joy and grateful murmurs followed me like perfume.

"Thank you, Miss!"

"Alpha Martin is so lucky to be marrying someone like you!"

I gave them a thin-lipped smile. "Mm. Sure he is."

Then I told Warren to move all the gifts to the storage room. I'd deal with that mountain of false affection later.

Upstairs, I collapsed onto my bed, boots still on. My phone buzzed.

It was Yvonne.

Simona, are you serious? You're really giving Martin to me?

My heart twisted like a blade had found its way inside.

I clicked on the video I'd secretly recorded at the restaurant. There was Martin, crouched like a gentleman to lift Yvonne's dress hem so she wouldn't trip.

Then came the toast. Eyes locked, smiles happies.

I swallowed hard. Tears blurred my vision, but I typed anyway.

Yeah. I'm not lying. Send me your size—I'll have the wedding planner make the changes.

It took her ten minutes to respond. In that time, I almost convinced myself she wouldn't.

But then—ding.

A new friend request on WolfBook.

Yvonne Jimenez. Her profile picture was a matching avatar—two cartoon wolves nuzzling noses, under a moon.

I zoomed in. My stomach dropped.

It looked exactly like the one Martin had made for me.

"Simona, I had this custom-designed just for us. No one else will have it."

Liar.

So that's why it had to be custom. So he could slap it on any new mate without anyone catching on.

Another message from Yvonne followed.

Simona, it's best if you step down from the Shadow Crown Pack's Luna position on your own.

Otherwise, I'll have to show up with a pup and take the throne by force—that would be exhausting.

Attached was a prenatal form.

Three months pregnant.

My wolf went still in my chest. The kind of stillness wolves have before they strike.

I stared at the screen, my nails digging crescents into my palms, pain dull but familiar.

And then, I turned off my phone.

I couldn't look anymore. I couldn't think. I couldn't breathe.