SAMSON'S PLAN

MABEL

"Are you sleeping with Aisha?!" I screamed after Samson as he strode down the dimly lit hallway toward his bedroom.

My voice echoed off the cold marble walls, sharp and desperate. He didn't even slow down. His long, heavy strides carried him forward as if I were nothing more than a ghost whispering in the wind.

"She is your maid!" I went on and on, my chest heaving, tears of pure rage burning the back of my eyes. "You should be able to remember the days she scrubbed the floor! You should remember how she smelled like dirt and bleach! Have you forgotten who you are, Samson? You are an Alpha! And she is a weak, filthy Omega!"

I kept running behind him, my silk gown rustling loudly against my legs, but Samson didn't even turn his head. He reached his door, pushed it open, and stepped inside. I tried to follow him, but he turned around right at the threshold. His dark eyes were cold, void of any warmth, looking at me with absolute disgust.

"You were on the floor masturbating because Aisha mopped those floors," he said, his voice flat and brutal.

The words hit me like a physical blow. Before I could even open my mouth to scream back at him, Samson turned his back on me. He walked over to his desk, picked up a stack of heavy leather-bound books and papers, and headed straight toward the door leading to the guest suite on the far side of the hallway. He didn’t look at me again. He just shut the guest room door and locked it from the inside.

I stood there in the dark hallway, my hands trembling. The heavy click of that lock sounded like a final judgment. I had lost my husband to Aisha. The girl who used to bow her head in front of me, the girl who wore rags, had somehow taken Samson’s mind, his desire, and his loyalty.

A dark, bitter poison flooded my chest. I hated her. I hated her with every fiber of my being, and I swore to the night sky that I would do everything in my power to ruin her. If I couldn't have Samson, if I couldn't have my status, I would make sure Aisha ended up six feet under the dirt just like her pathetic little brothers.

For three or four days, I didn't leave my room. I became a prisoner of my own mind. I didn't care about the pack house, I didn't care about the servants, and I certainly didn't care about proper meals. I spent the long, agonizing hours sitting on my bed, snacking on dry biscuits, letting the crumbs fall all over the silk sheets.

Whenever my head got too full of rage, whenever the mental image of Samson touching Aisha made my blood boil, I would pull up my nightgown. I would lie on my back and play with my dry, hairy vagina just to numb the pain. It always took time for me to come. My body was tense, dried up by anger and frustration, but I would force my fingers against my vagina, pushing hard, touch after touch, until I finally reached a hollow, fleeting climax.

Samson never cared. He never knocked on my door. He never asked the servants if I was eating, and he never asked if I was alive. He lived in the guest room, moving around the pack house like I didn't exist.

On the fourth night, around eleven o'clock, a heavy silence hung over the estate. The clock on the wall ticked loudly. Driven by a sudden restlessness, I walked over to the grand window in my bedroom and peeped through the curtains out into the dark driveway.

My heart nearly leaped out of my chest.

A sleek black car was slow-rolling into the compound, its headlights cutting through the thick night fog. It stopped right near the private side entrance—the exact same car I had seen days ago.

It was eleven at night. My stomach twisted into a violent knot. She came back, I thought, my mind spinning wildly. She came back for the same hot sex with Samson!

A wave of manic energy surged through my veins. I didn't care that I was wearing a stained silk robe. I didn't care that my hair was a tangled mess. I was going to catch them tonight. I was going to drag that White Wolf out into the open and expose her in front of every guard in this pack.

I threw my bedroom door open and rushed down the stairs, taking them two at a time. I hurried past the quiet parlor and marched straight out into the main compound, the cool night air hitting my sweaty face.

"I caught you!" I yelled as I approached the dark vehicle, my hands clenching into fists. "You dirty, treacherous—"

The car door opened, and a tall figure stepped out into the dim light of the driveway lanterns.

I stopped dead in my tracks. The words froze in my throat, my jaw dropping in absolute, violent shock.

Standing right in front of me was not Aisha.

It was Alpha Damian. Aisha’s billionaire husband, the ruler of the Black Star Pack himself. He was dressed in a tailored black suit, his sharp jawline set, his dark eyes looking down at me as if I were a bug under his boot.

"Is... is it not Aisha?" I asked slowly, my voice trembling, my eyes scanning the empty backseat of the car in complete confusion.

Damian raised a dark eyebrow, a cold, mocking half-smile touching his lips. "Why would it be her?" he asked smoothly, stepping closer to the hood of his car. "Does my wife come here this late, Luna Mabel?"

My breath hitched. I opened my mouth to tell him everything—to tell him that his wife had been slipping into my husband's study to sleep with him, to tell him that Aisha was a hypocrite and a whore—but before I could utter a single word, heavy footsteps echoed behind me.

"Alpha Damian. Welcome," Samson’s voice boomed across the yard.

Samson walked out from the side entrance, dressed in his battle trousers and a dark tunic. His expression was serious, his posture rigid. He stepped right past me, completely ignoring my presence as if I were invisible, and extended his hand toward Damian in formal greeting.

"Alpha Samson," Damian nodded, shaking Samson's hand with a firm, powerful grip.

"I was not expecting a personal visit from the leader of the Black Star Pack at this hour," Samson said, his voice deep and cautious. "What brings you to Blue Wing territory?"

Damian adjusted the cuffs of his suit jacket, his expression darkening as he leaned against the door of his vehicle.

"I came personally because we have a common situation to handle," Damian said, his dark eyes locking onto Samson's. "My scouts report that Alpha Nicholas of the Iron Ridge Pack has crossed into the neutral zone. He sent a squad of his elite men to ambush me in a cave during the last battle. They tied me up in a hidden cave near the northern ridge."

I stood there, listening to Damian's smooth, confident voice, but my mind was screaming. A cave? Ambushed by Alpha Nicholas?

I looked at Samson's face. His jaw was clenched, his eyes totally unreadable, but I knew the truth. I knew Samson better than anyone. Nicholas didn't plan that ambush. That was Samson’s plot! Samson had been talking for weeks about neutralizing Damian to get to the Black Star resources. He had used Nicholas's name as a cover to draw Damian out and get rid of him quietly!

"Nicholas is getting bold," Samson said, playing along seamlessly, his voice dripping with fake concern. "If he is trying to take down an Alpha on neutral ground, he is declaring war on the entire Alliance."

"Indeed," Damian agreed, his tone dangerously calm. "My generals are already preparing our vanguard. But I wanted to align with you first, Samson. If Blue Wing joins forces with Black Star tonight, we can march on Nicholas's territory by dusk tomorrow and crush his forces before he knows what hit him."

"We will deal with Alpha Nicholas together," Samson declared, stepping closer to Damian. "My warriors are ready. We will plan the assault at first light."

They continued talking, two powerful Alphas standing in the cold midnight air, making plans to tear another pack apart. They spoke of battle strategies, troop numbers, and border lines, while I stood a few feet away, invisible, discarded, and dripping with hatred.

Samson thought he was being clever. He thought he could use Nicholas as a scapegoat, build an alliance with Damian, and keep his dirty secret with Aisha buried in the dark. He thought he had fooled everyone.

A slow, vicious smile began to form in the deep shadows of my mind.

They thought I was just a crazy, hysterical wife hiding in her bedroom, eating dry biscuits and crying over a lost marriage. They had no idea how dangerous a rejected woman could be.

Enjoy your little meeting, Samson, I thought, my eyes narrowing as I watched the two men shake hands once more under the dim lantern light. Build your alliance. Plan your war.

Tomorrow morning, the moment Samson leaves the estate to gather his generals, I am getting into a car. I am driving straight to the Black Star palace. I will walk right up to Alpha Damian, look him dead in his dark eyes, and tell him the ultimate truth: it wasn't Alpha Nicholas who ttied him up in that cave. It was my husband, Samson, who planned the entire thing—and he did it all to take Aisha back.