True Love, True Heir (Filipino)

The woman in the photos was young and beautiful, her high ponytail full of careless vitality.

There were pictures of my mate rowing her across the inner lake of wolf territory, guiding her through moonlit waters meant only for bonded pairs.

Pictures of him shifting beside her during the first snowfall, their wolves running freely across the white ground.

Pictures of him lifting a red maple leaf and tucking it into her hair beneath the autumn moon—a quiet mating-season gesture among wolves, intimate and unmistakable.

Spring. Summer. Autumn. Winter.

An entire year of love, carefully documented.

I took a slow breath, my fingers trembling as I opened a video.

My mate called her name softly.

“Lena.”

They stood on the sea cliffs at dusk.

She held his hand and asked gently, “Do you love me?”

The man I had been married to for seven years—The Alpha whose pup I carried.

He smiled and answered lazily, “You tell me. That question is too easy.”

I replayed the video again and again.

In the silence of the room, tears fell one drop at a time.

I sat alone until dusk swallowed the light.

When Gavin returned, his voice was gentle, almost tender.

“Why didn’t you turn on the lights?”

“It’s so dark—what if you fell?”

Light flooded the room.

I covered my swollen, tear-stained eyes.

He crouched in front of me, taking my hand.

“Why are you crying?”

“Who upset my precious Luna—and our little one?”

He bent down and kissed my belly.

As he leaned closer, I smelled it again—Sweet. Clinging—Another woman’s scent.

Endearments were everywhere—followed by orders for nutrients, skincare, and gifts, all delivered to her address.

I recorded everything, sent the evidence to myself, and erased every trace from his phone.

Then I lay back on the bed, shivering with cold, staring at the ceiling—seven years of marriage, reduced to a joke.

Every time he came home, he brought me freshly picked flowers.

I ignored the scent.

But now I knew. It wasn’t the garden—It was her.

I never scented him—I couldn’t. 因为I was a Luna without a wolf.

And without a wolf, the mate bond never warned me when he betrayed me.

“Where were you?” I asked calmly.

“Pack business,” he said easily. “Working late.”

You lied.

You weren’t handling pack affairs.

You were with her—Helping her.

She had sent me videos of everything—smiling, recording, deliberately slow.

She even mocked me:

Look at this. We’re both pregnant. And he still chose to stay with me.

What do you think that means?

It meant my pup and I mattered less.

I smiled anyway and reached for his hand.

“My love,” I said softly, “the baby and I suddenly want food from the eastern market. Would you go for us?”

My pup kicked hard, as if sensing my pain.

Gavin paused.

The impatience in his eyes was brief—quickly replaced by concern.

“That place isn’t suitable for pregnancy,” he said gently. “The food there is too rich, no proper nutrition.”

He turned toward the kitchen instead.

“I’ll make something better for you.”

He moved with familiar ease, pulling out protein packs, mineral supplements, and the sealed prenatal nutrient base used by pregnant wolves.

He adjusted the temperature, calibrated the mix by hand, careful and practiced.

“You go take a shower first,” he said over his shoulder. “Warm water. It’ll help you relax.”

“I’ll have everything ready by the time you’re done.”

Thoughtful. Patient.

Just like he’d always been.

The sound of water soon filled the room.

I swallowed the grief rising in my chest and rested a hand over my belly.

“Baby,” I whispered, voice shaking, “we’re about to fight a hard battle.”

His phone lit up on the dining table.

Once—Then again.

He never hid it—Perhaps he truly believed I would never look.

That I was too trusting—Too foolish—I reached for it.

The password opened under my trembling fingers—the date of Lena’s pregnancy scan.

Inside were their messages.

Endless threads of intimacy.

Matching profile photos.

Names softened by affection.

I stood there in the quiet, the warmth of the room suddenly unbearable, as the truth settled in completely— He loved me.

And he still chose to betray me.

Endearments filled every corner of his messages,followed seamlessly by orders—nutrients, skin care, gifts—all delivered to her address, without hesitation, without guilt.

I recorded everything, sent it to myself, and deleted every trace,my hands steady even as my body shook.

When I finally lay back on the bed, shivering with cold,only one thought remained clear.

Seven years of marriage—nothing more than a joke.

When his phone rang again, I watched him step onto the balcony, closing the door carefully.

“There’s an emergency,” he said softly. “I need to go out for a bit.”

I looked at him.

“I don’t feel well.” I whispered. “Can you stay?”

For one moment, I thought— If he stayed, maybe I could forgive.

But broken bonds never heal.

He sighed gently. “I’ll have a healer come sit with you. I’ll be back soon.”

Soothing. Caring. But Cruel.

And that was the moment I knew— I would leave. With my pup.

And the Alpha would never feel my absence…