Chapter 1

While washing my husband's suit, I caught the unfamiliar scent of another she-wolf. It carried a faint trace of milk and the distinct pheromones of early pregnancy. Stuck to the inner lining was a long strand of chestnut hair—a color and length completely different from mine. A wolf's nose never lies.

My heart sank like a stone.

Suddenly, everything over the past six months clicked. Ethan had been disappearing constantly under the excuse of "pack business," always returning with his scent heavily masked. One night, the collar of his shirt had lingered with the sweet smell of orange blossom—a popular perfume among she-wolves. When I questioned him, he just smiled, tousled my hair, and said, "You're overthinking it, babe. I was negotiating with neighboring Alphas. Scent transfers happen." I had actually felt guilty for doubting him back then. Now I knew the sickening truth: that scent belonged to his mistress.

I immediately reached out through the mind link to Beta Marcus: *Look into Ethan's recent whereabouts. Find out which packs he visited and who he met.*

I walked over to the window. Down below lay our manicured garden, where the roses were in full bloom. Ethan had planted them with his own hands for our mating ceremony anniversary last year, promising we would watch them blossom together year after year.

I didn't confront him right away.

After years of serving as the Luna of the Silver Creek Pack, I knew better than to act on impulse. An emotional breakdown solves nothing; only cold, hard proof gives you leverage. I closed my eyes and summoned my inner wolf, letting her trace the lingering scent's direction and intensity. It was pungent, thick enough to tell me their intimacy was neither brief nor a one-time mistake.

I dispatched my most trusted pack scouts to track the trail. Three days later, the report came in: Ethan had been making frequent trips to the neighboring Red Stone Pack, always heading to the exact same secluded lakeside cabin. Witnesses spotted him with a young she-wolf named Lily Brooks, a low-ranking member of Red Stone.

My chest tightened as if struck by a sledgehammer. The pain was suffocating.

That same night, I quietly traveled to the border of the Red Stone Pack. By dusk, I perched in the dense woods, using my heightened wolf vision to watch the cabin from afar. Men's shirts hung on the drying line out front—brands I personally bought for Ethan.

My phone buzzed in my pocket, followed by a soft ping through the mind link from Ethan: *Sweetheart, I'm meeting with pack envoys tonight to discuss the alliance. It might run late. Go to sleep without me, don't wait up.*

I sent back a simple *Okay,* and severed the link.

At dawn, I spotted Lily emerging from the cabin. She wore a breezy white dress that barely concealed her rounded belly, one hand resting protectively against her lower back. Ethan walked right beside her, carrying breakfast. He leaned down to speak with her, wearing the exact tender expression he used to reserve only for me.

They walked inside side by side. Ethan held the door open, his fingers gently brushing through her hair. In that single moment, every excuse and thread of hope I clung to shattered into dust.

I didn't storm the door.

Instead, I turned around and headed back to Silver Creek.

When I arrived home, Ethan was already in the Alpha manor. Dressed in comfortable loungewear, he was bustling around the kitchen. "Honey, you're back?" He smiled warmly and moved in to hug me.

I subtly took a step back to dodge his arms. "I'm exhausted. Heading straight to the shower."

In the bathroom, under the steaming shower, I stared at my reflection in the mirror. My face was pale, but my eyes were razor-sharp. Our seven-year mate bond was nothing more than an elaborate act. He played his part to perfection, and I fell for it—until the mask finally cracked, revealing the filth underneath.

When I stepped out, Ethan had already set the dining table with all of my favorites.

"Everything alright? You look pale," he asked, slicing a piece of steak and placing it in front of me. "Have you been pushing yourself too hard at training? I've told you so many times, you're the Luna. You don't have to lead border patrols yourself."

I stared at the Alpha I had loved and trusted for seven long years. His face was a picture of genuine concern. What a brilliant actor.

"I'm fine," I picked up my fork. "Just caught a chill."

"Eat up, then get some rest," he said, turning back toward the kitchen.

"Ethan," I called out, stopping him. "How did the alliance meeting go last week? Meet anyone interesting?"

His back stiffened for a split second before his posture relaxed. "Same old faces. Hammered out a few cooperation terms. Boring stuff. There's really no place like home."

"Is that so?" I took a sip of soup, my voice casual. "I heard the lakeside scenery over by the Red Stone Pack is stunning this time of year."

Ethan's fork froze in midair. His eyes darted away. "Oh? Really? I wouldn't know. Never paid attention."

"Right." I didn't push further.

A heavy silence settled over the table. He tried making small talk a couple of times, but my flat, one-word replies quickly killed every attempt.

Before bed, he reached out to wrap his arms around me as usual. I rolled over, turning my back to him. "I'm exhausted. Just want to sleep." He went quiet for a moment, murmured an "Okay," and switched off the lamp.

In the dark, I listened to his steady heartbeat. He had no clue I knew everything. And he had no idea my counterstrike had already begun.