The Alpha's Mate

PROLOGUE

PROLOGUE

Frozen just outside the room, I watched through the c***k in the door, my heart pounding in my chest. There they were—my husband and my mother—entwined in bed, tangled in each other's arms. Her lips pressed against his, her fingers threading through his hair, a tenderness that made me sick to my stomach.

My world froze, every inch of me numb as I watched him lying there with her, in the same bed where we'd spent so many nights. He wasn't mine anymore. Not after this.

They pulled apart slowly, eyes meeting, something raw between them. They weren't even trying to hide their nakedness beneath the covers. I swallowed hard, my throat dry. I felt the heat rising in my chest, a deep ache of disbelief, then anger, then rage.

"Why?" I whispered, the word barely escaping my lips. But neither of them heard. They couldn't.

My fingers trembled as I reached for the doorknob, but the moment I turned it, it felt too loud in the silence. They both looked up, wide-eyed, like deer caught in headlights. For a moment, none of us moved. Then, panic hit them. They scrambled to cover themselves. My mother's hands flew to the blanket, her face turning crimson as she pulled it up in vain.

The man beside her—my husband—stood up too quickly, his member on full display. The sight made my stomach twist in disgust, and my blood boiled. How could they? How could he? How could she? My own mother.

The questions spiraled in my head. She was supposed to protect me. She was supposed to be the one who would never betray me. And yet here she was, tangled in this lie, in this... this abomination.

I couldn't speak at first. My throat was tight. I stood there, staring, my breath shallow, and it felt like the walls were closing in around me.

"What... what is this?" I finally managed to choke out.

"How could you do this? How could you... how could you?" I turned to my mother, then back to him, feeling the nausea rise in my chest.

Tears burned, but I fought them down. I wasn't going to break.

My mother opened her mouth, but the words didn't come. She just stared at me with wide eyes, her lips trembling, as if she couldn't find the right words to make this all go away.

"We didn't mean for you to see this," she stammered. But it was too little, too late. There was no apology, no remorse—just the desperate attempt to cover up the truth.

My husband stood stiffly, his face a mask of cold indifference. He glanced at me, but it was only for a moment. Then something flickered in his eyes—guilt? Shame? I couldn't tell. It vanished quickly, replaced by that defensive look I knew all too well.

"It's not what you think," he muttered, but the lie felt like acid in my throat. I could see right through it, and it made my blood boil.

"Not what I think?!" I barked, trembling with anger. "I saw everything. Every damn thing." My fists clenched at my sides, my heart thudding in my chest. "How long has this been going on, huh? How long have you been lying to me? To everyone?"

I could feel the rage building up inside me, pushing away the hurt, replacing it with something darker, something more primal.

"You don't get to do this," I spat, my eyes burning with fury. "You don't get to destroy everything and pretend like it's okay. I'll expose you both. I'll tell the entire pack what you've done. You'll pay for this."

My mother flinched, taking a step forward as if she could stop me. But I didn't care anymore. All I saw was the man I loved, standing there, unapologetic, cold, and exposed. His betrayal stung like nothing I had ever felt before.

"I won't let you get away with this," I hissed.

And then I saw it.

His hand moved, slow at first, then faster. The vase. The glass vase sitting on the bedside table.

I froze, my breath catching in my throat.

"Don't," I whispered, too late.

He swung it at me with terrifying speed. The impact was brutal. c***k. The sharp sting of pain exploded at the back of my head. My vision blurred instantly, and I staggered, my legs giving out beneath me.

I raised a shaking hand to my head. Warm blood dripped down my fingers. For a moment, everything felt like a dream, or a nightmare. My mind couldn't catch up to the pain. It felt like my body was moving in slow motion.

I tried to turn, tried to escape, but before I could even take a step, the vase crashed down again, this time harder.

The last thing I saw was their faces—my mother, pale and wide-eyed with terror, my husband, expression unreadable—and his hand, holding the vase, ready to strike again.

Then, nothing.