My Alpha Chose His Ex Over Me

Chapter 5 When Everything Fails

Eva

The pack meeting starts at seven sharp, like always. What's different tonight is that Lena sits at Martha's right hand, occupying the seat that's been empty for years—the seat reserved for the Alpha's chosen advisor.

I'm relegated to the back row with the other mates, watching my husband discuss territory boundaries with a woman who left this pack ten years ago but somehow knows more about our current challenges than I do.

"The western borders need reinforcement," Grayson is saying, his voice carrying that Alpha authority that used to make me feel proud. "We've had three rogue incursions this month."

"I might be able to help with that," Lena says smoothly. "My fund has connections with security consultation firms. We could establish a more... professional approach to territory management."

Professional. Everything with her is professional. Modern. Better than what we have.

"That's an interesting proposal," Elder Morrison says, and several pack members nod approvingly.

Martha beams like Lena just solved world hunger. "This is exactly the kind of forward thinking our pack needs."

I bite my tongue so hard I taste blood. Three weeks ago, when I suggested updating our border patrol schedules, Martha dismissed it as "unnecessary meddling." Now Lena proposes hiring outsiders and it's revolutionary thinking.

"Eva." Grayson's voice cuts through my bitter thoughts. "The ritual preparations for next week's full moon. Are they ready?"

Every head turns toward me. Twenty-three pairs of eyes, waiting for my report on something I've organized flawlessly for five years running.

"Everything's prepared," I say, standing. "The ceremonial space has been cleansed, the moon-stone circle is aligned, and—"

"Actually," Martha interrupts, "I've been meaning to discuss that with you. Your last few rituals have been... inconsistent. Perhaps it's time we had someone else assist with the preparations."

The room goes dead silent. In werewolf packs, questioning someone's ritual abilities in public isn't just criticism—it's humiliation.

"My rituals have been fine," I say carefully.

"Have they?" Martha's eyebrows arch. "Last month's full moon ritual was a disaster—Grayson's transformation took nearly ten minutes longer than usual. And the weekly blood-bond maintenance sessions have been increasingly unstable. Just three days ago, I witnessed another failed attempt."

"That session was successful," I cut in, but my voice sounds defensive even to my ears.

"After considerable struggle," Martha continues remorselessly. "The pack deserves better than uncertainty during our most important ceremonies and bloodline support sessions."

Lena shifts in her seat, and I catch her watching this exchange with keen interest. Not surprised interest. Calculated interest.

"I could certainly lend assistance," she offers with perfect humility. "If Eva wouldn't mind the help. I've studied traditional pack ceremonies extensively."

Studied. Like our sacred rituals are academic subjects.

"That won't be necessary," I say firmly.

"Eva," Grayson's voice carries a warning. "If there are issues with the ritual preparations—"

"There are no issues."

But even as I say it, I can feel the doubt rippling through the room. These people have watched me struggle with the moon-bonds lately. They've seen the uncertainty in my abilities.

Elder Morrison clears his throat. "Perhaps we should discuss this privately after the meeting."

The dismissal stings, but I nod and sit back down. The meeting continues around me, but I'm not really listening anymore. I'm watching the way Lena's suggestions are received like gospel, the way Martha looks at her with maternal pride, the way even the older pack members lean forward when she speaks.

When the meeting finally ends, I'm the first one out the door.

I'm halfway to my car when I hear footsteps behind me.

"Eva, wait."

I turn to find Grayson approaching, but something in his expression makes my chest tighten. This isn't concern. This is the look he gets when he's about to deliver bad news in the most efficient way possible.

"We need to talk about Elias," he says without preamble.

My blood turns to ice. "What about him?"

"Mother thinks we should have him evaluated by the pack healer. His development seems... delayed compared to other cubs his age."

"He's fine, Grayson. He's five years old."

"I was showing clear Alpha traits by three. Most cubs at least display heightened senses by now." He runs a hand through his hair. "Look, I'm not saying there's definitely a problem, but—"

"But what? You think something's wrong with our son?"

"I think we should be thorough. For his sake."

The words hit like physical blows. Our son. His development. Being thorough.

"This is coming from Martha, isn't it?"

"It's coming from me. As his father and as this pack's Alpha."

As his father. Not as my husband, not as someone who trusts my judgment about our child. As an Alpha making a decision about pack business.

"Fine," I say, because what else can I say? "Schedule the evaluation."

He nods, looking relieved that I'm not fighting this. "Good. Elder Morrison can do it next week."

I get in my car before he can see my hands shaking. Through the windshield, I watch him walk back toward the pack house, toward Martha and Lena and all the people who seem to understand pack politics better than I ever will.

My phone rings as I'm starting the engine. Sophia's name flashes on the screen.

"How was the meeting?" she asks when I answer.

"Fantastic," I say flatly. "Martha questioned my ritual abilities in front of the entire pack, Lena offered to help with everything I supposedly can't handle, and now Grayson wants our son evaluated for developmental delays."

There's a pause. "Eva—"

"And you know what the worst part is? Maybe they're right. Maybe I am failing at everything." My voice cracks slightly. "Maybe I can't handle the rituals anymore. Maybe there is something wrong with Elias. Maybe—"

"Stop." Sophia's voice is firm. "Don't let them get in your head like this."

"What if they already have?"

Another pause, longer this time. "Listen, about that thing I wanted to tell you earlier. About being careful around Lena—"

Her voice cuts out suddenly, replaced by static.

"Sophia? Hello?"

The line goes dead.

I sit in the parking lot for a long moment, staring at my phone. First the pack questions my abilities. Then my husband questions my son's development. Now my phone calls are getting mysteriously disconnected.

Trust your instincts, I think.

And my instincts tell me that someone doesn't want Sophia and me talking tonight.