After Divorce: Alpha, Kneel Before Me

Chapter 2

I felt the world tilt beneath me, the ground slipping away as Dior’s words echoed in my mind. Divorce. Step down as his Luna. The finality of it hit me harder than anything else.

"I won’t agree to the divorce, Dior," I said firmly, my voice unwavering. "I will not step down as your Luna. I won’t just let you discard me like this."

His silence only fueled the fire in my chest. Finally, he turned, his eyes cold, indifferent—like he’d already made up his mind. I hated how little he seemed to care about me, about us.

“Tomorrow is my birthday,” he said, his voice quiet but sharp.

“And having a child—an heir—has always been my greatest wish. But you can’t give me that, Shamarah. What use are you to me as my wife if you can’t fulfill the most important duty of a Luna?”

My breath hitched. His words struck me like a physical blow, the pain of them ringing in my ears.

“I want a new mate,” he continued, his eyes cold and detached, "not an infertile one."

Tears blurred my vision as I staggered backward, my mind struggling to comprehend what was happening. Everything I thought I knew about us—about the bond we shared, the trust we built—was crumbling. And all because I failed to give him what he desired most: an heir.

I couldn’t stay. Not in that room, not with him. My heart felt like it was breaking in a million pieces. I was nothing to him.

I turned and fled, not caring that he was calling my name, his voice distant as I ran. The halls blurred around me, and I barely registered where I was going. I needed to get away. To think. To breathe. I ran until my lungs burned, and my legs gave out beneath me.

I collapsed in the garden outside, my sobs tearing at me. I cried as though every tear was a small part of my broken heart slipping away. He didn’t love me. He never did. I was just a placeholder, a means to an end. And now, even that wasn’t enough.

It was then that I saw her—Beta Clara. She stood in the distance, her face full of guilt as her eyes nervously darted towards me. The sight of her made my blood run cold.

I didn’t hesitate. I stormed toward her, my emotions a swirling storm inside me. Her. Clara. My best friend. My confidante. The one person I thought I could trust with everything. But in that moment, as my chest tightened with betrayal and anger, I couldn’t think clearly. I only knew I needed answers.

“You!” I shouted, my voice shaking with fury.

“How could you do this to me, Clara? How could you be a part of this? Tell me, what were you doing with Dior? All those times you were close to him—was that it? Were you trying to take my place?”

Clara’s eyes widened in shock, and she instinctively stepped back, her expression stricken with guilt.

“Shamarah, I swear, it’s not what you think. I never meant to hurt you.”

I wasn’t having it. The betrayal I felt was overwhelming. I wasn’t going to let her talk her way out of this.

“Not what I think?” I repeated, my voice rising. Was I just blind? You were the one he wanted all along, weren’t you?”

Clara flinched, but then her eyes dropped, and she couldn’t look at me. “Shamarah, I—I never meant for things to get this far. I was just trying to help him. He’s been under so much pressure, and—”

“You were just trying to help him?” I interrupted, my chest tightening with disgust.

“Help him with what? Getting rid of me? Is that what you were doing, Clara? Flirting with him, making sure he knew you were the one who could give him what he wanted?”

I could feel the anger bubbling inside me, hotter than anything I had ever felt before. My chest was tight, my hands trembling with fury. How could she do this to me? To us? She had betrayed me, and now I was standing before her, my world crashing down, and all I could feel was rage.

Without thinking, I surged forward, grabbing her by the hair, yanking her head back as I pulled her toward me. She cried out, but I didn’t care. I felt the fury taking over, the years of trust and friendship shattered in an instant. My fist swung through the air and connected with her face, a harsh slap that sent her stumbling back.

But Clara didn’t fall. Instead, she pushed me away with surprising strength, her hands shaking as she held her stomach protectively, as if trying to shield herself from my wrath.

“Please stop it, Shamarah. Please stop it,” she begged, her voice trembling with fear.

Her eyes were wide, filled with panic, but it wasn’t just fear for herself. It was for something else.

I stopped, but only for a moment. My breathing was ragged, my vision clouded by rage. Why should I stop? She deserved this. Every ounce of anger I had was for her. She had torn everything apart, and now I was supposed to show mercy?

“Why should I stop?” I spat, my voice laced with sarcasm.

"You think you deserve any sympathy after everything you’ve done?"

Clara took a step back, trembling, her hands still clutching her stomach as if she were trying to protect something more precious than her life.

"Please," she whispered, her voice shaky, "Shamarah, I’m pregnant. I’m pregnant with Dior’s child."

I froze. The words hit me like a punch to the gut. Pregnant. With Dior’s child.

For a moment, the world around me stopped moving. My heart skipped a beat, and my anger—once so fierce—fell silent. I felt as though the ground had been pulled out from beneath me, and I was left in freefall.

Pregnant. She’s pregnant? I blinked, trying to process the words, to understand what was happening. Was this some kind of sick joke? Was she lying?