My Alpha Cheated and Wants Me Dead

Chapter 2:Not Even Fruit

[Lana's POV]

Diana's laughter was still ringing in my ears. I hadn't actually hung up—Connor cut the line first.

He'd tossed out a quick "be back soon," and the next second, the call went dead.

I sat in front of the computer, every number on the screen already checked and verified. The cold white light made my eyes sting.

Time: 9:23 PM.

*****

They walked in after ten.

Diana still had a smile on her face, her hair slightly mussed. Connor carried a convenience store bag with two bottles of drinks and a bag of chips inside.

He handed the bag to Diana. She took it, curved her lips at me, her tone light and breezy like nothing had happened. "Lana, I'm going to go shower." She disappeared into her room.

I looked up at Connor.

He hung his jacket on the hook, turning around with an expression so natural you'd think he'd just come back from taking out the trash. "Finish the report?"

"Finished." I watched him, paused, then asked anyway. "Where'd you two go?"

"Just walked around the neighborhood. Diana wanted chips, so I went with her to the convenience store." He came over, dropped onto the couch, his tone carrying a hint of something matter-of-fact. "She's raising a kid on her own. It's not easy. Talking to her a bit helps her feel less alone."

I nodded.

Didn't push further.

*****

The next day, I called Connor.

He said he was at Moonlight Mall, asked if I wanted anything.

I said I wanted some fruit.

He agreed fast. "Sure, I'll grab some on the way back."

More than half an hour later, the door opened.

Connor and Diana walked in together.

His hands were full of bags. My eyes swept over them instinctively—new brand of baby snacks, two outfits for Leo, a box of cookies Diana loved, and a fancy skincare gift set in pink packaging. Obviously bought for a woman.

Then he carried every single bag into Diana's room.

Not one left for me.

I stood in the living room, waiting for him to come back out.

"The fruit?"

Connor slapped his forehead, looking a little sheepish. "Ah, forgot. I'll run downstairs right now, grab some from the shop nearby."

The words barely left his mouth before Margaret emerged from the kitchen, apron still on, her gaze sweeping over me first, then landing on Connor. Her expression shifted immediately into that softness she only ever wore for her son.

"Go where?" she asked him.

"The fruit stand downstairs," Connor answered. "Lana wants some fruit."

Margaret turned her head. Her eyes settled on me, lingered for two seconds.

"Greedy," she said flat. "Always making people run errands. So demanding."

I didn't make a sound.

"Do you have any idea how busy Connor was today?" Her voice pitched higher, deliberately sharp and biting. "And he's got to make a special trip out just to buy you fruit. You don't have legs? Can't buy it yourself?"

My wolf lurched hard inside my chest, pressing a low sound against my throat.

I shoved her back down.

Margaret didn't plan on stopping.

She stared at me, the corners of her mouth pulling downward, her voice growing more vicious with every word. "A useless thing that can't even carry a pup, and you're still here being picky. What do you think you are—"

"Mom." Connor's brow furrowed, his tone hardening.

Margaret ignored him. She kept going, every word a blade, precise, aimed at the softest places inside me.

Useless. Can't conceive. Can't even do that one thing.

My wolf let out a muffled growl deep in my ribcage, so strong my bones ached with it.

I held.

Margaret turned toward the fridge, yanked the door open, rummaged for a moment, then pulled out a bunch of grapes from the very back.

They were nearly rotten. Half of them had gone black, skin shriveled, a few burst clean through. Juice had pooled at the bottom of the bag, and the sour-rotten smell hit me immediately, crawling up into my nose.

She threw the bag at me.

It hit the floor by my feet with a soft, wet thud.

I stared down at the ruined grapes. My eyes burned instantly.

"Didn't you want fruit? That's plenty for you." Margaret looked down at me, contempt dripping from every syllable. "Still being picky? You think you deserve to be picky?"

"Why are you suddenly treating me like this?"

I heard my own voice come out shaking, the tail end of each word unsteady.

"Why would you—" I lifted my head, my eye sockets burning hot. "What did I even do wrong?"

Before Margaret could open her mouth, Connor was already rushing over, pulling me into his arms.

His hands locked tight around my shoulders, like he genuinely wanted to shield me.

"Mom, that's way too far." He raised his voice, anger he couldn't suppress bleeding through. "Lana didn't do anything wrong."

Margaret let out a cold scoff. She kept muttering, louder and louder, until Diana's door cracked open.

Connor turned his head, his tone dropping low and hard. "Diana, take my mom back to her room."

Diana slipped out through the gap, went to Margaret's side, murmuring softly, one hand guiding her arm, half-coaxing, half-leading her away.

Margaret's mouth kept moving, grumbling nonstop, but her feet followed Diana inside.

The door slammed shut.

Muffled, broken sounds of crying and cursing came through—sharp, grating.

Diana's voice floated soft and patient on the other side, soothing, like calming a child mid-tantrum.

I clenched my fists so hard my nails bit into my palms. The pain was numbing, but it kept me alert.

Connor dipped his head, lifted his thumb, wiped the tears off my face. Gentle.

"She just wants a grandchild so badly. She's anxious, and that's why she said those things without thinking." His voice was soft, consoling. "I'll talk to her properly. Make sure she never does this again."

I leaned against his shoulder.

His hand patted my back in a steady rhythm, practiced, familiar—like a routine he'd long since perfected.

I closed my eyes. Something inside me was quietly sinking.

Not the relief of being comforted. Something colder.

Every word he said was right. Every gesture was flawless. But strung together, all of it was beginning to feel like a procedure.

Smooth. Precise. Not a single degree of warmth beyond what was required.

*****

Connor went into Margaret's room after that. Stayed nearly an hour.

The next morning, Margaret came out, saw me making coffee in the kitchen, and didn't say a word.

She grabbed a glass of water, sat down at the dining table, and let her gaze pass over me—icy, but without yesterday's razor edge.

A slight improvement.

Things settled into a temporary quiet.

Then Diana started coming out of the bathroom after every shower.

She wore a thin camisole and shorts, fabric light, colors pale, her wet hair draped over her shoulders, water droplets trailing down strand by strand.

She'd stand in the living room for a while, or drop right onto the couch next to Connor, grab the remote and flip channels—casual, easy, like this was her own home.

Her scent filled the air.

Not the unconscious kind. Deliberate. Directional. Aimed straight at Connor.

My wolf stirred restlessly, pacing back and forth, a low warning building in her chest.

I went to Diana privately.

The first time, I said: "Diana, put on something heavier after your shower before you come out. There's a man in this house."

She tilted her head, looked at me, smiled.

"In the pack, we're all family. I'm used to it. Not so many rules."

The second time, I was blunter. "Have some boundaries."

Same smile. Eyes curved. Nothing changed.

I went straight to Connor.

He said: "Got it. I'll remind her."

After that, Diana kept coming out after every shower. Camisole, shorts, wet hair, scent—all of it, unchanged.

One day she sat down next to Connor and flicked her damp hair toward him. Water droplets splashed onto the back of his hand. She laughed and said "sorry," her voice so soft it bordered on coy.

Connor wiped his hand on his pants. Said nothing.

I stood in the kitchen doorway. Saw every second of it.

*****

Meanwhile, flowers started arriving at the Ward Group front desk every day.

The first day, a bouquet of white roses. The second, pink tulips. The third, a whole box of mixed arrangements. Each one came with a card—neat handwritten, blunt message: "Captivated since the moment I saw you. Willing to wait." Signed, Kane Vicente.

The receptionist handed me the flowers with a look that said too much.

I flipped the card over, flipped it back, found Kane's contact info and called him directly. "I have a partner. Stop sending flowers to my office."

Kane's voice was calm, carrying that low rumble particular to the Alphas. "I know. I won't disrupt your family. I just want to quietly watch over you."

I hung up. Disgust surged in my chest.

My wolf felt nothing for him. Not a single flicker. Just irritation.

The flowers kept coming every day.

My supervisor walked over, rapped his knuckles on my desk twice, turned seriously. "Watch your professional image. This isn't a florist."

I kept my head down. "Understood."

People in the department started whispering, glances drifting toward my desk—curious, envious, gleeful.

My chest felt tight, suffocating.

*****

I went to the restroom, turned on the faucet, held my hands under the cold water for a while.

The sound of it drowned out the hallway noise. I lifted my head and looked at myself in the mirror.

Blue-gray eyes. Faint dark circles underneath. Pale face. But my features were fine—nothing to fault there. Same with my figure. Even with the bad sleep lately, everything was still sharp, still clear.

I stared at my reflection. Couldn't tell what I was looking for.

The door swung open.

Cara walked in, leaned against the frame, let her eyes travel over me. The corner of her mouth twitched up. "Oh, admiring yourself in the mirror?"

I didn't engage. Shook the water off my hands, pulled a paper towel, dried them, and walked out.

Her voice trailed after me, laced with something snide. I didn't turn around.

I remembered what she'd said before.

Once, in the break room, she told another coworker she couldn't stand any she-wolf in this company who went around seducing other people's mates.

When she said it, her eyes had flicked in my direction.

After that, I kept my distance.