Luna’s Revenge: Pregnant After Her Alpha’s Betrayal

Chapter-5

Lily

Rowan was eerily silent at the breakfast table the next day. The long mahogany table was usually filled with the low hum of pack business, but this morning, the tension was palpable.

Even as the pack members kept discussing pack affairs, I maintained my composure. Like the dutiful Luna, I responded wherever I needed, joining in the conversation. Yet, I could still feel all of Rowan’s attention on me.

He was watching me closely, his jaw tight with tension, even if I hadn’t said a word to anyone. It was as if he were waiting for me to break his mask, and that my normalcy was a trigger that could be pulled at any moment. He opened his mouth once, twice, trying to speak, but I never gave him the chance. And my icy silence unsettled him more than any outburst of anger ever could.

But I was just getting started.

The first opportunity to strike came mid-morning as I walked past Owen’s bedroom, stopping short on hearing the shrill, mocking sound of his devilish laughter.

Closing my eyes, I took a deep breath and stepped inside. The tutor, a nervous elder wolf named Mr. Hemlock, was backed against a shelf, sweat beading on his forehead. Owen, our six-year-old adopted son, was not at his desk. He was swinging from the curtain cords, his small boots kicking the heavy velvet with careless abandon.

“Owen, get down now!” Mr. Hemlock pleaded.

The boy twisted around on the cord, upside down, and flashed me a wide, mischievous grin.

“I don’t wanna do boring stuff, Mama! He smells like old books, and my real lessons are with Papa! I wanna fight rogues!”

A dull, familiar pain tightened my chest as I stared at the boy.

“And the stupid woman is raising our son...Owen. She is a fool, and that’s that.”

I felt the rage rising in my chest. All my endless effort, all the patience and love I’d desperately poured into him—trying to love away the hollowness of my own childlessness—had been a farce. He had always been Kara’s. I was just the caretaker.

The memory burned away any lingering softness. I had let this child drain the living daylights out of me, and he had learned his defiance from his real mother and his malicious father.

“Owen. Down. Now,” My voice was low, devoid of emotion, and resonated with an authority I hadn’t known I possessed.

He just laughed in response and swung harder on the cord, boots slamming against the wall as dust shook loose from the curtains.

“You can’t tell me what to do,” he sang. “Papa says I don’t have to listen if I don’t want to.”

Mr. Hemlock paled. “Owen, please—”

“Shut up!” Owen snapped, then stuck his tongue out at him, eyes bright with triumph.

Something inside me went very still.

For years, I had responded to moments like this with patience. With explanations. With soft warnings that led nowhere. I had mistaken restraint for kindness — and kindness for love. No more.

“Owen,” I said again. This time, his name wasn’t a request. It was a command.

The cord swayed once more before he dropped to the floor — not obediently, but with deliberate force. He landed hard, then immediately shoved the chair backward, crossing his arms as he glared at me.

“I hate lessons,” he said. “And I hate you telling me what to do.”

“Enough.”

The word cut through the room like a crack of thunder. His mouth snapped shut.

I took a single step forward. Then another. I didn’t raise my voice. I didn’t rush. I let the silence stretch, heavy and oppressive, until even the air felt tight.

“You will sit,” I said, pointing to the chair, “and you will do exactly as you are told. You will not shout. You will not insult. And you will not use your father’s name as a shield.”

His face flushed, anger and confusion colliding. “Papa won’t let you—”

“I am the Luna,” I said quietly. “And right now, you are a child who has forgotten his place.”

Owen’s bravado faltered. His eyes darted to the door, searching for rescue, and right at the moment Kara appeared in the doorway, drawn by the raised voice, her eyes flicked instantly to Owen. Relief flashed across his face.

“She’s being unfair,” he said loudly, moving toward her. “She’s trying to punish me.”

Rowan came in behind her.

“What’s happening?” he asked, looking tired already.

I turned to him, calm and composed. “Owen refused his lesson. He insulted his tutor and attempted to use your authority to override mine.”

Kara shook her head quickly. “He’s just restless, Luna,” she said sweetly. “He didn’t mean anything by it. You know how sensitive he is.” I gave her a look in response. She really dared to speak or even stand in front of me after everything?

After f*****g my husband in my f*****g bed.

Rowan hesitated, gaze shifting between us. For a moment, I wondered if this would unfold the way it always had — my words completely dismissed and ignored. But something in him had changed overnight. Or maybe it was the fear of his perfectly curated mask of the ideal Alpha and husband being ripped off by me.

“Owen,” Rowan said finally, his voice tight, “do what mama tells you.”

The room went still.

Owen stared at him, stunned. “But—”

“Now,” Rowan said, more sharply. Humiliation crept across Owen’s face. His bravado collapsed into something raw and ugly.

“I hate this,” he muttered, eyes bright with unshed tears.

“Get started with your lessons, and you won’t move until Mr. Hemlock says you can. Anything else, and you will be grounded for a month. And now apologize to him,” I said firmly, my voice cold as ice. From the corner of my eye, I could see Kara’s face turning red with fury, which she was barely holding in.

Owen looked to Rowan again, desperate now, but this time even his beloved father didn’t protest.

Defeated, he turned slowly toward Mr. Hemlock. “I’m sorry,” he said, voice barely audible.

“Speak properly,” I said.

“I’m sorry,” he repeated, louder this time, shame coloring every word.

I nodded. “Sit.” He did.

Mr. Hemlock resumed the lesson with trembling hands while Kara stood frozen in the doorway, her expression tight. Rowan avoided looking at her altogether.

I left the room without another word.

By the time I reached the corridor, the heat in my chest had settled. My steps were steady. My thoughts were clear. For the first time in my life, I knew what I was doing without an ounce of doubt.

And I was just getting started.