The Alpha's Rejected Luna: Her Revenge Begins

Lyra's POV

"Luna, I believe I've told you before that regardless of your reason for needing money, you must submit an application three days in advance according to the regulations."

Selene's mechanical voice shatters the last line of defense in my heart.

My knuckles turn white around the phone.

"Please!" I beg her. "A hundred thousand... just a hundred thousand. My mother was in a car accident—this is money to save her life! You're just a secretary. I can explain to Vern afterward, I'll submit whatever forms you need, but she's dying now—"

"That's not my concern."

Selene lets out a cold laugh. "And since it's a car accident, you should also provide the accident report and proof that the responsible party cannot be located. Pack financial protocols exist for a reason, Luna. I'm sure you understand."

The line goes dead with a decisive click.

I stand frozen in the hospital corridor, my designer heels clicking against the linoleum as I pace.

The irony isn't lost on me—I'm wearing a dress that costs more than the surgery my mother needs, with diamond earrings that could probably pay for her entire hospital stay.

But I have access to all of it, but control over none of it. I only have usage rights, nothing more. The last time I accidentally damaged a haute couture gown, Vern cut off Mia's treatment payments for an entire month.

Since becoming Vern's Luna four years ago, his stepmother Sylvia made the financial arrangements crystal clear: as Luna, I would represent the pack's prestige, which meant maintaining appearances befitting our status.

Designer wardrobes, jewelry for pack functions, a luxury vehicle—all provided and maintained by pack funds. But personal liquidity? That required applications, approvals, documentation.

I'd agreed.

For Vern's sake, I'd agreed to everything. I'd handed over the small savings account I'd had before our marriage—"a gesture of trust," Sylvia called it.

I'd signed papers I barely understood. I'd smiled and nodded and promised to be the perfect Luna.

I never imagined those rules would become the cage that trapped me.

"Miss, you need to pay as soon as possible." The nurse appears beside me again. "Your mother's internal bleeding is getting worse."

"Please," I whisper. "Just a little longer. I'll get the money, I promise."

She hesitates, glancing back toward the emergency wing. "I'll tell the surgical team to prep, but they can't begin without payment authorization. Hospital policy. I'm sorry."

Vern is my last hope—my husband, my mate, the Alpha who swore to protect me.

He usually doesn't allow me to contact him privately during work hours, says it sets a bad precedent for pack hierarchy, but surely this is different. Surely when I explain that my mother is dying, that I need him, he'll answer.

The call goes straight to voicemail. Not even a ring—just that automated voice, cold and impersonal.

"The number you have dialed is currently unavailable."

"He's blocked us," my wolf Elle says. "I can't feel him anymore. He's shut us out completely."

There must be some mistake, some technical issue. I dial again. And again. Each time, that same mechanical rejection.

My fingers tremble so badly I nearly drop the phone on the fourth attempt.

"Please answer," I whisper, pressing the call button once more. "Please, Vern, please..."

Nothing.

The doctor approaches. I see him in my peripheral vision, the way his shoulders are set, the careful neutrality of his expression.

He says quietly, "Your mother had been in critical condition too long without surgical intervention. I'm very sorry—she's gone."

The words reach me as if from underwater. My ears fill with a rushing sound. The edges of my vision blur white.

I slump against the wall, the floor cold beneath me. Someone's crying—high, broken sounds—and it takes me a moment to realize it's me.

My phone vibrates.

Through tear-blurred vision, I see a notification from the hospital billing system. Not about my mother—about my sister Mia. Her monthly treatment fee for Wolf Soul Deterioration Syndrome is overdue.

A hundred thousand dollars, the same amount I'd begged Selene for.

Vern has always paid it without question, an automatic transfer on the first of every month.

But now it's overdue.

Vern isn't answering my calls. The treatment fees are overdue.

This morning, before I left, I'd overheard him telling the maid he was taking the day off, that he'd be working from home.

I should stay. I should go to my mother, hold her hand one last time, tell her I'm sorry I failed her.

But Mia is still alive, still fighting, and if Vern has cut off her treatment—if something has happened that I don't understand—I'm the only one who can fix it.

The guilt of leaving my mother's body alone in that cold room wars with the desperate need to save the sister I still have left. I can grieve later.

Right now, I have to survive.

I drive home, my hands white-knuckled on the wheel, Elle pacing restlessly in my mind.

The familiar route blurs past—streets I've traveled a thousand times, now strange and surreal.

I've prepared a dozen different opening lines, questions I need answers to, but when I push open the front door, every coherent thought evaporates.

The scent hits me first—sickeningly sweet, unmistakably intimate, mixed with Vern's familiar cedar and something floral and cloying that turns my stomach.

Then I hear it: a woman's voice, breathy and unrestrained.

"Oh God, Vern, yes—right there—"

Elle howls in my mind. "He's betrayed us! That's not us, that's not—"

I climb the stairs. The sounds sharpen—her escalating moans punctuated by Vern's grunts.

"Aren't you going to answer?"

"Why would I? I'm busy." Vern's rhythm shifts. "Now shut up and turn over."

The woman laughs—bright, carefree. "Is it really okay to ignore her like this? What if it's important?"

"Nothing Lyra does is important." Vern's voice carries an edge of irritation. "I married her to cover our tracks, remember?"

"But you bonded with her," the woman presses. "That's supposed to be sacred, isn't it? The pack elders—"

"If I didn't bond with her, she would have gotten suspicious," Vern cuts her off. "And we couldn't risk that. Besides, it doesn't mean anything. The bond is just biology." His voice drops, becomes rougher.

"Now stop asking questions and focus on me. Show me how much you've missed this."

The woman's moans resume, unrestrained and shameless.

I stand there, my hand pressed against the wall, and feel something inside me crack clean through.

My heart feels like it's been viciously stabbed through.