The Alpha's Unwanted Luna

Aria’s POV

I smoothed down the fabric of the red dress for what felt like the hundredth time, staring at my reflection in the full-length mirror. It hugged my curves in a way that felt foreign, almost like I was playing dress-up in someone else's life. I didn't wear dresses often. Or ever, really. Jeans and hoodies were my practical gear, they made it easy to blend into the background where I felt safest.

But tonight was different. Tonight was our third anniversary, and I wanted to surprise Ethan. I wanted to feel beautiful for him, the way he always made me feel seen.

A touch of mascara and lip gloss completed the look. Makeup wasn't my thing either, but Lila had insisted during our lunch yesterday.

"Aria, trust me," she had said, her eyes sparkling with that knowing mischief. "He's been acting weird because he's nervous. I bet he's proposing tonight. You've been together three years, and he's the future Alpha. It's time."

Her words had lit a spark in me, chasing away the shadows of doubt that had crept in lately. Ethan had been distant, sure, pulling away with vague excuses about pack duties. But a proposal? That made sense. It had to.

I grabbed my purse and headed out, my heart fluttering. The drive to the restaurant was short and was honestly not enough time to prepare myself.

Our spot, La Lune, was upscale, with candlelit tables and views of the city lights twinkling like distant stars. We came here every year on this date, a tradition that started on our first awkward outing when he was still grieving his lost mate. I had been there for him then, quiet and patient, offering the empathy I wished someone had given me after Mom died. And somehow, in the midst of his pain, he had seen me. Really seen me. The wolf-less girl from the Beta's family, the one everyone pitied or ignored.

Parking the car, I checked my phone. No messages yet, but that was fine. Ethan was always punctual, a habit from his Alpha training. I walked in, the hostess smiling as she led me to our usual table by the window.

"Special night?" she asked, noticing my dress.

I nodded, a shy grin escaping. "Anniversary."

She wished me luck, and I settled in, ordering a glass of wine to steady the butterflies. The minutes ticked by.

Five.

Ten.

I sipped slowly, replaying Lila's words in my mind.

Proposing.

The thought made my cheeks warm. Ethan and I had built something real. Three years of late-night talks, shared laughs over pack politics, and quiet moments where he held me like I was his anchor. I wasn't like the other she-wolves, strong and shifted, but he never made me feel less. "You're my mate in every way that matters," he had whispered once, his fingers tracing my skin.

Fifteen minutes.

I glanced at my phone again. No calls, no texts. He was never late. A flicker of unease stirred, but I pushed it down. Pack business, maybe. An emergency meeting with the elders.

I texted him: Hey, at the restaurant. Everything okay?

Sent.

I waited, staring at the screen as if willing it to light up.

Thirty minutes.

The wine tasted sour now. I called him. Straight to voicemail.

"Ethan, it's me. I'm here waiting. Call me back?"

My voice sounded small, even to my own ears. I hated that. Years of being the quiet one, the recluse in my own family, had taught me to doubt first.

Forty minutes. The waiter refilled my water, his pitying smile making my stomach twist.

I texted again: Worried now. Where are you?

No response.

An hour in, the giddiness had curdled into full-blown anxiety. My mind raced through worst-case scenarios. A rogue attack? Injury? Ethan was strong, but even future Alphas weren't invincible.

I called again. Voicemail.

"Ethan, please. If something's wrong, just let me know."

The restaurant hummed around me, couples laughing, clinking glasses. I felt exposed in my red dress, like a fool in a spotlight.

One hour and a half.

My screen lit up and I picked it up immediately expecting to see a response. Instead, it was an indication that he had read my messages. My frantic heartbeat slowed a fraction.

Ethan, are you busy?

No response but I waited regardless.

Two hours and that was my limit.

I couldn't sit here anymore with the weight of curious glances pressing down on me. I paid for the wine and left, my heels clicking too loudly on the pavement. Worry gnawed at me as I drove to his house. The pack territory was quiet this time of night, streetlights casting long shadows over the familiar roads. Ethan's place was on the edge, a cozy bungalow he had fixed up himself. If he was hurt, or dealing with something, I needed to be there.

The lights were on when I pulled up. Relief washed over me, mixed with confusion. Why hadn't he called? I grabbed the spare key from under the mat, the one he gave me a year ago with a wink.

"For emergencies, or just because you miss me." My heart squeezed at the memory. I let myself in, calling softly, "Ethan? Are you okay?"

The living room was empty, his jacket tossed on the couch like he had rushed in. Then I heard it. Low moans drifting from the hallway. Grunts, rhythmic and unmistakable.

My blood turned cold.

No. It couldn't be.

Ethan had been distant, yes, pulling away with excuses about stress from Alpha preparations. But cheating? He wouldn't. Not after everything we had shared. Not with me.

My feet moved on their own, drawn toward the bedroom like a moth to flame. The sounds grew louder, more intimate. A woman's gasp, his familiar groan. Doubt clawed at me, but I pushed forward, telling myself it was a mistake. Maybe the TV. Maybe anything but this.

The door was slightly ajar. I nudged it open with trembling fingers. And there, in the dim glow of the bedside lamp, was Ethan. Naked, entangled in the sheets, thrusting into the woman beneath him. Her legs wrapped around his waist, her hands clutching his back.

Time slowed.

My vision blurred at the edges, focusing on the betrayal unfolding in front of me.

A whimper escaped my lips, soft and broken. It sliced through the air, and they froze. Ethan pulled back, his eyes widening as he turned. Pain exploded in my chest, sharp and unrelenting. It felt like my heart was being ripped out, the air sucked from my lungs. My knees buckled, but I caught myself on the doorframe.

How? Why?

The woman shifted, her face coming into view. Blonde hair splayed on the pillow, green eyes meeting mine with a flash of something triumphant.

Camille.

My stepsister. That on its own made everything ten times worse. The world tilted, and all I could manage was a whisper that cut through the silence.

"What the hell is happening here?"