"You've got a great eye, ma'am. You'll be stunning on your special day." The shop manager handed over the shopping bag, but the woman barely looked pleased.
"It's my husband's special day."
"Ah, what a devoted wife, looking good for your husband on his special day."
She chuckled, "If I look good, it's because I want to. Not because I'm his wife—or he's my husband."
***
The full moon bathed the courtyard in its silver glow, where the werewolves of the Obsidian Pack had gathered.
Lethia tapped the pointed toe of her newly purchased high-end stilettos against the patio ground, her patience wearing thin.
She let out a slow breath, waiting for her husband to enter the courtyard for his coronation as the new Alpha following her father's death a month ago.
Crossing her legs and arms upon the Luna's throne, she tuned out the murmur of gossiping werewolves, finding their chatter utterly dull.
Two female Betas dipped their heads as they passed, whispering in hushed tones, envy flickering in their eyes.
Lethia returned a brief nod with a sharp, unbothered glance that made the shady girls shy away.
She was meant to be the happiest person tonight—but how could she be?
Her father's ashes, scattered across a hundred hectares of his beloved ranch, had yet to be carried away by the wind.
And yet these wolves, the very pack he had dedicated his life to, were already giggling, laughing, eager to turn this coronation into some grand celebration as if he had been gone for years.
Who would care though? This damn pack had long been rotten with selfish ambitions.
A cheerful human servant approached, offering her a glass of orange juice, but Lethia's attention had already shifted.
Her husband had entered the courtyard, ascending the podium with striking eyes, his brow furrowed, fists clenched as if ready to shatter the altar before him.
She wondered if he had an upset stomach or if his stock value had plummeted again, given how pale he looked.
The Alpha placed sheets of paper on the altar, clearing his throat to command the gathering's attention.
The crowd rose to witness the coronation of their new leader.
Lethia, too, reluctantly lifted her beautifully curved hips and stood, wincing as pressure shot through her heels.
She hadn't expected a mere four weeks of pregnancy to leave her nerves so strained, her body so easily wracked with pain.
Her doctor had assured her she could wear these stilettos, but had she known how much she'd suffer, she might have waited to spend three hundred thousand bucks after the baby was born.
"So, with the chosen Alpha Varrel already here, we will begin—"
"Wait, Rudolf, I need to say something first." Varrel's sudden interruption to the elder in charge of the coronation ceremony silenced the crowd, and all eyes were now on him.
"I, Varrel Quinnel, soon to be crowned Alpha of the Obsidian Pack, condemn and reject you, Lethia Ashcroft, as my mate. You will be divorced and cast aside in disgrace."
A sharp pain shot through her spine, causing her legs to tremble and lose their strength.
Thankfully, Lethia didn't collapse onto the ground, sitting down in a heap, but instead, she dropped to her knees, her palms hitting the floor.
'What did he just say?' Lethia's hand trembled as she tried to support herself. A rejection—on top of her still-mourning heart?
She had always held her pride high, so the embarrassment of collapsing like this stung more than the rejection itself.
The shocked, pitying, and mock-concern looks from the surrounding werewolves made Lethia's stomach churn.
They probably expected her to be crushed by rejection and humiliation. Maybe she was—her throat was tight, and her chest burned.
But Lethia told herself the worst pain came from these damn useless, overpriced stilettos.
She cursed herself for buying them simply because of their beautiful design.
With a swift motion, Lethia set the stilettos aside, standing barefoot.
She locked eyes with Varrel, anger simmering beneath her cynical glare, fists clenched at her sides.
The pain in her heel surged, sharp and unbearable, adding to the searing churn in her chest.
"Are you out of your mind? What kind of bullshit humiliation is this?" she snapped, her breath heavy.
Murmurs rippled through the crowd behind her. The onlookers seemed stunned that Lethia could still stand and shout so defiantly, challenging the words of an Alpha.
She caught sight of a few young female Betas pulling out their phones, eager to record the rare spectacle unfolding before them.
"How brazen you are to raise your voice after what you've done!" he scoffed.
"If you expect me to cry, cower, and lie weakly on the ground while receiving your nonsensical condemnation, you must be forgetting that I'm wolfless."
She fought the pain, her fist clenching tighter as the burning sensation began to dominate her chest.
"Resist the pain all you want. With your wolf dead, you must be dead inside too." He scoffed.
Lethia let out a deep sigh. Varrel must have sensed her pain. "At least I deserve a proper explanation before I decide whether to cry a river or not, don't I?"
Varrel clenched his jaw. "Do you honestly think, with this behaviour, you deserve to be Luna? And on top of that, you... you're pregnant with another man's child."
He lifted the papers, then threw it to the ground. "I received your Werewolf Genetic Test results today, and it says your baby has human DNA."
Lethia frowned as she strode barefoot toward the scattered papers, picking them up with widening eyes at the words written on them.
She remembered taking that stupid, dreary genetic test a week ago to ensure their baby inherited strong traits.
If not, they had a booster to guarantee it. Especially for a wolfless like her, married to an alpha and bearing his child.
This technology was popular among wolfless females, ensuring they could still give birth to strong pups despite not finding the fated mate bond.
But what she saw now was that these damn papers would shatter her bond—more accurately, the marriage she had chosen.
She couldn't find her oh-so-sacred fated mate because her wolf had never come at eighteen.
That was fine, she hadn't been interested in having one anyway.
But in a world where her worth was defined by the rules of fated mates within the pack, she had no choice but to choose the best mate for herself.
Varrel Quinnel met every criteria she wanted—well, at least he had, until now.
Love hadn't come first, but she had still poured everything—her wealth, her intelligence—into securing the best husband. The one she believed would make her a Luna.
Eventually, love had found its way into her heart—or so she had thought.
She flipped through the papers, her grip tightening. Her eyes weren't deceiving her. The murmurs behind her grew louder, and she could hear the camera shutters from the unpaid paparazzi.
Sure, they weren't about to miss this entertaining show. This generation was desperate for fame, even if it meant exploiting someone else's suffering, and her downfall would be their delectable feast.
Lethia grit her teeth as she finished reading the genetic test results, a bitter smile tugging at her lips. She lifted her gaze back to her husband standing tall on the podium.
"If I say this isn't true, you won't believe me, will you?" She flung the papers back to the ground.
"I'm not stupid enough to do this without solid proof." He turned to his Beta, tilting his head in a silent command.
Moments later, a lean-built man with cropped black hair was dragged into the courtyard, his hands bound.
Lethia's eyes widened in alarm as she recognised him—her best friend since childhood, a human, shoved forward with brutal force until he fell to his knees.
She knew exactly what her nonsensical husband meant by bringing him here.
"And you're an absolute idiot if you think I had an affair with Karmen." Her voice dripped with disbelief. "Varrel, what kind of jerk devil has poisoned your judgment? Did it never cross your mind that this paperwork could be fabricated?"
"He's in love with you. Since the day he arrived here as a servant's son."
"What are—"
"And he said you two had a good, filthy night before you're pregnant."