Rejecting the Unfaithful Alpha Novel – When my wolfbane poisoning flared up, my mate—Leif Hawthorne, the Alpha of Ebonrose Pack—was on the dance floor, twirling a Beta girl in his arms. Even as I collapsed, seizing and foaming at the mouth, he kept dancing, his hands on her waist, his mouth brushing her ear, laughing like nothing else mattered. —- On the way home, I spotted a diamond ring in the passenger seat compartment.
Before I could say anything, Leif snatched it up, his voice sharp. “It’s not for you.” I nodded, calm. Pointed at a bridal boutique up ahead. “Pull over, would you?” The custom wedding gown I’d ordered—it was time to return it. I’d barely stepped inside when Leif followed, throwing a coat straight at my face. “Vera, can you stop leaving your crap everywhere?” Leif was obsessive about cleanliness. He never let me leave so much as a hair in his car.
I glanced down at the coat and said coolly, “It’s not mine.” That shut him up. His expression eased as he bent down to pick it up, suddenly unbothered by the dirt on the floor. Of course. It belonged to Bianca Lorne. The Beta girl he danced with. The third wheel in our mate bond. Bianca had a habit of “forgetting” her things wherever Leif and I went. Every time, it sparked another screaming match between me and him. Except this time, I didn’t argue. I just turned to the boutique clerk and confirmed the order under my name. The woman beamed.
“Perfect timing! The wedding gown and tux you ordered are both ready. Want to try them on?” Before I could decline, Leif—who had just yelled at me minutes ago—was already walking into the fitting room like he owned the place. Ten minutes later, I stood before him in the wedding gown. Leif looked me over, his lips curling into a cold smirk. “Looks cheap.” I didn’t bother responding. Just turned to the boutique clerk and asked her to take a photo of me. Leif stepped forward like he thought we were about to pose together, but before he could get close, his phone rang. Bianca’s ringtone.
I didn’t need to hear the words to know what it was. But he answered anyway. Her voice came through, trembling with fake tears— “My favorite coat’s gone missing… If someone finds it and brings it back, I swear I’ll give them everything. Forever.” Leif didn’t even blink. Didn’t change out of the tux. Didn’t say a word. He just walked out. I stood there in silence as the sound of his engine faded down the street. Then I reached for a pair of scissors—and cut that gown to shreds. 1:30 a.m. I was packing the last of my personal things when a message popped up on my phone.
Leif: [Out drinking. Gotta be home late.] Eight years together, and this was one of the few times he’d ever bothered to tell me where he was going. I stared at the cleaning gloves on my hands and didn’t reply. Once I finished taking out the trash, I showered and crawled into bed. I was asleep before my hair even dried. The next morning, just as I was heading out with another bag of garbage, Leif walked through the front door. He gave me a strange look. “Your phone broken or something?” I shook my head. His brows pulled together.
I knew what he was thinking. Back then, whenever he stayed out too long, I’d blow up his phone with texts and calls, desperate to know where he was. But last night? Not a single message. Not a single missed call. As I opened the door to leave, he asked again, “Vera, where’s the picture that used to be on the wall?” I glanced at the trash bag in my hand, just about to tell him the truth—when his phone buzzed. He brushed past me, tapped the voice button, and strolled inside like nothing had happened. “Don’t worry, sweetheart. I’ll drop it off as soon as it’s ready.” The sound of running water came from the bathroom.
I turned and headed down the stairs. By the time I came back up, I was drenched in cold sweat. My blood sugar had dropped too low. I staggered to the kitchen, grabbed the plate of eggs and toast on the table, and took a bite. Then came Leif’s voice—dripping with disgust. “Jesus, Vera. You eat like you’ve been starving.” He snatched the plate from my hands—toast and all—and tossed it into the trash. I stared at him, blank. Then I said quietly, “I cooked for you every single day for eight years.
And now I can’t even have one bite without asking?” His expression didn’t change. “Didn’t realize you were raised in a barn.” He then straightened his suit jacket, grabbed his keys, and slammed the door behind him. Another day. Another dose of his silent war. Without thinking, I picked up my phone and opened his profile on Instagram. He’d changed his display picture. It was Bianca—wearing fuzzy cat ears, making a pouty face at the camera. I gave it a like. Then I muted his story updates and closed the app.