The Unwanted Luna

I walked into my kitchen to find my husband's assistant wearing nothing but his white dress shirt.

Jami sat on the granite counter, sipping coffee from my favorite mug. My husband, Dustin, stood next to her, smiling in a way he hadn't smiled at me in years.

When they saw me, there was no shame.

Instead, Jami sent a photo to my phone while sitting ten feet away.

It was an ultrasound.

"The Alpha's bloodline," the caption read. "Something you couldn't give him."

I demanded an explanation, but Dustin only looked at me with cold, dead eyes.

"She carries my heir, Eliana," he said, shielding her with his body. "You are barren and unstable. Go back to bed."

When I refused, he used the Alpha Command to force me to my knees, humiliating me in my own home while his mistress watched with a triumphant smirk.

He thought I was just a submissive wife. He thought I was trapped by the bond, acting as an endless battery for him to drain to keep his own volatile power in check.

He conveniently forgot that before I was his Luna, I was the sole heiress to the David mining dynasty.

He forgot that everything in this house—from the security system to the very foundation—was paid for with my money.

I fought against the crushing weight of his command and forced myself to stand.

"I reject you, Dustin Powell."

As he collapsed in agony from the severed bond, I didn't help him. I picked up my phone and called my legal team.

"I want it all gone," I ordered, staring at the horror on his face. "If I bought it, take it. Start with the mattress."

Chapter 1

Eliana POV

I woke up to the acrid stench of burnt sugar and ozone.

It wasn't the scent of breakfast. It was Dustin—specifically, the scent of his Alpha pheromones, hanging thick and suffocating in the air.

Once, his scent had been like a forest after rain—calming, grounding. Now, it tasted like anxiety and concealed aggression.

I sat up in the king-sized bed, the silk sheets cold on the side where he should have been.

My hand instinctively went to my neck. The *Marking* there, the scar where his teeth had claimed me as his Mate during the *Recognition Ritual* five years ago, felt faint.

It didn't thrum with the warm, golden energy it used to. It pulsed weakly, like a dying ember struggling against the ash.

I walked downstairs, my bare feet silent on the marble floor. I was a ghost in my own home.

Laughter drifted from the kitchen.

"Oh, Dustin, you're terrible," a high-pitched voice cooed.

I froze.

Standing by the granite island was Jami Salinas, my husband’s administrative assistant. She was wearing nothing but one of Dustin’s white dress shirts. The hem barely grazed her thighs.

Dustin stood leaning against the counter, sipping coffee. His eyes, usually so guarded with me lately, were crinkled in amusement.

*Don't forget the meeting with the Gamma at ten,* Jami *Mind-Linked* him.

I couldn't hear the words, of course, but I felt the psychic push of it—a static pressure against my temples that signaled a private channel. It was rude to use the link in front of others, a blatant display of intimacy.

The air in the kitchen was a toxic cocktail. Jami’s sickly sweet vanilla Omega scent was clashing with Dustin’s forest musk, creating a cloying miasma that made my stomach turn.

My *Inner Wolf* paced in the back of my mind, her hackles raised, whimpering in disgust.