When My Groom’s Mistress Wore My Luna Gown

I'm Sapphire Harlan, daughter of Alpha Harlan of the Blood Moon Pack, and in three days I'm supposed to become Luna of the Iron Fang Pack. Right now, I'm drowning in silk and lace, surrounded by boxes of old academy memories that my staff hauled up from storage for the ceremony displays.

My fingers brush against something papery wedged between two yearbooks. A hand-drawn map, the ink faded but still legible. The old training grounds. The oak tree by the obstacle course. X marks the spot.

The time capsule.

My wolf, Luna, stirs with excitement. *Jefferson will love this.* We buried it together ten years ago, two kids drunk on first love and summer nights. I can still remember his laugh when I insisted we include a lock of my hair, how he'd kissed my forehead and promised we'd dig it up on our wedding day.

I reach out through the mind-link, that invisible thread connecting us across the miles between our territories. *Jeff? Remember our time capsule? I found the map. We should dig it up together—display it at the banquet.*

The connection cuts off so fast it's like hitting a wall.

My phone rings two seconds later. Jefferson's name flashes across the screen.

"Sapphire." His voice carries that edge I've learned to recognize over the years—the Alpha tone he uses in pack meetings, not with me. "Don't dig that up."

"What? Why not? It'll be—"

"It's childish." The words come out sharp, commanding. "You have ceremony preparations to focus on. The seating arrangements still aren't finalized, and your mother's been calling about the floral displays. This is a distraction we don't need."

Luna growls low in my chest. Something's wrong. Jefferson never uses his Alpha voice on me, never tries to force dominance through our bond. And there's something else—a scent threading through the phone connection, acrid and bitter.

Fear.

"Jefferson, it's just a time capsule. It'll take twenty minutes—"

"I said no, Sapphire." His tone drops lower, pressing against my wolf's instincts. "Drop it. That's final."

The line goes dead.

I stare at my phone, Luna snarling in my mind. *He's hiding something.* My wolf's instincts are rarely wrong. She awakened early, when I was barely ten, marking me as one of the strongest she-wolves in our generation. Right now, every fiber of her being screams danger.

The moon hangs full and bright when I pull up to the old academy training grounds. The place looks different at night—shadows stretching long across the obstacle course, the oak tree a dark silhouette against the silver sky. I didn't tell anyone I was coming. Didn't ask permission.

I'm the daughter of an Alpha. I don't need permission.

The map leads me to the oak's eastern roots. I dig with my bare hands, dirt collecting under my manicured nails. My wolf lends me strength, and soon my fingers hit metal.

One box. Then another. Then three more.

Five boxes total.

My heart stops. We only buried two—one for each of us.

I wrench open the first box with shaking hands. My handwriting stares back at me from a folded letter, my teenage hopes and dreams preserved in fading ink. The second box holds Jefferson's contributions—photos of us, a dried flower from our first date.

The third box doesn't belong to either of us.

The lock breaks easily under my wolf's strength. Inside, letters tied with ribbon, dozens of them. The paper carries a scent—vanilla and desperation, distinctly Omega. I unfold the first one, and Davina's handwriting fills the page.

*My dearest Jefferson,*

*Tonight on the roof, when you held me, I felt like I could finally breathe...*

The date at the top makes my stomach drop. Ten years ago. The same summer Jefferson and I fell in love.

I tear through the other boxes with mechanical precision. More letters. Photos of Jefferson and Davina, his arm around her shoulders, her head on his chest. Recent photos—last month, last week. A silver bracelet identical to the one on my wrist, the one Jefferson said was custom-made just for me.

Luna howls in my mind, a sound of pure rage and betrayal.

There's a letter dated three days ago, Jefferson's bold handwriting across expensive stationary: *Soon, my love. Once the alliance is secured, once the territories merge, we'll find a way. I promise you, Davina. You're my true mate. You always have been.*

The moon witnesses my world shatter. Ten years. A decade of lies, of playing the perfect political pawn while he loved someone else. While he loved an Omega.

I sit there in the dirt, surrounded by evidence of my own stupidity, and something cold settles in my chest. Luna stops howling. She goes quiet, calculating.

*We're going to destroy him,* she whispers.

I touch the silver bracelet on my wrist—the twin to the one Davina wears—and smile.