Rejected by the Beta, Claimed by the Alpha

EVE'S POINT OF VIEW

I had imagined this night a hundred different ways.

In every version, Ronan walked through the door with that familiar crooked smile, the one that always made my heart forget how to beat properly. In every version, he noticed the candles first…the way they lined the hallway, soft and golden like tiny promises. He noticed the fairy lights draped carefully over the walls, the table set for two, the food I had spent hours preparing even though I was already exhausted.

Five years.

Five years married to the same man who once told me he’d rather lose the moon than lose me.

I smoothed my dress for the tenth time and checked the clock again.

8:57 PM.

He said he’d be back before ten.

“Just a quick errand,” he’d said earlier, already pulling on his jacket, already halfway out the door. “I promise.”

I’d laughed then, trying not to sound annoyed. “It’s our anniversary, Ronan. Don’t be late.”

He paused, cupped my face with both hands, and pressed his forehead to mine. “I’ll be back very soon. Just wait. Please.”

Something about the word please had softened me. It always did.

“Hurry up,” I’d told him, forcing a smile.

And then he stepped outside.

I heard the familiar shift—the crack of bone, the rush of wind, the deep growl that followed. Ronan didn’t bother hiding his transformation around me anymore. Five years had erased fear and replaced it with routine.

The sound faded into the night.

And suddenly, the house felt too big.

Too quiet.

I walked back into the dining room and stared at the table. Two plates. Two glasses. Everything is ready. I lit the last candle and sat down, telling myself not to overthink it.

He’s probably getting me a gift, I reasoned.

Something big. Something special.

This year was supposed to be different. We’d talked about it—about trying again, about starting fresh, about not letting duty and pack politics swallow what we had.

I wanted to believe tonight was the beginning of something new.

By 9:30, the food had gone cold.

By 10:05, the candles were burning low.

I checked the clock again.

10:17 PM.

A small knot of worry settled in my chest.

Ronan was many things—secretive, stubborn, overly protective—but careless with time had never been one of them.

I stood up and began pacing, my bare feet moving back and forth across the living room floor. Every sound outside made my heart jump. Every passing second made the knot tighten.

By 11:03, worry had turned into fear.

“Okay,” I muttered to myself. “Enough.”

I reached for my phone to call him, only to realize it wasn’t on the table where I’d left it. I frowned, scanning the room, then noticed his phone lying on the arm of the couch.

My stomach sank.

He’d forgotten it.

“That’s just great,” I whispered, picking it up.

I didn’t usually go through Ronan’s phone. Trust had been one of the few things we’d managed to keep intact over the years. But this wasn’t about snooping. I just needed to know where he was. To know he was safe.

I unlocked the screen.

And that’s when I saw it.

A notification banner at the top.

Ravenna ️

My breath hitched.

I stared at the name, my brain refusing to process it properly. The heart emoji felt loud. Obnoxious. Out of place.

Who the hell was Ravenna?

And why did her name have a heart next to it?

My fingers trembled as I tapped the notification. The chat opened—and immediately locked itself, demanding a passcode.

“Okay,” I breathed. “Okay. Calm down.”

Maybe it was a pack member. Maybe I was overreacting. Maybe—

I tried my birthday.

Wrong.

I tried Ronan’s birthday.

Wrong.

I tried our anniversary date.

Wrong again.

My chest tightened.

I hesitated before typing my own name.

Eve.

Incorrect.

Something cold slid down my spine.

My heart was pounding now, loud enough that I was sure the walls could hear it. I stared at the screen, at the locked chat, at the name that refused to make sense.

Ravenna.

I swallowed hard.

And then, almost against my will, I typed it in.

Ravenna.

The phone unlocked instantly.

I felt like the floor had dropped out from beneath me.

The chat filled the screen, message after message, dates stretching back further than I wanted to admit. My hands shook as I scrolled.

I’m back in the country.

I missed you.

Are you coming tonight?

OakMoon Hotel. I’ll be waiting.

My vision blurred.

She was back.

That was where he’d gone.

That was why he was late.

I sank onto the couch, the phone heavy in my hands, my anniversary dress suddenly feeling ridiculous. Like a costume worn by someone who didn’t know the truth.

OakMoon Hotel.

I knew that place.

Too well.

It wasn’t a prank. It wasn’t a surprise.

Nothing in my chest believed that lie.

I sat there for a long time, staring at the messages, my mind replaying every late night, every distracted look, every time Ronan had pulled away and claimed he was “just tired.”

Five years.

Five years, and I hadn’t known.

Or maybe I had, and I’d just been too afraid to look closely.

I stood up slowly.

If my husband was at OakMoon Hotel with another woman, then I deserved to see it with my own eyes. I deserved the truth—even if it shattered me.

I grabbed my coat, wiping my face with the back of my hand. I didn’t cry. Not yet. Tears felt like something that belonged to a later version of me. A weaker one.

Right now, I need answers.

The drive felt unreal, like I was moving through someone else’s life. Streetlights blurred past. My hands gripped the steering wheel so tightly my fingers hurt.

OakMoon Hotel loomed ahead, bright and polished and cruel.

I parked and sat there for a moment, heart racing.

Maybe this is all wrong, I thought desperately.

Maybe I misunderstood.

But deep down, I already knew.

I stepped out of the car and walked toward the entrance, each step heavier than the last. Every instinct screamed at me to turn back, to preserve the memory of who I thought my husband was.

But I kept going.

Because whatever waited for me inside that hotel…truth or betrayal or something even worse…I needed to see it with my own eyes.