Making My Fated Alpha Mate Regrets Betraying MeCHAPTER 1

After three years of loving Tristan Callen with everything I had, he finally gave me flowers. 9,999 roses and a set of silk lingerie for my 25th birthday. A grand, sweeping gesture that felt like a dream. I posted it online, eager to share a rare moment of happiness.

But the dream shattered when Selene Ashford, his preferred mate, commented beneath my post: [Some people are just desperate enough to settle for scraps.]

I stared at the words, my chest tightening. The roses, the gifts… they weren’t meant for me. They were hers, as always. And the mansion he’d just bought? Not for us, but for her.

I should’ve known better.

Still, I needed answers. So I grabbed the flowers and drove to Selene’s new place, just outside our pack’s territory. The moment I stepped inside, I found them together, seated at a candlelit table, laughing like nothing else in the world existed.

Tristan’s eyes flicked to me, but there was no guilt. No shame. He just gave me that cold, indifferent stare and growled, “Can you stop being so damn paranoid? Selene and I are discussing pack business.” His voice lowered, laced with condescension. “And if there really was something between us, do you think you'd even be my Luna?"

I almost laughed. The sheer audacity of it. The old me would’ve screamed, demanded answers. But this time? I didn’t have the energy.

Instead, I smiled—a calm, bitter curve of my lips—and tossed the roses onto the table. Then, I slipped off the engagement ring and let it fall.

“I wish you both happiness.”

The ring clinked against the floor, rolling to Tristan’s feet. He crushed it beneath his boot, like it was nothing. Like I was nothing.

“If you want to stay my Luna,” he sneered, “fix your attitude. Stop being so suspicious. You’re embarrassing yourself.” His eyes flicked to the door. “Now get out. We’ve got serious matters to discuss.”

I stood there, frozen for a beat. Every word slicing deeper than I thought possible. But I didn’t cry. Not this time.

I turned and walked away, each step feeling heavier than the last.

Back home, I opened the pack’s group chat and typed a simple message: [The engagement is off. Tristan Callen and I are done.]

I should’ve left it there. But anger burned beneath my skin, urging me to add: [Congratulations to Selene Ashford. You won.]

The group chat exploded within seconds.