My Dearest Mate, How Dare You Cheat On Me?

My phone buzzed, and I glanced down to see an email with bank statements. Deacon, my mate, had been transferring thirty grand every month—without fail—to a woman I had never heard of.

Then, a message from an unknown contact popped up:

[Don’t you think we looked good here?]

It was like time stopped. I instinctively placed a hand on my belly, an unease creeping over me. I opened the message, and the pictures that filled my screen made my blood run cold.

The first photo showed a woman nestled against a mysterious man, her hand on his back, flaunting a massive sapphire ring with a handwritten note on the picture:

[Thank you for the birthday gift, my Moonlight. 10.13.22.]

I felt my breath catch. Although he had his back to the camera, I’d recognize him from a mile away—it was Deacon, my mate. Well, how could I not tell? The shirt he wore was my gift to him for our anniversary.

And, as if that wasn’t crushing enough, the date on the photo really wrenched my heart. October 13, two years ago, was the day I lost our first pup. And here I am now, finding out that while I was fighting for my life in the operating room, he was out celebrating his lover's birthday on his supposed "business trip."

The irony was so sickening I nearly gagged. As I scrolled, more photos came up, each with captions from her detailing their affair and flaunting identical gifts Deacon had given me. All except one: the lavender-scented perfume.

Then, like a bomb, it exploded on me when I saw it—a picture of an ultrasound. She was three months pregnant.

“Annette, you’re getting paler by the second. What’s wrong?”

My mind was too blank to answer my friends. I only muttered incoherently and couldn't even send them out properly as I escaped to the laundry room with my heart pounding. Dumping out the dirty clothes for the basket, I grabbed the shirt Deacon had worn just a few nights ago and took a sniff. Sure enough, it smelled of lavender—the scent I despised.

I never wore perfumes, and, since I got pregnant again, my nose had gotten too sensitive, so I stopped going near places with overpowering scents. Deacon had been doing the laundry for months, and I had thought he was being considerate because of my pregnancy sensitivity to scents. But no, he was covering his tracks. Clever, wasn’t he?

As I stood there, stunned, my phone buzzed again with another reel of their moments together. I clutched my belly, knees giving out, and sank to the floor, scrolling through undeniable proof of Deacon’s betrayal. Every photo and video was a dull knife to my chest.

He looked at her with tenderness I hadn’t seen in years, touching her as though I didn’t exist. “Deacon, how could you?” I sobbed as I shakily played another video. In it, they were sitting in a field of violets, watching a meteor shower while Deacon called out to her endearingly, "My Astara."

“Do you love me?” she softly asked.

Deacon replied with a melting warmth that he had never even shown me in the entire seven years we bonded. “My heart is forever yours, Tara.”

Tears streamed down my face as I sobbed, the video replaying endlessly in the background, the sorrow drilling into my soul.

Hours passed, and darkness filled the room. Suddenly, I heard the front door creaking in. Then footsteps hurried around the house as he moved through, searching. A few moments later, light crept into the laundry room as he opened the door.

“Annette! Why are you sitting here in the dark? You could’ve fallen!”

He knelt to my side, worry etched on his face. “Who made my precious mate and our little pup so sad?”

For a second, I almost believed it was all just a nightmare. But Deacon stunk with that lavender scent, even stronger than what snuffed from his shirt.

“Where were you?” I asked, my voice barely steady.

He chuckled, dismissing my question like I was overreacting. “Silly, I told you I had an errand for the Alpha. Are you upset because I missed the party?”