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?”

I looked into his oblivious gaze, and it broke my heart even more. How could he lie so easily, so shamelessly, without a hint of guilt? It was like he was a stranger.

“You’re lying, Deacon. You were with Tara. You took her to a dessert café and bought her a strawberry cake!” I wanted to scream that to his face, but the thought of letting him see me so pathetic kept my mouth shut.

Instead, I took a breath, feigned calm, and squeezed his hand. “You know, honey, I’m suddenly craving a strawberry cake. Could you pick one up for me?” I asked, my voice mimicking the way Tara probably asked for favors. “I want one from Le Blanc on the west side square.”

Annoyance flickered across his face as he pulled his hand away, frustration creeping into his expression.

“Le Blanc’s cakes aren’t anything special. Besides, you’re far along now; you need to watch what you eat.” Standing, he added, “Just hold out a little longer, okay? Call Mom—maybe she can bake you something.”

Without waiting for a response, he muttered, “I’m going to take a shower. I’m exhausted.”

And with that, he left me standing there, alone, outside the room I’d been using on the first floor since my pregnancy started. We’d been sleeping in separate rooms for months, and at first, his excuse—that it was for my and the baby’s safety—seemed reasonable.

But, I wondered how long it had really been since we’d drifted apart. I didn't even notice our bond thinning.

It seemed mate bonds just weren’t what they used to be. Four generations back, they were sacred. Now, people treat them like nothing more than attraction. If I could choose, I’d live in the old days, when mates were bound by something that mattered. Maybe then, I’d be cherished instead of discarded like an old rag.

Swallowing my sobs, I gently stroked my belly and whispered, “Darling, you and I are about to face a tough battle together.”

My gaze shifted to the dining table, where a blinking light caught my attention. It was Deacon’s phone, buzzing with messages. He didn’t even try to hide his infidelity from me; the clues had been too obvious, but I had ignored them all. Did he really think I was that naïve?

I glanced up the stairs, took a deep breath, and waddled over to his phone. It was locked. I tried our birthdays and anniversaries but nothing worked. Then, a string of numbers popped into my mind. My heart raced as I typed in the date from Tara’s ultrasound, hoping it was also a bust.

However, it unlocked. Yet another twist of the knife to my chest.

Biting my lip, I opened his messaging app. I sneered when I saw Tara’s name pinned at the top of his contacts, while mine was buried somewhere down the list. I wasn’t even sad anymore—I just wanted to bash his head in.

“Cheating mutt,” I muttered, scrolling through their messages.

It was sickeningly sweet: “Darling, I miss you,” and “Baby, when will I see you again?” They were so cozy with each other that it made my skin crawl. But I kept my emotions in check, recorded everything, and sent it to my phone.

Next, I opened Deacon’s shopping app. His order history was packed with pregnancy supplements, skincare products, and makeup—all sent to Tara. None of it had ever reached me. To think I was his mate and wife. I took screenshots, then wiped my tracks before placing his phone back exactly where he’d left it.

I waddled back to my room and felt a small movement in my belly as I lay on the bed like my baby was comforting me. I gently stroked my belly, humming softly to calm us both. But the weight of Deacon’s betrayal pressed on my soul, leaving a hollow ache inside me. Seven years together, and this was how he repaid me. What a cruel joke.

Then his phone rang, and I heard him rushing down the stairs to answer it. Through a crack in the door, I watched his face soften as he picked up the call. With a glance in my direction, he stepped out to the patio and closed the door behind him.

I scoffed in disbelief. Does he think I’m deaf, too?

I heightened my hearing, listening in. The first few words made me want to tear his hair out. Deacon’s voice sounded loving, filled with a warmth I hadn’t heard in years, as he spoke to her.

“I know,” he said, almost sighing. “I’ll see you later.”

I rolled onto my side, turning my back to the door as I tried to stifle another sob.

The truth was a bitter pill to swallow, but witnessing it firsthand was agony beyond words.

A few minutes later, I heard Deacon tiptoe into my room. I lay still, pretending to sleep, unwilling to face him. My skin crawled as he sat behind me, his hand resting on my belly while his fingers gently brushed through my hair.

In a soft voice, he whispered, “Honey, the Alpha has an urgent errand for me. I need to head back to the pack mansion.”

What a load of crap. Did he really think I was stupid? Who would buy that he was talking to the Alpha with that sweet, affectionate tone?

I turned my head, meeting his gaze, clinging to the last shred of hope I had left. “I don’t feel well,” I murmured, my voice barely a whisper. “Could you stay?”

For a second, I let myself believe that if he stayed instead of rushing off to that skank, maybe—just maybe—I could try to forgive him. But then, I remembered: trust is fragile. Like a shattered vase, once broken, it can never be truly whole again.

As expected, he forced a smile, trying to appear sympathetic. “Sweetheart, it’s the Alpha’s orders. I can’t ignore them.” He paused. “I’ll call Mom to come stay with you, okay?”

A wave of nausea rolled over me, and goosebumps pricked my skin. Still, I forced out the words, “Drive safe.”

I lay there in silence as he got dressed and left. After a moment, I got up slowly, holding my belly, and made my way downstairs. Outside, I hailed a taxi.

“Riverstone, Downtown,” I told the driver, my voice firm.

The driver sped through the streets, and just as we pulled up, I saw Deacon’s car arrive. My stomach twisted as I asked the driver to park behind a tree. From the back seat, I watched as Tara practically floated into his arms, like some delicate butterfly.

He caught her tenderly, his hand resting on her flat stomach. His expression softened, and with a playful look, he tapped her nose, like she was the only person in the world that mattered.

I cradled my belly, my free hand trembling as I pulled out my phone, switching it to video mode. I watched through the screen, my lips quivering, as Deacon lifted her into the passenger seat and carefully buckled her seatbelt, his gestures so gentle, so caring. The kind I once believed was reserved for his mate, me.

My eyes stung, but I fought back the tears. I couldn’t fall apart now.

“Sir, follow that car,” I whispered, my voice barely steady.

We tailed their car as it climbed onto the overpass, neon lights flashing through the window. I sat there in a daze, my nails digging into the door handle until they split. The sharp pain grounded me, and I brought my bleeding fingers to my mouth, biting down hard.

I kept repeating to myself, “Annette, hold on. The pain will pass.” But I wasn't sure how long that would be or if I could handle that alone.

Finally, we arrived at Evergreen General Hospital. I hurriedly stepped out to follow them, but the driver, who had been silent the entire ride, suddenly spoke up, his voice surprisingly gentle. “Miss, please, take care of yourself. For the baby’s sake, don’t harm yourself.”

Since discovering Deacon’s affair, I hadn’t told a single soul. The secret felt like poison, corroding me from the inside. Somehow, the kindness of this stranger felt like fresh air, grounding me, and pulling me back from the edge.

I closed the car door softly and managed a small, grateful smile. “Don’t worry, sir. No one can hurt me anymore.” I took a deep breath. “Because I’m ready to throw the trash where it belongs.”