I Lost My Pup, then I Chose Another Alpha

As I was silently comparing the way Harvey treated his assistant to how he treated me—his own mate—my thoughts slipped, and so did my fork. It clattered against the floor. When I bent to retrieve it, my hands were shaking so badly I had to pause and steady myself. By the time I straightened, Harvey was already standing near the door, coat on, keys in hand, clearly ready to leave. He didn’t turn around. “Something urgent came up at the office,” he said briskly, tossing the words over his shoulder. “I’ll drive you next time.” The door shut behind him before I could respond. Half an hour later, I limped into my cubicle at the pack-owned corporation. Almost immediately, I noticed the looks—my coworkers’ gazes lingered a second too long, filled with unease and sympathy that made my chest tighten. Later, while refilling my mug in the break room, I heard hushed voices drifting from behind the shelves. “So it’s true then?” one whispered. “Alpha Sloan really cast Liora aside for his assistant?” “Absolutely,” the other replied. “You should’ve seen it this morning. Sofia showed up with a mark on her dress, and he personally lifted her into his arms right there in the conference hall. In front of everyone.” My grip loosened. The mug slipped from my fingers and shattered against the tile, the sharp sound cutting through their conversation. Both women fell silent. I crouched down slowly, ignoring the sting in my leg as I picked up the broken pieces. Without a word, I tossed them into the bin and returned to my desk. I stayed late, long after most of the floor had emptied. It was already past ten when I suddenly felt a heavy warmth settle over my shoulders. “Liora,” Harvey murmured behind me, draping his coat around me, “why didn’t you answer my messages?” I didn’t turn. Instead, I unlocked my phone. The only message from him read: [What kind of milkshake do you usually like?] Three years ago, I had asked him—timidly—for the first milkshake of summer. He’d looked at me like I was embarrassing him. “A milkshake?” he’d scoffed. “Are you a child? Liora, you’re nearly thirty. Don’t disgust me with nonsense like that.” And now, here he was, standing behind me with one in hand. I kept my eyes fixed on the glowing screen in front of me and ignored the drink entirely. He shifted, clearly unsettled. “You used to beg me for this,” he said, confusion creeping into his voice. “It’s late,” I replied flatly. “If I drink it now, I won’t sleep.” A tense pause followed. Then his tone cooled. “I’m going to the restroom. We’ll head home together after.” He’d barely been gone half a minute when his phone lit up on my desk. I glanced at the screen. Sofia. [You idiot! Who buys this many milkshakes at once? Are you trying to fatten me up? I’m freezing over here!] I looked away without a change in expression and quietly straightened the folders on my desk. We arrived home a little after eleven. The moment the car stopped, I headed straight to the bedroom and began packing. When Harvey came in later, freshly showered, he paused, noticing the surface of my vanity looked strangely bare. He frowned briefly, then shrugged it off. “I’m heading to Paris next month on pack business,” he said. “If there’s anything you want, write it down. I’ll bring it back.” I didn’t think twice. “No. I don’t need anything.” After all, I’d be gone in a few days. What was there to ask for? Suddenly, his towel hit the bed with a sharp snap. He stared at me, eyes icy. “So what is this?” he demanded. “You’re sulking because I bought the wrong breakfast?” I opened my mouth to say I wasn’t upset, but he cut me off with a scoff. “I hate dramatic women,” he snapped. “You’re crossing a line, Liora.” With that, he turned and slammed the door to his study. For seven years, he had always been the first to withdraw, to punish me with silence. And every time, I had been the one to bow my head and make peace. This time, I simply raised an eyebrow and switched off the bedside lamp. He stayed locked in his study all night. For the first time, no one came knocking. The next morning, I prepared breakfast as usual. I finished my portion and was gathering my things for work when he finally emerged, phone in hand. Without looking at me, he said sharply, “Take today off. I need you to make an exact replica of that fondant cake by five.”

Ever since Harvey and I became mates, I had baked his birthday cake every single year with my own hands. No bakery orders, no pack chefs, no shortcuts. I mixed the batter myself, watched it rise, waited by the oven like a ritual guardian. It had become a habit so ingrained that I never once stopped to ask whether he noticed the effort or simply took it for granted. This year was no different—except it wasn’t for him anymore. The moment my eyes drifted to the glowing screen of his phone, resting casually in his palm, I already knew who the cake was meant for. I didn’t need to read the name. I recognized the little cartoon wolf avatar instantly. I’d seen it too many times by accident, flashing across his screen when he thought I wasn’t looking. Sofia. I said nothing. The living room of our den fell unnaturally quiet, the kind of silence that pressed against the ears. Even the low hum of the air purifier felt too loud. Harvey didn’t notice. Or maybe he didn’t care enough to notice. He looked up at me with the same calm, expectant expression he always wore when he asked something of me—already assuming my agreement. As if my consent had never been optional in the first place. I stared at him for a long second. Then I nodded. “Send me the photo reference,” I said evenly, pushing myself up from the couch. “I’ll head out to buy the ingredients.” There was no surprise on his face. No hesitation. He simply forwarded the image, his attention already drifting elsewhere. As I slipped on my shoes, a memory surfaced uninvited. Seven years ago, at a welcome dinner for new city pack recruits, I learned how dangerous being young and unmated could be. It was my first job after joining, and a client decided I was easy prey—cornering me with smiles that didn’t reach his eyes, his words slipping from polite to threatening while the crowd looked the other way. I was already planning my escape when the air shifted. Harvey walked in. He didn’t shout or make a scene. He simply stepped between us, his Alpha presence cutting through the noise like a blade. The man backed off instantly, all his courage draining away. I remember standing there, heart hammering, realizing I’d just been saved. If Harvey hadn’t come when he did, I wouldn’t have left that dinner unscathed. That night had been the beginning of everything. I paused by the door and glanced back at him one last time. Once this cake is finished, I thought quietly, I’ll finally be done with him. The door closed behind me with a soft click, but the weight in my chest followed me all the way down. Inside the elevator, I leaned against the wall and pulled out my phone. My thumb hovered before opening our message history. I hadn’t looked at it properly in years. The number at the top made me exhale a hollow laugh. 5,363 messages. That was how many times I’d texted him—updates, questions, worries, mundane details of my life I’d once believed a mate should share. He’d replied to twenty-five. The realization didn’t hurt anymore. Caring had exhausted itself somewhere along the way. All that was left was a dull, distant amusement. I imagined Harvey upstairs, frowning when his phone buzzed with the notification that the transfer he’d sent for the ingredients had been rejected. I could almost see his fingers tightening around the device, irritation flickering across his face as he wondered why. That evening, a little past eight, my phone rang. His name lit up the screen. “Where are you?” Harvey asked. His voice carried something unfamiliar—hesitation, maybe even concern. I was seated in a booth at a small diner near my apartment, absently poking at food I had no appetite for. “What’s wrong?” I asked instead, sidestepping his question. “Nothing,” he replied after a pause. His tone softened. “I just wanted to tell you… the cake tasted great. Same as always.” Silence stretched between us. Then, quieter, “Thanks. I know it must’ve taken a lot of work.” I opened my mouth to answer, but another voice cut in before I could. “Liora!” Sofia’s voice was bright and sugary, loud enough to carry clearly through the phone. “Harvey told me you baked my birthday cake today. That’s amazing! You’re seriously so talented.” Her laughter followed, light and carefree. “I could never do something like that. I’m way too clumsy. Harvey’s always teasing me, calling me his silly little wolf.” I could picture her expression perfectly—slightly pouting, eyes wide, leaning just close enough to him. She invited me to the party before I could react. But Harvey interrupted her almost immediately. “You don’t need to come,” he said, firmer now. The line went dead. A few minutes later, my phone buzzed again. A pinned location appeared, followed by a message. [If you do stop by, grab tomato-flavored chips for Sofia from the convenience store.] I stared at the screen for a long moment before letting out a quiet, humorless laugh. When I pushed open the door to the private room, I spotted Harvey instantly. He was seated beside Sofia, holding a fork. He fed her a bite of cake while she looked up at him with wide, shining eyes, like he was the center of her world. The moment he noticed me, his expression shifted. Annoyance darkened his gaze. Why did you come?

I already knew the answer to that question. Sofia had sent the message. Not him. But I’d come anyway. “Liora!” Sofia greeted me enthusiastically, her smile dazzling. The tension in the room thickened. Harvey’s eyes narrowed. “Didn’t I tell you not to come?” he snapped. I inhaled to speak, but Sofia jumped in first, pouting dramatically. “It’s my fault, Harvey. I really wanted chips, so I tricked her into coming. I’m sorry.” His expression softened immediately. He reached out and ruffled her hair affectionately. “You little troublemaker,” he murmured, smiling. That was the moment I knew. I reached into my bag and pulled out a folded document. “Harvey,” I said calmly, stepping forward, “one of my colleagues has a family emergency and needs approval to leave. I need your signature.” Normally, HR would handle something like this, reviewing and approving resignations before they reached the Alpha’s desk. But because it was me, the letter had come straight to Harvey, bypassing every protocol. The room was dim, shadows flickering across his face as he barely glanced at the paper. Without hesitation, he signed it quickly, his eyes never leaving Sofia. As I reached to take it back, his hand closed around mine. He frowned, eyes dropping to my palm. “You came all the way here just for this?” he asked, voice low. I nodded once. His expression darkened. Then he recoiled abruptly, pulling his hand away as if burned. Only then did I realize his fingers had brushed the raw, blistered skin on my palm—the marks from baking. Disgust flashed across his eyes. From the side, Sofia leaned closer, eyes lighting up with sudden interest. “Oh! Liora, that red cord bracelet you’re wearing… it looks familiar,” she said sweetly. “I think I saw one just like it in Harvey’s trash a few days ago.” I noticed Harvey subtly shift, his hand moving to cover his wrist. I pretended not to see. “These bracelets are common,” I replied evenly. “If you like it, you can have mine.” She didn’t answer. When I left the room, I went straight to the nearest trash bin and dropped the bracelet inside. I’d worn it for seven years. Now it was nothing more than discarded string. As I waited for the elevator, my phone rang again. Mom. “Did you buy your ticket home yet?” she asked gently. “Not yet,” I said. “I’ll book it in a few days.” Before I could hang up, Harvey’s voice sounded behind me. “You’re booking a ticket?” I ended the call and turned around, my expression blank. “There’s a restaurant nearby that’s hard to get into,” I lied smoothly. “You have to reserve days ahead.” He didn’t question it. Instead, he pulled me along to a nearby hotel and booked a suite. We worked through the night—him on his laptop, me reviewing documents—waiting for a response from an overseas pack partner. Neither of us spoke much. Exhaustion eventually pulled me under. When I woke the next morning, I was tucked into bed. Harvey sat beside me, casually flipping through the financial section of the paper. “Breakfast is coming,” he said, already calling room service. Halfway through the meal, he asked suddenly, “Why did you change your phone password?” “Felt like it,” I replied, eyes on my plate. The old password had been our birthdays. There was no reason to keep it. He set down his utensils. “You used to ask me to watch movies with you. There’s a theater nearby.” I nodded. There was no real option to refuse. The theater was nearly empty. The scene I’d once dreamed of played out—sitting close, sharing popcorn. But now, I struggled to stay awake. “This is the movie you chose,” he said. “You don’t like it?” “It’s fine,” I answered flatly. His phone buzzed. Without a word, he stood and left. The movie ended. He didn’t come back. Then I heard Sofia’s voice. She jumped into his arms, clutching a large stuffed toy, kissing his cheek. He laughed—until his eyes met mine. “Liora! You’re here too?” she exclaimed, feigning surprise. He tapped her nose playfully. “What are you apologizing for?” The fire alarm blared. In the chaos, Harvey grabbed Sofia’s hand first, shielding her as they ran. When the alarm ended, he returned. I was gone. Two hours later, I stood at the train station with my suitcase. His calls went unanswered. Before boarding, I sent one final message. [We’re done.] Then I removed my SIM card and threw it away. Near midnight, I arrived home. Dad was waiting. In the car, he handed me yogurt. I saw the gray in his hair—and broke down. “I’m staying,” I sobbed. “Forever.” He smiled softly. “You’ll always be our Liora.” Later that night, a message arrived from Ava. Then a video. [Liora, this is everywhere. It’s about Harvey and Sofia.]