Betrayed for a Mistress: The True Alpha Rises

For five years, my husband Damian fed me a bitter daily "tonic," claiming it was to help my fragile health.

He told the entire pack I was a "withered wolf," too broken to shift and too barren to give him an heir.

I believed him, until the new nanny walked in wearing my silk robe, smelling of my perfume and his sweat.

Damian didn't even try to hide it.

He demanded I sign a check to support his mistress's five children, sneering that since my womb was a "graveyard," I should pay for his legacy.