The Alpha Signed Away His Fated Mate

I stood center stage at my own art exhibition, surrounded by the Pack elite who looked at me with nothing but pity.

My husband, the Alpha Prime, was missing.

Then someone pointed at the TV. There was Dante, live on the news, shielding another woman—a leggy Beta named Isabella—from the rain with his own body.

While I stood alone, treated like a defect because I couldn't shift, he was playing the perfect gentleman to his mistress.

That night, I walked into his office with a stack of boring gallery logistics paperwork.