My Alpha Tried to Demote Me to Omega for Her

The grand ballroom of the Blackwood Pack House glittered under crystal chandeliers, a sea of formal gowns and tailored suits swaying to the string quartet's melody. I smoothed down my simple navy dress—elegant but understated, designed to blend into the background. Five years as Luna had taught me the art of invisibility.

"Miss Spencer, the Eastern Ridge Beta is questioning the seating arrangement," Marcus, our pack Beta, appeared at my elbow, his voice low. "He's insisting on being placed near the Northern Alliance representatives."

I nodded, already moving toward the entrance hall where the offending Beta stood, his face flushed with indignation. The Eastern Ridge and Northern Alliance had a territorial dispute brewing—something Lachlan had ignored despite my warnings.

"Beta Morris," I greeted him with a diplomatic smile. "I've rearranged the seating to honor your pack's traditions. You'll be positioned with the Western Valley delegation—your traditional allies."

His eyes narrowed. "And the Northerners?"

"Separated by the Silver Creek and Moonstone delegations," I replied smoothly. "The neutral territories between you should prevent any... misunderstandings."

The tension in his shoulders eased. "You're thorough, Miss Spencer. I see why Alpha Lachlan keeps you around."

The words stung more than they should have. *Keeps you around*. Not "values your counsel" or "respects your position." Just... keeps around, like a useful pet.

I returned to the ballroom, my work complete. The diplomatic crisis averted, security protocols confirmed, and seating arrangements perfected. Now I could finally enter as Luna, perhaps stand beside Lachlan for photographs with visiting dignitaries.

That's when I saw her.

Florence Holmes glided into the ballroom on Lachlan's arm, her crimson gown a perfect complement to his ceremonial Alpha colors. The pack members bowed as they passed, murmuring respectful greetings to "Alpha Lachlan" and "Miss Holmes." Not once did anyone acknowledge me.

"Luna Spencer," a young Delta warrior offered me a glass of champagne, his eyes darting nervously between Florence and me.

"Thank you," I murmured, accepting the glass but not drinking. My stomach was too knotted.

I needed a moment alone. The weight of the glass replica necklace at my throat seemed heavier than usual tonight. I slipped away toward the service corridors behind the VIP lounge, seeking the quiet hallway that would lead to my private office.

The voices reached me first—Lachlan's deep timbre, followed by Gamma Reid's gravelly laugh. I paused, my enhanced hearing picking up their words through the thin wall.

"To another successful year," Lachlan's voice was loose, likely several drinks in. "And to Florence, who actually deserves recognition for her work."

"Hear, hear!" Beta Marcus agreed. "Though what about our... ceremonial Luna?"

There was a pause, then Lachlan's laugh—sharp and mocking. "Hanna? She's useful enough as a secretary. Organizes things well. But a true Luna? Please."

My fingers pressed against the wall, steadying myself.

"She's so desperate for validation it's almost pathetic," Lachlan continued. "Wearing that fake necklace like it means something. As if a wolfless charity case would know a true mate bond from a schoolgirl