Reborn and Vengeful: Unmasking the Alpha’s Betrayal

The machines around me screamed in sharp, mechanical bursts—beep, beep, beep—each sound cutting through the haze that had become my world.

My chest rose and fell in shallow, labored breaths beneath the oxygen mask that felt like a plastic cage against my face.

The medical wing's sterile white walls seemed to blur and sharpen in waves, and I could taste the metallic tang of fear mixed with the antiseptic air being forced into my lungs.

Through the fog of pain medication and exhaustion, I heard footsteps approaching my bed.

Heavy, familiar footsteps from the Alpha I bounded to.

"Don't save her anymore."

The words hit me like ice water, cutting through every drug in my system with brutal clarity. Jake's voice—my mate's voice—carried no warmth, no hesitation, no trace of the man who had once promised to protect me until his dying breath.

"Let her go."

I tried to turn my head toward him, but the restraints around my wrists held me firmly to the bed.

My hands, once steady enough to heal others, now trembled uselessly against the soft fabric bonds.

The healers around me froze mid-motion, their hands suspended over medical instruments as if Jake's words had turned them to stone.

Elara, the young healer who had been adjusting my IV, stared at Jake with wide, horrified eyes. "Alpha, I... we can still—"

"I said let her go." His tone brooked no argument, carrying the full weight of his Alpha command.

The room fell silent except for the relentless beeping of machines and my own ragged breathing through the mask.

I could feel my pulse hammering against my throat, could taste copper and desperation on my tongue. This couldn't be happening. Not Jake. Not my fated mate, the man I had devoted my entire adult life to serving.

Then the door opened with a soft click that somehow sounded louder than thunder.

Fiona's laugh drifted into the room like poisoned honey, sweet and deadly.

My little sister's voice, the same one that had whispered childhood secrets and asked for help with scraped knees, now carried a note of triumph that made my blood feel like it was turning to ice in my veins.

I watched through blurred vision as she glided across the room, her movements graceful and predatory.

She wore a flowing dress that seemed to catch the harsh fluorescent light, making her look ethereal—like an angel of death come to collect what she believed was owed to her.

She didn't even glance at me.

Instead, she walked directly to Jake, her fingers trailing along his arm before she rose on her tiptoes.

The kiss she pressed to his lips was not quick or hidden—it was deliberate, passionate, claiming.

Her hand fisted in his shirt as she pulled him closer, and I could see the way her body molded against his with practiced familiarity.

My heart monitor exploded into chaos, the steady beeps becoming a frantic alarm that filled the room with electronic screaming. But neither of