Rejecting Alpha Husband

Dusk painted long shadows across the pack house as I slipped through the empty corridors. My heart pounded against my ribs, but Emma's presence kept me steady. After Amanda had locked me out of my own apothecary, I'd spent hours pacing my room, rage and determination building with each step.

*We need evidence,* Emma had urged. *Proof of what she's stolen.*

I knew exactly where to look. Amanda was many things, but original wasn't one of them. She'd always been predictable in her arrogance, believing herself too clever to be caught.

The administration wing was deserted this time of evening. Most pack members were gathered in the dining hall, giving me the perfect opportunity to slip into Amanda's office unnoticed. The door was locked, of course, but I hadn't spent eight years developing healing formulas without learning a few tricks. The small vial of solution I'd hidden in my sleeve made quick work of the lock mechanism.

Once inside, I moved with purpose. Amanda was meticulous about appearances—her desk was immaculate, files perfectly aligned, everything labeled with her flowing script. But I knew her secret. Behind the facade of organization lay a desperate need to document her stolen triumphs.

"Where would you hide it?" I whispered, scanning the room. Emma's instincts guided me toward a painting on the far wall—a garish landscape that Amanda had hung shortly after taking over my position. It was slightly askew, just enough to catch my attention.

Behind it lay a small wall safe. I almost laughed at the predictability. The combination wasn't difficult to guess—the date she'd officially been named head healer. The day she'd stolen my title.

The safe swung open, revealing a thick leather portfolio. My fingers trembled as I pulled it out and flipped it open. Page after page of photographs—my private healing journals splayed open, my formulas meticulously documented. Each page was labeled with Amanda's name, dated as if she'd been the originator. Years of my work, my innovations, my legacy—all rebranded as hers.

"Goddess," I breathed, rage and vindication warring within me. Emma howled in triumph.

*We have her now.*

I carefully photographed each page with my phone, making sure to capture the dates, the formulas, and Amanda's falsified claims of authorship. When I was done, I returned the portfolio exactly as I'd found it and closed the safe.

As I slipped out of her office, a strange calm settled over me. For years, I'd doubted myself, wondered if perhaps I truly was as insignificant as they all treated me. But the evidence in my phone proved otherwise. My work mattered. I mattered.

I was so lost in thought that I almost collided with Amanda as I rounded the corner toward the main hall. She stopped short, her eyes narrowing as she took in my presence in the administrative wing.

"Sarah," she said, her voice dripping with false concern. "You look... troubled. Are you lost?"

Something in me snapped. Eight years of swallowing my words, of shrinking myself, of accepting her theft—it all boiled over in that moment.

"I want my research back," I said, my voice steady and clear. "All of it. The formulas, the journals, everything you've stolen."

Amanda's mask slipped for just a second, shock flashing across her features before she recovered, arranging her face into a look of pitying concern.

"Oh, Sarah," she sighed, loud enough for anyone passing to hear. "This paranoia isn't healthy. I've been worried about your mental state for some time now."

"Stop the act," I hissed, stepping closer. "I know what you've done. I've seen the evidence."

Her eyes hardened, all pretense dropping. "Evidence of what? Your work? There is no 'your work' in a pack. Everything belongs to the Alpha—to Ryan. And he's chosen me to oversee it." She leaned in, her voice dropping to a whisper. "Face it, Sarah. You're nothing but a brood mare who got lucky with a mate bond that even Ryan regrets."

Emma surged forward, my eyes flashing gold with her anger. "You can't hide behind Ryan forever. The truth will come out."

"Is there a problem here?"

I turned to find two pack guards approaching, their expressions carefully neutral. Amanda immediately stepped back, tears welling in her eyes.

"I was just checking on Sarah," she said tremulously. "She's been making some concerning accusations. I think she needs to rest."

The guards exchanged glances before one stepped forward, his hand gentle but firm on my arm. "Luna Sarah, perhaps we should escort you back to your quarters."

"She stole my work," I insisted, pulling away from his grip. "Everything she's claimed credit for—it's all mine. I can prove it."

"Luna, please," the guard murmured, his discomfort evident. "Don't make this difficult."

As they led me away, I caught Amanda's triumphant smile over their shoulders. But this time, instead of defeat, I felt only determination. She thought she'd won this round, but she had no idea what was coming.

The evidence was secure in my phone. And I knew exactly who needed to see it next.