The Unwanted Wife

Five Years Later...

RHEA'S POV

I fall back on the mattress, my body slick with sweat and limp with pleasure. I'm still recovering from the spasms of my powerful õrgasm that continue to ripple through me, but Miles has already disentangled and distanced himself from me just seconds after our mutual release.

His detachment every time we make love breaks me. Still, I turn to face him as he lies on his back, staring at the ceiling, panting. I want to touch him, but I already know he will pull away. He has done it for the past eighteen months since our mating ceremony. I've finally learned that his coldness isn't going to change.

He rises from the bed without sparing me a glance and begins to pull on his shorts.

I know I'm not supposed to hope for after-sêx talk or expect warm cuddles and lazy snuggles, but I can't help myself. Today is supposed to be the happiest day of my life, and I want him to remember that.

"Miles," I call softly.

"Hmm," he hums, still not bothering to look my way.

"I want to know...if you will be home early tonight."

"Why?"

He stands now, tall and broad, his six-foot-nine frame is sculpted in the morning light. Still, he doesn't look at me. Sometimes I wonder if he refuses to meet my eyes because he feels like he is betraying Roxy every time he looks at me after our lovemaking. To Miles, I'm nothing but the desperate she-wolf who climbed into his bed on coronation night while he was drunk and took advantage of him. To him, I'm the girl who stole her sister's fate. He hates me for it.

"It's my birthday," I say quietly. "I was wondering if—"

"I won't be home tonight," he cuts me off. "Don't wait up for me." He pauses. "I won't be home tomorrow either."

I swallow hard and blink back the tears welling in my eyes. I know better than to ask where he is going.

I sit up and draw my knees to my chest, wrapping my arms around my legs and resting my chin against them. I watch him walk into the en-suite bathroom, half-naked, his back as rigid as his voice. He always bathes immediately after we make love, and I can't help but imagine that he is frantically scrubbing my scent and touch from his tan skin.

I stay in bed long after he is gone, trying not to cry. I'm not going to cry on my birthday. Not again.

I must have fallen asleep because when I next open my eyes, it is midday. I finally push myself out of bed and walk to the bathroom. After my shower, I opt for a bright-colored flowery dress that will at least make me appear cheerful.

I tie my hair and check my phone. A few birthday messages have come in. Not many. There are texts from Miles' parents, Alpha Yuri, and a few others. I sigh heavily, trying not to think too much about Miles' indifference or the fact that he still hasn't sent me a single message.

I walk down the grand staircase and open the living room door, and I'm immediately startled by a sudden shout that makes me flinch. A small yelp escapes my lips.

"Happy birthday, Luna!" a chorus of voices call out.

Tears rise in my eyes as I scan the room. Miles' parents, a few staff, and some pack members are gathered around. Not many, but enough. At least someone still finds me worthy of being celebrated, even if the people who truly matter to me do not. I force a cheerful smile and walk into the room.

Miles' mother, Lady Lisa, crosses the room and pulls me into her arms. She is the opposite of my real mother—soft, warm, always smelling like honey and lavender, always knowing exactly what to say to comfort me.

"Rhea, sweet girl," she whispers, kisśing my cheek. "Another year more beautiful, and another year of wisdom in that pretty head." She rubs my back gently, and her kindness seeps through my skin like warmth in winter. "We're the lucky ones to know you."

Her words strike a nerve. I can only manage a small, grateful nod.

Papa Dennis, Miles' father, gives a sheepish, lopsided grin and raises a glass of champagne. "To the Luna," he says. "May her days be filled with happiness, even if my son has the emotional IQ of a snowdrift."

Everyone laughs politely. I try to laugh too, but it comes out tight and thin.

The party limps along until dusk. The windows glow with fading light, and the laughter grows faint, thinning with each goodbye. The house returns to its usual quiet. The staff clear away the cake, the streamers and the evidence that anyone ever wished me well. I'm left standing at the foot of the stairs, champagne glass in hand, staring at the front door. Half of me still expects Miles to walk in just to sneer at the mess or at me. But he doesn't.

Later, after a long bath and a longer cry, I climb into bed and close my eyes. My phone vibrates on the nightstand. At first, I ignore it, assuming it's one of those pack group chats that still add "Luna Mondragon" to the tag for formality, but the vibration comes again. I reach for the phone.

There is a message from a number I don't recognize: 'Happy birthday, Luna. Thought you would want to see how Alpha Miles is celebrating.'

My thumb hovers over the play button as I hesitate. Then, finally, I click it.

The file loads, and my chest tightens as the video begins. On the screen, Miles stands in a gilded room I don't recognize. His hair is artfully mussed and his mouth is slanted in a half-smile I've never seen direct at me. Standing beside him, dressed in a velvet dress glowing with the intensity that only she can generate is Roxy. The one he calls the love of his life. My twin sister.

I feel my heart drop through the floor. The pain is so sharp and physical that I clutch my chest, squeezing tightly as if I can hold the hurt in place. Miles is celebrating with her.

The only woman he will ever have eyes for.