The Wife He Gave Away Became the Alpha's Only Weakness

My bags were still warm from the car engine. That's the stupid thing I kept thinking about.

The plastic handles were warm. From where they sat in the trunk. And he handed me over like spare change. Just like that.

Five years. Five years I bled into his pack. I stood next to him while he built his little empire and nodded at all the right people and kept his shirts ironed and listened to him talk about alliances. Five years of sleeping in his bed and he packed me in a suitcase because some alliance mattered more.

He didn't even carry the bags.

He just set them down in the mud. In enemy territory. Actual mud. It sucked at my shoes. And said, "This is her."

Like I was a thing. A delivery.

The other pack's guards just stared. And he walked away. Without looking back. Not once. His shoes making that soft sound on wet ground and then the car door slammed and he was gone.

My teeth were clicking. Literally clicking. I was shaking so hard I couldn't stop it. I kept thinking if I clenched my jaw harder it would stop but it didn't.

He thought I'd break. He thought I'd stay broken right there in that mud. Just sit down and cry into my warm bags.

He didn't check the arithmetic. Idiot. He never could add right. Always needed me to do his books.

They call the new Alpha a monster. Everyone whispers it. Rips throats out before breakfast, doesn't blink, whatever. The kind of story you tell pups to make them behave. And I was standing in his mud, in his territory, with my suitcase handles still warm and getting cold now, getting cold fast.

The door to the big house opened. Big. Like way too big for a house in the middle of nowhere.

And he came out.

I had seen pictures. Sort of. Blur of a man in the back of meeting photos. But in person he was - he was just big. Shoulders wide and his t-shirt was dark grey and I could see it was wet at the edges from the rain. And his eyes. God. His eyes didn't move.

Everyone is terrified of him. And I should have been too. My knees were doing that wobbly thing.

But he looked at me standing in the wreckage of my old life. In the mud with my bags. And he didn't see a burden. That was the weird part. I expected pity or disgust or like - oh, another one.

He saw something else. I don't know. A weapon? A ghost? The blurb in my head says he saw a ghost that looked like vengeance enough to keep him warm. Which is stupid but also - yeah. Maybe.

"You're cold," he said.

That was it. First thing he said to me.

Not who are you, not what are you doing here. You're cold.

My hands were red. I hadn't noticed. The itch of wet wool from my sweater was driving me crazy. The cuffs were soaked and scratching my wrists.

"I'm fine," I said. My voice cracked. So much for sounding tough.

He walked right up to me. Didn't ask. He just took the heavier bag. The one with the broken zipper. He picked it up like it was nothing.

"I'm not," I said again, louder this time. "I'm not fine. He just - he traded me. Like I was nothing. Five years and -"

"I know," he cut in. He didn't interrupt rude. Just quiet. "I know who you are. And I know what he did."

He knew my name. He said it. "Elena."

No one had said my name like that in a long time. Not like it meant something.

Behind him, one of his men made a noise. Like a scoff. And I saw the Alpha's head twitch. Just a little. And the man shut up real quick.

He started walking toward the house. With my bag. And I just stood there. Because what was I supposed to do.

He looked back. "You coming? Or you want to keep standing in the mud so he can watch you on the cameras?"

Cameras. Right. This place has cameras. Of course it does. Monster with a security system.

I grabbed the other bag. Handle was cold now. Not warm anymore. Cold plastic.

I followed him. My shoes squelched. Every step was loud and gross.

Inside, the house was warm. Too warm. And it smelled like wood smoke and coffee and something else, something like - like clean laundry but sharp. Male. I hate that I noticed that.

He set my bag down by the stairs. He didn't get close. He stayed a step away. But his eyes were heavy. Too heavy. Too hungry. Like he was trying not to look.

"Upstairs. First room on the left. Shower's hot," he said. "Don't... don't overthink tonight."

Don't overthink tonight. What kind of thing is that to say.

I stood there in his entryway dripping mud on his floor. My old life in two bags that weren't even warm anymore.

And I thought, let him watch. Let my ex watch whatever feed he gets from this place. Let him try to claw back what he threw away. Because I'm not standing in the mud anymore.

I'm inside.

And the beast everyone is scared of is staring at my wet sweater like I'm the only thing keeping him breathing.