Claimed By My Cheating Mate’s Rival Alpha Chapter 03

Claimed By My Cheating Mate’s Rival Alpha Chapter 03

SCARLETT

I heard his car pull into the driveway at noon and my whole body went rigid.

Mason was back. It was morning, and the sun had already rose in the sky. Immediately he walked into our room, the smell of Celeste’s perfume filled the space and I felt like throwing up.

“There she is,” he said and I could hear him wlaking towards the bed. I was lying with my back to him so I couldn’t see him.

The bed sunk beside me, and his arms wrapped around my waist. “I’m sorry about last night, sweetheart. Celeste’s ankle was worse than we thought. I should have called to tell you earlier, but you know how you get when it comes to Celeste.”

His hands slid down my back, pulling me closer, and his mouth found the curve of my neck. That spot that used to make me melt.

Now it made my skin crawl.

“Don’t.” I turned and pressed my palms flat against his chest and pushed. Hard. “Don’t touch me.”

He pulled back, blinking . “Scar, come on. I said I was sorry.”

“You left me alone on my birthday, Mason. I was kidnapped, and I called you. I begged you—” My voice cracked and I bit down on it. No. I would not fall apart in front of him again. “Forget it.”

His expression softened into that patient, indulgent look I’ve now grown to despise. He cupped my face in his hands and pressed his forehead against mine.

“Let me make it up to you,” he murmured. “I mean it. I already booked a trip for a honeymoon. It’ll be just us, and no distractions. And I promise you get you a gift.”

He leaned in and kissed my forehead, then stood up from the bed and disappeared into the bathroom. I heard the shower turn on.

I just laid in the bed, listening to the showering running, and wondered how many times I’d let this exact cycle play out—the absence, the excuses.

I went downstairs to try to prepare something when I heard a knock.

I opened it and felt my chest tighten when I saw it was Celeste.

She stood on my porch in a white sundress with her hair loose around her shoulders, holding a gift bag. Her ankle, I noticed, bore no brace, no wrap, no sign of any injury whatsoever. She wasn’t even limping.

“Scarlett!” Her smile was painfully rehearsed. “I felt so terrible about last night. Mason mentioned it was your birthday, and I just—I couldn’t live with myself knowing he missed it because of me. So I brought you a little something.”

She held the bag out. Her eyes were soft with practiced concern, but underneath, there was something dark. A flicker of satisfaction. Of ownership. The look of a woman standing on your doorstep holding proof of how deeply she’d embedded herself in your life, daring you to say something about it.

I stared at the bag. Then at her perfect, uninjured ankle.

“How kind of you,” I bit out.

She tilted her head. “Is Mason home? I just need to give him back his jacket—he left it with me last night when he carried me to the car. He was so sweet about the whole thing. You’re really lucky, you know? You have an amazing husband.”

Lucky? She was having an affair with my husband, and I’m the lucky one?

Something inside me snapped.

“You know what, Celeste?” My voice came out low and sharp. “You can take your gift and your little act and get off my porch. I’m done pretending I don’t see exactly what you’re doing.”

Her smile faltered. “Scarlett, I don’t understand. I was just trying to—”

“You understand perfectly.” I stepped forward and she stepped back, her eyes widening. “You show up at my door with no limp, no brace, nothing—after your ‘terrible injury’ kept my husband from my birthday. Do you think I’m stupid? Do you think I can’t see—”

“Scarlett.” Mason’s voice cut through from behind me like a knife through glass.

I turned. He was standing in the hallway, dressed, hair still damp from the shower, his jaw set in that hard line I’d come to recognize as his disappointed expression.

He’d heard everything.

He moved past me and stepped onto the porch, positioning himself between Celeste and me like I was the threat.

“What the hell is wrong with you?” His scowl deepened. “She came here to bring you a gift after she was hurt. And this is how you treat her?”

My eyes widened. How could he not see what she was doing?

“Mason, she wasn’t—”

“Enough.” He held up his hand. “I don’t want to hear it. You’ve been like this for months. Celeste has been nothing but kind to you, and this is how you repay her?”

Celeste, right on cue, placed a gentle hand on Mason’s arm. Her eyes were glistening now to look like she was holding back tears.

What an actress.

“Mason, please don’t.” Her voice came out small. “Don’t be angry with her. She’s had a hard night. She’s tired and upset, and I should have called first instead of just showing up. This is my fault.” She turned to me with those wide, wet eyes. “Scarlett, I’m so sorry. I never meant to upset you. I just wanted to do something nice.”

I stared at her performance. At the way Mason’s expression softened the instant she touched his arm, and the way his body angled toward her protectively while I stood in my own doorway like a stranger.

He looked back at me. “Apologize to her.”

This was Celeste’s plan. Now, I looked like the villain.

My fists clenched at my sides and I hissed. “Over my dead body.”

I turned around, walked through the hallway, into our bedroom, and locked the door.

I heard footsteps, then a knock.

“Scarlett, open the door.” It was Mason.

I sat on the edge of the bed and stared at the door.

“I’m mad at you, Scarlett. If you don’t open the door this instant—”

He stopped himself. I said nothing.

He waited. I could hear him breathing through the door, then his phone rang. I heard the shift in his voice when he answered. His tone was lighter, warmer, a contrast to the tone he used for me.

He spoke for less than a minute, and I realized he was speaking to Celeste.

I heard the jingle of his car keys, his footsteps fading away, then the front door opening and closing.

He left.

***

The next morning, I got a text from my bestfriend, Maggie.

Don’t kill the messenger.

That’s what the text said, and underneath it was four images attached. I opened it and I felt my insides twist.

It was photos of Mason and Celeste on a beach. Not just any beach—the resort in the southern islands. The one he’d just promised me he’d take us to for our honeymoon.

The fourth photo hurt even more because he was wearing a necklace for her. I immediately recognized it as the necklace my father had given him on the day we got bethroted.

And he had just given it to Celeste.

My chest heaved violently as I felt a rush of anger and betrayal coursing through me.

I called Maggie, and she picked up on the first ring.

“I know this must be so much to take in, so I’m coming over,” she said immediately. “I’m here for you.”

“Don’t.” I replied, my voice devoid of warmth. “I’m going to the main house.”

“Scarlett, don’t do anything unhinged right n—”

“I’m done, Maggie.” I stared at the photos one more time, then locked my phone. “I’m ending this.”

***

The Crowford main house sat at the center of Pack territory like a fortress. Stone walls, iron gates, the family crest carved above the entrance.

I’d walked through these doors a thousand times as Mason’s partner, the woman who was supposed to stand beside him when he led.

Today, I walked in as the woman who was going to burn it all down.

Mason’s parents were in the sitting room. His father, Gerald, stood at the fireplace with a glass of bourbon. His mother, Vivienne, sat on the settee with her ankles crossed and her silver hair fixed into a bun.

They both looked up when I entered. Their expressions weren’t welcoming.

“Scarlett, darling.” Vivienne’s smile was thin and practiced. “What brings you by? Mason isn’t here.”

“I know where Mason is.” I stood in the center of the room, my spine straight, my hands steady at my sides. “He’s on a honeymoon trip with Celeste. Your son has been cheating on me.”

Gerald’s glass paused halfway to his mouth. Vivienne’s smile didn’t waver, but something behind her eyes tightened.

“I want a divorce,” I said. “And I want it formalized by tomorrow.”

The room went very still.

“Sit down.” Vivienne’s voice was controlled, as she instructed me. “You’re upset. Understandably so. But this is not how we handle domestic matters in this family.”

“This isn’t a domestic matter. Your son is unfaithful. And I want nothing to do with—”

“What you want,” Vivienne cut in, her voice sharpening like a blade, “is to destroy this family’s reputation over a petty jealousy.”

I stared at her, blinking. “Petty jealousy?”

“Celeste is a sweet girl. She’s grateful to this Pack, and she’s devoted to Mason. If you can’t see the difference between loyalty and infidelity, that is your problem, not ours.” Vivienne smoothed her skirt. “Now sit down, take a breath, and let’s discuss this like adults.”

I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. I stood my ground nonetheless.

“I am discussing this like an adult. I want a divorce,” I bit out.

“You want attention.” Her voice snapped like a whip. “You want Mason to grovel, and you think threatening his family will accomplish that. It won’t. So I suggest you go home, and think of how to be a proper wife.”

Every word was a slap to the cheek. I looked at Gerald, waiting for him to speak, to show even a shred of the warmth he’d shown me at my father’s funeral.

Instead, he took a sip of bourbon and looked away.

I met Vivienne’s gaze.

“I want a divorce,” I stated again. “I also want the Blackwood territory and my father’s mining company returned to me. They were my family’s legacy before the Crowford Pack took them, and I have every legal right to reclaim them.”

The change in the room was immediate. Gerald set his glass down. Vivienne’s composure cracked.