My Cheating Mate (Emma and Jeremy) novel Chapter 4

Emma pov

I made it two hours past pack borders before I had to pull over.

The tears had been building behind my eyes the entire drive, blurring the highway lines, making my chest tight with the effort of holding them back. I’d kept myself together through sheer willpower, focusing on putting distance between myself and the Crescent Moon pack territory.

But when I saw the sign for a rest stop, my body made the decision my mind couldn’t. I yanked the steering wheel right, barely making the exit, and pulled into the farthest corner of the parking lot, away from the few semi-trucks idling near the building.

Then I shattered.

The sobs came from somewhere deep inside, violent and raw, tearing through me like claws. I gripped the steering wheel so hard my knuckles went white, my whole body shaking with the force of my grief.

Jeremy didn’t love me. Had never loved me.

The mate bond—the Moon Goddess’s sacred gift—meant nothing to him. I was just an inconvenience. A broodmare. Something to use and throw away when he was done.

*”I never said I loved her. I said the mate bond chose her. There’s a difference.”*

His words echoed in my head, each syllable a fresh knife wound. How many times had I told him I loved him? How many times had I looked into his eyes and seen what I thought was affection reflected back?

All lies. All of it.

And Vanessa. God, Vanessa.

I’d tried so hard to befriend her. Had swallowed my wolf’s warnings, my own instincts, because Jeremy told me I was being paranoid. Insecure. Immature.

He’d gaslit me. That was the term, wasn’t it? Made me question my own reality, my own perceptions, until I didn’t trust myself anymore.

*”She’s just teasing, Em. Don’t be so sensitive.”*

*”Why can’t you be more understanding?”*

*”I can’t cut her out of my life because you’re insecure.”*

Every time I’d brought up my discomfort with their relationship, he’d made me feel like the problem. Like I was the one being unreasonable, jealous, difficult.

And I’d believed him. I’d actually believed that I was the broken one, that something was wrong with me for not being okay with my mate’s intimate friendship with another woman.

A fresh wave of sobs overtook me. I leaned forward, pressing my forehead against the steering wheel, and let myself cry for the girl I’d been this morning. The naive, trusting fool who’d baked cookies for a man who was planning to impregnate and abandon her.

My phone buzzed in the cupholder. Jeremy’s name flashed across the screen for the sixth time.

I watched it ring, feeling nothing but a hollow ache where my heart used to be. The mate bond tugged at me, trying to compel me to answer, to return, to forgive. But I’d blocked him as much as I could, pushing him to the furthest corners of my consciousness.

Let him wonder. Let him worry. Let him feel even a fraction of the uncertainty and pain I was drowning in.

The phone went silent, then immediately buzzed with a text: “Emma, where are you? I’m worried. Please call me.”

Worried. He was worried.

Not sorry. Not apologetic. Just worried that his carefully laid plans were falling apart.

Another text came through, this time from Aria: “Jeremy just called me asking if you’re here. What’s going on? Are you okay?”

I typed back with shaking fingers: “I’m safe. Can’t talk about it yet. Please don’t tell him anything if he calls again.”

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