For two years, I was Alpha Jase Davenport’s loyal assistant and secret bed-warmer. Because I was a wolfless Omega, I trusted his empty promises instead of instincts I didn’t possess.
Then, a push notification from a notorious gossip blog shattered my world.
Jase was pictured in Paris, his hand intimately resting on the waist of my cruel stepsister, Kira. The headline screamed that he was finally claiming his fated Luna.
Before I could even process the betrayal, Jase texted me a cold command to update his schedule, treating me like a soulless employee.
Immediately after, my mother called to gloat.
“Did you honestly believe an Alpha like Jase would settle for a defective creature like you?”
She threatened to freeze my late father’s Pack trust fund unless I agreed to marry an abusive, elderly Alpha to be his breeding mare. If I refused, I would be cast out as a penniless stray, easy prey for any Rogue.
I was nothing but a convenient placeholder to Jase, and a piece of livestock to my own family. They thought they had me completely cornered, ready to steal my inheritance and leave me to die.
But as the panic subsided, a cold clarity took its place. My father’s will only required a legal mating bond to unlock my millions; it never said my family had to approve of the groom.
I wiped my tears, opened my laptop, and searched for a disgraced, debt-ridden Rogue named Babe Vincent.
If I needed a husband on paper to secure my freedom, I was going to buy one.
Forsaken by the Pack, Mated to the Secret Lycan King Chapter 1
Adelina POV
Jase Davenport’s penthouse was designed for power, not comfort. At 6:00 AM, the winter light creeping through the floor-to-ceiling windows painted the cold marble floors in shades of dead gray. I lay alone on the Egyptian cotton sheets, breathing in the lingering scent of his metallic cologne. It was a harsh, sterile smell that masked any natural wolf scent, suffocating the space just as he had suffocated me for the past two years.
I thought I was his partner. Because I was a wolfless Omega—born without an Inner Wolf, unable to feel the pull of a Fated Mate or hear the Pack mind-link—I had trusted his words instead of instincts I didn’t possess.
My phone buzzed on the nightstand, shattering the silence.
It was a push notification from *The Howl*, the most notorious werewolf gossip blog on the East Coast. I swiped the screen, my eyes adjusting to the harsh glare.
My heart stopped.
It was a high-resolution photo taken at the Alpha’s Gala in Paris. Jase was supposed to be there for a grueling Pack trade negotiation. Instead, he was standing under a chandelier, his hand resting intimately on the waist of a woman in a shimmering platinum dress. He was smiling—a genuine, fiercely possessive smile I hadn’t seen directed at me in months.
The woman leaning into his chest was Kira Parrish. My stepsister. The girl who had made my childhood a living hell.
The headline screamed: *Davenport Pack’s New Power Couple: Alpha Jase Claims His Fated Luna, Kira Parrish.*
A sickening wave of humiliation washed over me. I wasn’t his mate. I never was. I was just a convenient, wolfless assistant he used to keep his bed warm and his schedule organized while he waited for his true Luna.
A second later, a text message popped up from Jase.
*Adelina, my itinerary in Paris has changed. Update my schedule.*
No explanation. No apology. Just a cold, emotionless command to his employee. He didn’t even see me as a person with a soul.
Before I could even process the betrayal, my phone began to ring. The caller ID flashed: *Carolyn Parrish*. My mother.
I answered, my throat tight. “Hello?”
“I assume you’ve seen the news,” Carolyn’s voice dripped with venomous satisfaction. “Did you honestly believe an Alpha like Jase would settle for a defective, wolfless creature like you? Kira is his true Mate. It’s time you stop playing pretend and do your duty to this family.”
“My duty?” I choked out, gripping the edge of the mattress.
“Alpha Henderson is looking for a new wife,” she stated smoothly, ignoring my pain. “He’s older, yes, but his Pack is wealthy. He needs a breeder, and you need a roof over your head. The arrangement is already in motion.”
Bile rose in my throat. Henderson was a notorious, cruel Alpha who went through Omegas like disposable cups. “I’m not marrying Henderson. I’m not a piece of property you can trade.”
“You will do exactly as I say, Adelina,” Carolyn snapped, her tone turning lethal. “As the executor of your late father’s estate, I control your Pack trust fund. The stipulations are clear: you don’t see a dime of that money until you secure a formal Mating bond. Defy me, and I will freeze the accounts permanently. You will be cast out, penniless and Packless. You have until the end of the week.”
The line went dead.
I dropped the phone, my hands trembling violently. She had me cornered. Without that trust fund, I had nothing. I would be a wolfless stray on the streets, easy prey for any Rogue.
But as the panic subsided, a cold, hard clarity took its place. I wiped the tears from my cheeks and walked over to my laptop.
*A formal Mating bond.*
My father’s will required a legal bond, but it never explicitly stated that Carolyn had to approve of the groom. I just needed a husband on paper. Someone desperate enough to sign a contract, take a payout, and leave me alone.
I opened a secure browser and typed in a name I had only heard in whispered underground rumors: *Babe Vincent*.
He was a disgraced Rogue, exiled from his family for his scandalous behavior, drowning in debt, and desperately in need of a respectable facade to keep his creditors at bay. He was the perfect pawn.
I found the contact portal for a discreet law firm in the financial district that handled sensitive Pack affairs. My fingers flew across the keyboard, drafting an urgent request for a Mating Contract negotiation.
I hit send. Within ten minutes, an automated reply confirmed an appointment for tomorrow morning at 8:58 AM. I closed the laptop, leaving Jase’s penthouse behind to prepare for the meeting.
Forsaken by the Pack, Mated to the Secret Lycan King Chapter 2
Adelina POV
The waiting room of the discreet financial district law firm smelled of expensive leather and a faint, clinical trace of bleach—a subtle reminder that the messes cleaned up here were meant to stay buried. I sat rigidly in a deep mahogany chair, watching the antique grandfather clock tick toward 8:58 AM. Every second was a countdown to my ruin if I didn’t secure this Mating Contract.
The heavy oak door clicked open.
The man who walked in stole the oxygen from the room. He was devastatingly tall, his broad shoulders filling the doorframe. He didn’t look like a disgraced, debt-ridden Rogue. He moved with the lethal, silent grace of an apex predator, and the scent that rolled off him—ancient cedar mixed with the raw, intoxicating ozone of a thunderstorm—made my pulse hammer wildly against my throat.
I stood up, forcing my trembling knees to lock. “Mr. Vincent?”
The man froze. His piercing, dark eyes locked onto mine, and for a fraction of a second, a dangerous, possessive fire flared in his irises. He stared at me as if I were a ghost he had been hunting for lifetimes. Then, the predatory gleam vanished behind a mask of cool calculation.
“Ms. Wolfe,” he murmured. His voice was a deep, gravelly rumble that vibrated straight down to my bones.
He closed the distance between us and offered his hand. I placed my palm in his.
*Zap.*
A violent, electric shock shot up my arm the second our skin met. I gasped, trying to yank my hand back, but his grip tightened. Even as a wolfless Omega, completely blind to the Pack mind-link and the instincts of an Inner Wolf, the sheer physical surge of that touch left me breathless. My skin felt like it was on fire, a terrifyingly exquisite heat pooling in my lower belly.
His jaw clenched tight, the muscles ticking as if he were fighting a brutal internal war. His eyes darkened to pitch black before he abruptly released me, taking a step back.
“Have a seat,” he commanded softly.
I swallowed hard, trying to regain my composure. “I’ll get straight to the point. I need a legal Mating bond to access my Pack trust fund. You need a respectable facade and financial compensation to handle your… creditors. I’ve drafted a one-year contract. Separate assets. No physical intimacy. Absolutely no Marking.”
I slid the document across the desk, expecting him to haggle, to demand more money, or to show some sign of the desperation that had driven him to this meeting.
Instead, he barely glanced at the paper. His dark eyes remained fixed on my face, tracking the nervous flutter of my pulse at my collarbone.
“Where do I sign?” he asked.
I blinked, stunned by his lack of hesitation. “You don’t want to read the penalty clauses?”
“I agree to your terms, Adelina.” The way he said my name felt like a brand. He picked up the heavy Montblanc pen from the desk and slashed a sharp, illegible scrawl across the signature line.
“Done,” he said, tossing the pen down. “Let’s go to the Marriage Bureau. Now. Before you change your mind.”
Ten minutes later, we stepped out of the building and onto the freezing New York street. The winter sun glared off the glass skyscrapers, but I barely noticed the cold. My mind was still spinning from how easily I had just bought myself a husband.
A sleek, black armored Maybach glided silently to the curb. The driver’s door opened, and an older man in a crisp suit stepped out.
“Good morning, sir—” The driver, Henri, stopped dead in his tracks. His eyes widened in absolute shock as he looked at the man standing beside me. His mouth opened, a respectful title forming on his lips. “Al—”
Suddenly, the air around us grew impossibly heavy. Though I had no wolf to sense it, the sheer atmospheric pressure made my ears pop. The man beside me hadn’t moved a muscle, but his eyes were locked on Henri with a terrifying, icy warning.
Henri snapped his mouth shut. He swallowed hard, his posture instantly shifting into deep, unquestioning submission. Without another word, he hurried to open the rear door for us.
I frowned, looking from the luxurious vehicle to my new contract husband. “A Maybach? I thought you were drowning in debt.”
“Borrowed it from a friend,” he replied smoothly, his expression unreadable. “I wanted to make a good impression on my new wife.”
He gestured for me to get in. I slid into the plush beige leather interior, instantly enveloped by his intoxicating cedar scent. The heavy door clicked shut, sealing us inside the quiet, armored sanctuary as the car pulled away from the curb, carrying us toward City Hall.
Forsaken by the Pack, Mated to the Secret Lycan King Chapter 3
Adelina POV
The ceremony at City Hall was a blur of sterile lighting, stamped paper, and the heavy, intoxicating scent of cedar that radiated from the man standing beside me. Twenty minutes later, we were back out on the concrete steps. The winter sun glared off the gray pavement, harsh and blinding, snapping me back to the reality of what I had just done.
“I have some matters to attend to,” my new husband said, his deep voice cutting through the city noise. He reached into his tailored coat and handed me a minimalist black card.
I looked down. There was only a phone number and two embossed letters: *K.B.*
I frowned, looking up into his dark, unreadable eyes. “K.B.? Does the ‘B’ stand for Babe?”
Not a single muscle in his face twitched. “Kain Blackwell,” he corrected smoothly. “Babe Vincent was a moniker forced on me in the underground. A stain I am currently erasing. I prefer my real name.”
A strange sense of relief washed over me. He was trusting me with his true identity. It was a signal—a rogue trying to shed his disgraced past and start fresh. “Kain Blackwell,” I tested the name on my tongue.
A dark, possessive satisfaction flared in his eyes for a fraction of a second before he nodded. “Keep your phone on, Adelina.”
Once we parted ways on the steps, I retreated to the armored sanctuary of the Maybach he had arranged for me. The heavy doors clicked shut, sealing out the chaos of Manhattan. Surrounded by the lingering scent of Kain’s thunderstorm aura, I found the courage I desperately needed.
I pulled out my phone and dialed my mother.
“Where the hell are you?” Carolyn Parrish’s voice shrieked through the speaker the second she answered. “Alpha Henderson is furious!”
“I’m married, Mother,” I said, my voice dead calm. “The trust conditions are met. I want the funds released and the deed to Wolfe Manor transferred to my name by tomorrow morning.”
There was a stunned silence, followed by a vicious laugh. “You think you can marry some filthy, debt-ridden Rogue and claim the Pack’s legacy? I am the executor! I will have the Elders annul this farce before sunset!”
I leaned back against the plush beige leather, my heart pounding, but my tone remained ice-cold. “Try it. But you should know, my new mate has resources you can’t even fathom. He would be more than happy to order a full forensic audit of the Parrish Holdings accounts. I wonder what the Pack Elders will say when they see exactly where my father’s money has been disappearing to for the last five years.”
The silence on the other end was absolute. I had hit the nerve. Embezzlement was a crime punishable by exile.
“You little bitch,” Carolyn hissed, her voice trembling with sudden, raw panic. “Fine. You’ll have the deed. But don’t ever expect to step foot in this Pack house again.”
She hung up. I let out a shaky breath, a triumphant smile touching my lips. I had won. I had bluffed my way into reclaiming my home.
An hour later, the Maybach dropped me off at Jase Davenport’s building. I needed to sever the final tie to my pathetic past.
Ralph, the older doorman, gave me a sympathetic nod as I walked into the lobby. He knew. Everyone in the Pack probably knew by now.
I took the elevator up to the penthouse. The moment I unlocked the door, the cold, sterile air hit me. The apartment reeked of Jase’s signature metallic cologne—a sharp, artificial scent that completely masked any natural wolf musk. It made my stomach turn.
I didn’t shed a single tear. I moved methodically, packing only what belonged to me. Clothes, books, and the expensive Egyptian cotton sheets I had bought with my own money, ripping them off the bed and shoving them into my suitcase. I refused to leave anything of mine for Kira to enjoy.
Before leaving, I walked into the kitchen. On the pristine marble island sat a half-empty coffee cup Jase had left behind yesterday. A thin layer of mold had already started to form on the surface of the liquid. To a werewolf’s heightened senses, the smell of decay was unmistakable. It was the perfect epitaph for our relationship.
I dropped my apartment key on the marble counter, right next to the rotting coffee.
Ten minutes later, with Ralph’s help, I loaded my suitcase into the trunk of a yellow cab. I slid into the cramped back seat, the worn leather a stark contrast to the Maybach. As the cab merged into the chaotic Manhattan traffic, I stared out the window, completely broke, entirely wolfless, but finally free.