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Tag: Drama

  • Invisible To Her Bully by Dea B

    Invisible To Her Bully by Dea B

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    Unlike her twin brother, Jackson, Jessa struggled with her weight and very few friends. Jackson was an athlete and the epitome of popularity, while Jessa felt invisible.

    Noah was the quintessential “It” guy at school-charismatic, well-liked, and undeniably handsome. To make matters worse, he was Jackson’s best friend and Jessa’s biggest bully.

    During their senior year, Jessa decides it was time for her to gain some self-confidence, find her true beauty and not be the invisible twin.As Jessa transformed, she begins to catch the eye of everyone around her, especially Noah.Noah, initially blinded by his perception of Jessa as merely Jackson’s sister, started to see her in a new light.

    How did she become the captivating woman invading his thoughts? When did she become the object of his fantasies?Join Jessa on her journey from being the class joke to a confident, desirable young woman, surprising even Noah as she reveals the incredible person she has always been inside.

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    Invisible To Her Bully Chapter 1

    Jessa

    Seven Years Earlier

    Growing up as a twin sounds fun, right? Built-in best friend, someone who always has your back, someone who gets you without explanation. That’s what I had-at least for the first ten years of my life.

    My twin brother, Jackson, was the center of my world. We were fraternal twins, but opposites in every way. Jackson was tall, lean, athletic, and could make friends with just about anyone. I was short, a little chunky, shy to the point of painful, and usually tripping over my own feet.

    But it never mattered to me. I didn’t need a million friends. I had Jackson. He was my best friend, my other half, my person.

    It was always just the two of us. Our mom worked constantly to keep food on the table, so most of the time it was just me and him. Maybe that’s why we clung to each other so hard.

    “Jax, I wanna go home,” I whined, dragging my feet as he tossed a football from hand to hand.

    “Jess, chill. I told the new kid I’d meet him here to throw the ball around,” he said, his brown eyes locked on the field like he was already in the NFL.

    “This is boring.” I plopped down on the grass.

    He sighed, dug in his pocket, and tossed me a granola bar. “Here. Peanut butter. Your favorite.”

    Instant mood boost. “Yes! Thanks, Jax.”

    While I was tearing open the wrapper, he straightened up, glancing at the entrance to the field. “That’s him.”

    A boy about our age walked toward us, a football tucked under his arm. He had dark, messy brown hair and the greenest eyes I’d ever seen. The kind of eyes you notice right away. And his lashes? Long enough to make me jealous.

    “Hey,” he said to Jackson.

    “Hey, Noah. This is my twin, Jessa.”

    I scrambled up, brushing grass off my jeans. My mouth moved faster than my brain. “Wow… you’ve got really long eyelashes. For a boy.”

    Noah’s cheeks turned pink. “Uh, thanks?”

    Jackson groaned. “Sorry, she doesn’t have a filter sometimes.”

    “I just meant they’re… pretty,” I tried, wishing I could disappear.

    “Jess, why don’t you go sit while we toss the ball around,” Jackson muttered.

    “She doesn’t play?” Noah asked.

    I shook my head before Jackson could answer. “Not really my thing.”

    “Nope. If she tried to throw, she’d probably knock herself over,” Jackson joked.

    I pretended not to care, sitting back down on the sidelines, but my eyes kept drifting toward Noah as he and Jackson tossed the ball. He wasn’t just cute-he was quiet, too. Almost shy. Something about him made me want him to like me.

    After they finished, Jackson clapped him on the back. “You’ve got a good arm.”

    “Two older brothers taught me some stuff,” Noah shrugged.

    “Oh! So they’re your best friends too, like me and Jackson?” I asked eagerly.

    “No. They’re just… brothers. I don’t really have a best friend.”

    My heart squeezed. “Then you should get one. Me and Jackson do everything together. He’s the best best friend you could ever have.”

    Noah looked at Jackson. Jackson just shrugged. Noah nodded slightly, like he got the message.

    At the time, I didn’t realize how wrong I was.

    One Month Later

    “I don’t wanna go to the movies, Jax!” I whined, arms crossed.

    “Too bad. Noah and I wanna see the new Marvel movie. You can’t stay home alone.”

    “We always do what you and Noah want. What about me?”

    He sighed. “Jess, I love you. But sometimes I wanna do stuff without you. You need to find your own friends.”

    That stung more than I wanted to admit.

    The doorbell rang, and Noah walked in with his usual smirk.

    “Sup.”

    “Jess, get your shoes on,” Jackson ordered.

    “She’s coming too?” Noah asked.

    “Yeah. Mom’s at work. I’m babysitting.”

    “Babysitting?” I snapped. “We’re the same age! You’re not babysitting me.”

    “I’m twelve minutes older,” Jackson shot back.

    Noah snickered. “She’s definitely acting like the baby.”

    I stormed off to grab my shoes, but I froze halfway up the stairs when I heard Noah’s voice:

    “Man, your sister’s such a brat. Wish she didn’t have to tag along.”

    Jackson’s answer was the knife that cut deepest. “Tell me about it.”

    At the theater, I tried to forget. “Jax, can we get popcorn? With extra butter?”

    Noah raised his brows. “Do you really need the extra butter?”

    I clenched my fists. “Yes. I like it that way.”

    Jackson slipped me a couple of bills. “Get your own small one.”

    I headed for the snack line, and that’s when I heard them again.

    “She always has to be eating,” Noah muttered.

    “Yeah,” Jackson said with a low laugh. “Sometimes it’s embarrassing to be seen with her.”

    The words hit harder than any punch. My own twin-my best friend-was embarrassed of me.

    “Hey, it’s your turn,” a girl behind me said gently.

    I shook my head. “Changed my mind.”

    She frowned. “You okay?”

    “No,” I whispered. “I think I lost my best friend.”

    She studied me, then said, “I’m Mariah. We’re in the same class, right? You’re Jessa. Jackson’s twin.”

    “Yeah.”

    “What movie are you supposed to be seeing?”

    “Some superhero thing.”

    Mariah smirked. “Ditch it. Come with me instead. There’s a new comedy. Way cuter lead actor.”

    Before I could decide, Jackson and Noah appeared.

    “Jess, what’s taking so long?” Jackson demanded. “Oh, hey, Mariah.”

    Mariah smiled sweetly. “Hi. Jessa and I are seeing the comedy instead.”

    Jackson shrugged. “Fine. Meet us in the lobby after.”

    As he and Noah disappeared, Mariah tugged me toward her theater.

    “Come on. You need a laugh.”

    I glanced back one last time at my brother’s retreating figure.

    He stole my best friend, I thought. And he’s never giving him back.

    Three Years Later

    Thirteen hit me hard. My body changed in ways I didn’t ask for. I wasn’t the chubby little girl anymore-I had curves. Breasts too big for my age. Hips that didn’t match the other girls at school.

    Mom always said, Girls built like us need to cover up. Layers make you look thinner.

    So I wore baggy shirts. Oversized hoodies. Clothes that swallowed me whole. It didn’t matter. The teasing still came.

    “Jess, you’re wearing that?” Jackson asked one morning, eyeing my loose shirt.

    “It’s comfortable.”

    “It’s a tent.” He rolled his eyes and left.

    Mom kissed my cheek. “Ignore him. He doesn’t understand what it’s like for girls like us.”

    At school, the comments started before I even reached the doors.

    “The circus is in town!”

    “Yeah, they brought the whale exhibit!”

    My stomach dropped when I saw where it came from-Jackson and Noah, flanked by their football buddies, all laughing.

    “Nice shirt, Jess,” Noah snorted. “They only had tent size left?”

    “Shut up, Noah.”

    Jackson smirked. “Told you it was too big.”

    “Perfect for hiding that fat ass,” Noah added, sending the group into hysterics.

    I turned away, pretending I couldn’t hear. But their laughter followed me.

    By the time I reached my locker, my hands were shaking. I tugged the handle, but it was jammed. Mariah appeared at my side.

    “Need help?”

    We pulled together until it finally burst open-and trash bags tumbled out, spilling all over the hallway.

    A note taped to one read: Got you a new wardrobe.

    The roar of laughter around us was deafening.

    “Did you do this?” Mariah snapped at Jackson and Noah, who had pushed through the crowd to watch.

    Noah grinned. “She wants to dress like a hobo? Why not just give her options?”

    Jackson chuckled. “Relax. It’s just a joke.”

    Mariah glared at him. “She’s your sister.”

    But Jackson only walked away with Noah.

    I stared at the trash bag in my hands. For just one second, I wished I could trade places. To be the one laughing, not the one humiliated.

    Present Day

    Beep. Beep. Beep.

    I groaned, slamming my alarm clock. Senior year. My last year in this hellhole.

    I’m Jessa. Nobody special. Just the overweight twin sister of Jackson, starting quarterback and golden boy of our high school. The sister his best friend, Noah Carter, has made it his life’s mission to torment.

    Once, when I was ten, I thought Noah was cute. That crush didn’t survive the year. Now at eighteen, he’s tall, broad-shouldered, perfect hair, perfect smile. Every girl wants him.

    And I can’t stand him.

    But he’s always around-because he’s Jackson’s best friend. The boy who stole my brother from me.

    I roll out of bed and tug on my armor: jeans, tank top, oversized button-up. The layers hide the body I’ve been told to be ashamed of.

    Time to sneak out before Jackson sees me. Before Noah’s voice finds me.

    Another day. Another battle.

    Invisible To Her Bully Chapter 2

    Jessa

    I tiptoe down the hallway, holding my breath. If Jackson’s awake, he’ll have some comment locked and loaded about my clothes, my hair, or just… me. I’d rather start the day without it.

    Too late. His bedroom door creaks open, and there he is-my twin, my other half, my betrayer-all six feet of cocky quarterback standing in my way.

    “Morning, Jess,” he says, eyes flicking over my shirt. “Nice… tent.”

    I don’t even answer. I just shoulder past him, my cheeks heating.

    “Aw, come on, don’t be so sensitive,” he calls after me.

    Sensitive. That’s what he calls me when his words cut deep, like it’s my fault for feeling anything.

    By the time I make it to the kitchen, Mom’s already gone. She leaves early most mornings, and I can’t decide if I’m grateful or jealous. Grateful that she doesn’t see me like this, jealous that she never has time for us.

    Jackson grabs a protein shake from the fridge and downs it like he’s in some athlete commercial. I butter a piece of toast, trying to look invisible.

    And then, of course, the devil himself arrives.

    Noah Carter.

    He strolls right into our kitchen like he owns it, helmet tucked under his arm, hair still damp from his shower, all six-foot-two of golden-boy arrogance. He’s wearing his jersey, number 14, stretched across broad shoulders like it was custom made for him.

    And because I’m apparently a glutton for punishment, my stupid brain notices the curve of his jaw, the way his damp hair curls at the edges, the clean soap-and-sweat smell that clings to him. I hate myself for noticing.

    “Morning, sunshine,” he smirks at me.

    I roll my eyes. “Don’t call me that.”

    “What? Thought you’d like a nickname.” His grin widens, like he knows exactly how to get under my skin.

    Jackson laughs and bumps fists with him. “Ignore her, bro. Ready for practice?”

    “Always,” Noah says. He glances at my toast, eyebrows lifting. “Extra butter again?”

    I slam the knife down. “Seriously? Do you ever get tired of commenting on what I eat?”

    Jackson snorts. “Don’t mind him, Jess.”

    But I mind. God, I mind so much.

    The two of them head out to the truck, leaving me with a cold piece of toast and the familiar ache in my chest. It’s the same ache I’ve had since I was ten years old.

    The ache of realizing my twin-my best friend-chose someone else.

    At school, it doesn’t get better. It never does.

    The minute I step into the hallway, eyes flick my way. Whispers. Snickers. The same crap I’ve been hearing since middle school.

    “Damn, she’s bigger than the linebackers.”

    “Bet she eats more than the team.”

    I keep walking, head down, pretending the words don’t stab me. But they do. Every single one leaves another scar I can’t cover with oversized clothes.

    Jackson doesn’t notice, or maybe he does and just doesn’t care. He’s too busy soaking in the glory of being the starting quarterback. Too busy laughing with Noah and the rest of the team.

    Noah. Always Noah.

    The worst part is that when he laughs, it’s this deep, warm sound that makes the hair on the back of my neck stand up. When he smiles, girls melt into puddles. And when his hazel eyes catch the light, they almost glow.

    I hate that I’ve noticed all of that.

    I hate that part of me gets why the entire female population of Crestwood High would kill for a chance with him.

    I hate that part of me, some twisted little part buried deep down, remembers what it felt like to have a crush on him before he turned into my tormentor.

    Mariah finds me by my locker. Thank God for her. She’s the one good thing that came out of all this-the girl who saw me breaking at the movies three years ago and decided not to let me stand alone.

    “You look like you’re ready to murder someone,” she says, tucking a strand of her blonde hair behind her ear.

    “Noah,” I mutter. “As usual.”

    She makes a face. “Ugh. You’d think after all these years he’d get bored.”

    “He doesn’t. It’s like tormenting me is his favorite sport, right after football.”

    Mariah sighs. “Well, senior year, right? Almost done.”

    Almost. But almost feels like forever.

    Lunch is the worst. Always has been.

    I sit with Mariah at the edge of the cafeteria, away from the football table. But no matter how far away I am, Noah still finds me with his eyes. I feel them, sharp as daggers, hot as a spotlight.

    Today’s no different. I’m halfway through my sandwich when I hear him across the room.

    “Hey, Jackson! Better hide your food or Jess will eat it all before you blink.”

    Laughter erupts from the table. Jackson doesn’t defend me. He never does.

    I keep my head down, cheeks burning, praying no one else joins in. But of course they do.

    “She could be the team mascot,” someone says. “Put her in pads, she’ll bulldoze the defense!”

    The guys howl with laughter.

    Mariah leans across the table, her eyes flashing. “Ignore them. They’re idiots.”

    But ignoring doesn’t make it stop.

    I grip my sandwich so tightly my knuckles turn white. In my head, I imagine standing up, marching over there, and telling Noah exactly what he is-a bully. A coward. A pathetic jerk who gets off on tearing me down.

    But I don’t move.

    Because I know what would happen if I did. He’d smirk. He’d say something sharper. And Jackson would laugh right alongside him.

    Just like always.

    That night, lying in bed, I stare at the ceiling.

    This is my last year. One more year of Noah Carter. One more year of Jackson pretending I don’t exist except when it’s convenient. One more year of being “the fat twin,” the joke, the nobody.

    After graduation, I’ll be free. College will be my reset button. Nobody will know me as Jackson’s sister or Noah’s favorite target. Nobody will remember the locker full of trash bags or the jokes about butter.

    It’ll just be me.

    But even as I tell myself that, my brain betrays me. Because it’s not Noah’s insults that replay behind my eyes. It’s his face. His stupidly perfect, sharp-jawed, broad-shouldered, movie-star face.

    And I hate myself for it.

    The next morning, the cycle repeats. Jackson teasing, Mom absent, me shrinking into myself.

    But when Noah shows up, there’s a shift. Not big, not obvious-just a flicker.

    He catches me staring.

    I don’t mean to. Honest. I’m just zoning out, and my gaze lands on him, on the way his T-shirt stretches across his chest, on the strong line of his throat as he tilts his head back to laugh at something Jackson says.

    And then his hazel eyes lock on mine.

    For a second, I can’t breathe.

    There’s no smirk, no insult, no sharp edge. Just Noah looking at me like… like he sees me.

    Then he blinks, and it’s gone. Replaced by the same cocky grin I know too well.

    “Like what you see, Sunshine?”

    My face burns. “In your dreams.”

    But that flicker stays with me all day.

    And it terrifies me more than all his insults combined.

    Because what if-just what if-the boy who’s made my life hell for years is the one I can’t stop noticing?

    What if the one I hate most is the one I’m secretly drawn to?

    And what if he knows it?

    Invisible To Her Bully Chapter 3

    Noah

    Most people think I’ve got it easy.

    They see the jersey, the captain’s armband, the girls who slide notes into my locker, the teachers who cut me slack because I’m “leading the team this season.” They see the highlight reels, the touchdowns, the swagger.

    And yeah, I play into it. Why wouldn’t I? That image has kept me on top since freshman year.

    But what they don’t see-the part I’d never admit out loud-is that the best part of my day isn’t the touchdowns. It’s not the cheers, or even the wins.

    It’s Jessa Lombardi’s face when I get under her skin.

    I shouldn’t find it that entertaining. She’s Jackson’s twin, for one. Which means technically, she’s off-limits. But God, she makes it too easy. The way her cheeks flush, the way she slams things down or throws out these sharp little comebacks-Jessa’s like one giant exposed nerve. Sensitive as hell.

    And I like testing how far I can push before she snaps.

    Take this morning, for example.

    Jackson and I were heading to practice, but I swung by his place first. Walking into their kitchen always feels… weird. I don’t know why. Maybe because I can practically feel how much Jessa doesn’t want me there.

    She was standing at the counter, spreading butter on toast like it had personally offended her. Oversized T-shirt, messy hair, bare feet curling against the tile. For a second, I almost didn’t say anything.

    Almost.

    “Morning, sunshine,” I tossed out, leaning in the doorway.

    The way her shoulders stiffened-it was instant gratification. Like watching a fire catch.

    “Don’t call me that,” she muttered, eyes on her plate.

    “What? Thought you’d like a nickname.”

    She rolled her eyes so hard I swear I heard them click.

    Jackson laughed, completely oblivious. “Ignore her, bro.”

    I didn’t ignore her, of course. Couldn’t. I never do. Instead, I spotted the toast and couldn’t resist. “Extra butter again?”

    She slammed the knife down like she wanted to stab me with it.

    “Seriously? Do you ever get tired of commenting on what I eat?”

    And just like that, my day was made. That flare of anger in her eyes, the way her voice cracked on ever. She didn’t realize it, but she was giving me exactly what I wanted.

    Attention.

    Here’s the thing: Jessa doesn’t understand me. She thinks I pick on her just to be a jerk, or because I’ve got nothing better to do. But the truth? It’s not that simple.

    I notice her.

    More than I should.

    And noticing her-really noticing her-is dangerous.

    Because Jessa’s not like the other girls who throw themselves at me. She doesn’t giggle when I walk by or bat her lashes hoping I’ll toss her a grin. She doesn’t want anything from me.

    Except maybe for me to disappear.

    And that makes me want to poke, prod, irritate. It makes me want her to look at me, even if it’s with fire in her eyes. Because when she’s angry at me, at least she’s seeing me.

    At school, it’s even better.

    In the cafeteria, Jackson and I had the whole team cracking up over stupid inside jokes when I spotted her sitting with Mariah. Always the far table, always head down, like she’s hoping to disappear.

    But I don’t let her disappear.

    “Hey, Jackson!” I yelled across the room. “Better hide your food or Jess will eat it all before you blink.”

    The table erupted. Perfect.

    I caught the way her shoulders hunched, the way her hand froze halfway to her mouth. She didn’t look up, but I knew she heard me. Knew she felt the sting.

    And yeah, maybe that makes me an asshole. But there’s something about her silence that gets to me. Like she’s holding all this emotion inside, and I’m the only one who knows how to drag it out of her.

    Jackson doesn’t get it. To him, Jessa’s just… Jessa. His twin, his shadow, the sister he doesn’t think twice about. He doesn’t notice the way she winces when people whisper, or the way she pulls her hoodie tighter like armor.

    But I do.

    I see it.

    And sometimes I wonder if that’s why I keep poking-because if I don’t, maybe no one would notice her at all.

    Practice that afternoon should’ve wiped Jessa from my brain. It usually does. Once I’m on the field, nothing else matters. The snap of the ball, the crunch of pads, the roar of the guys-it drowns everything out.

    But not today.

    Today, when I closed my eyes, all I saw was the way she glared at me over her toast, cheeks flushed, eyes flashing.

    And then-God help me-the way her gaze flickered over me. She thought she was subtle, but I caught it. The way her eyes lingered on my shoulders, my chest.

    She thinks I don’t notice, but I do.

    And that thought sticks with me longer than I’d like.

    That night, lying in bed, I try to tell myself it’s nothing. Jessa’s sensitive, that’s all. She reacts to me because I push her buttons. If she didn’t, I’d probably lose interest.

    Except… I’m not losing interest.

    If anything, I’m hooked.

    I want to know how far I can push before she finally snaps. Before she lets me see the fire I know she’s hiding.

    I want to know if that fire burns as hot when it’s not anger.

    The next morning, I catch her staring again.

    She doesn’t realize it-I’m laughing at something Jackson said, tilting my head back, and when I glance over, her eyes are on me. Not in hate. Not in anger. Just… watching.

    And for one insane second, it feels like she sees me. Not the quarterback. Not Jackson’s best friend. Not the jerk who won’t leave her alone.

    Just me.

    Our eyes lock, and the air shifts. She looks caught, like a deer in headlights.

    For once, I don’t smirk. For once, I just look back.

    But then panic kicks in, and I cover it with a grin. “Like what you see, Sunshine?”

    Her face flames. “In your dreams.”

    But I heard the hitch in her breath. I saw the way she couldn’t look away fast enough.

    And that’s when I know I’m in trouble.

    Because tormenting Jessa Lombardi isn’t just a game anymore.

    It’s an addiction.

    And sooner or later, it’s going to blow up in my face.

    👉 CONTINUE READING

  • The Fake Luna: Marked By The Alpha King by Krystal

    The Fake Luna: Marked By The Alpha King by Krystal
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    Contract Marriage+Kickass Heroine+Hidden Identity+Regret
    For two long years, Aria Smith devoted everything to Ethan Holt, convinced she was his beloved Luna and his fated mate.
    Until a trip to replace her lost marriage certificate shattered every lie.
    Ethan had never loved her. Her closest best friend Clara was his real destined mate. The adopted son Aria had raised with all her love for two years was actually their biological child.
    Before she could process the brutal truth, a sudden call overturned her whole life. She was not a lonely, powerless human orphan as she had always believed. She was the sole legitimate heir to Vincent Smith’s staggering cross-realm fortune, inheriting his massive business empire that dominated both human and werewolf worlds.
    Her heart completely broken, Aria made her choice without hesitation.
    “I am single. Legally, I have never been anyone’s wife.”
    She cut off all ties with the Silver Creek Pack and stepped into her rightful identity as a billionaire heiress overnight.
    Ethan and Clara mocked her relentlessly. They believed the helpless human orphan could never survive outside the pack, and she would soon come crawling back begging for forgiveness.
    They never foresaw the day they met again.
    When Aria returned, she was no longer the humble, gentle human Luna who lived for Ethan. She stood powerful, wealthy, and untouchable, holding unmatched commercial power that shook the entire werewolf realm.
    And right by her side stood a dominant, peerless Alpha King-someone far more powerful than Ethan could ever dare to rival, ready to burn the whole world down for her revenge.

    👉 READ NOW

    The Fake Luna: Marked By The Alpha King Chapter 1 How could our certificate possibly be fake !

    Aria’s POV
    “Ma’am, I’ve checked the system three times. There’s no marriage record under your name. Are you certain about the date?”

    I stood frozen outside the County Clerk’s office, the clerk’s words still ringing in my ears.

    Two years. Two years of believing I was Ethan Holt’s wife, his Luna.

    As the only human Luna, we had also applied for a marriage certificate in my human community, and it now sat in the nightstand drawer in my bedroom. Real enough that I never questioned our relationship, even though we never had a mating ceremony with his pack.

    Until three days ago, when Marcus tore it to shreds during one of his tantrums. That was what brought me here today-to get a replacement copy.

    But now, standing here with trembling hands…

    How could our certificate possibly be fake?!

    My phone buzzed. An unknown number. Normally I would have ignored it, but something made me answer.

    “Ms. Smith? Aria Smith?”

    “Speaking.” My voice sounded distant, like it belonged to someone else.

    “My name is Richard Castellano. I’m the attorney handling the estate of Vincent Smith. I apologize for the abrupt contact, but it’s imperative that we meet as soon as possible. You are the sole heir to your father’s estate.”

    I blinked. “I’m sorry, what? I don’t have a father. My parents abandoned me when I was born.”

    “Ms. Smith, Vincent Smith passed away two weeks ago. The DNA test and his will are both conclusive. You are his only legitimate biological child.”

    Vincent Smith. That name was nothing short of legendary in both human society and the werewolf world. Orphaned as a child, taken in by a wolf pack, he’d displayed extraordinary business genius from an early age. As an adult, with the backing of his adoptive Alpha brother, he forged a massive commercial empire connecting the human and supernatural realms.

    And now someone was telling me that I, as his sole daughter, stood to inherit the bulk of his fortune?

    “The estate is substantial,” Castellano continued, “including commercial holdings across multiple Pack territories. We need to begin the inheritance process immediately.”

    “I need to confirm something first,” I heard myself say. “I’ll call you back.”

    The most important thing now was to verify my marriage status with my husband. If this was real, Ethan and I wouldn’t have to worry about the pack’s questioning looks anymore. I could complete the final mating ceremony with him smoothly, become the pack’s Luna, and lead them to even greater prosperity.

    The drive to Silver Creek Pack’s main building took twenty minutes.

    The hallway on the third floor was unusually quiet. As I approached Ethan’s office, voices drifted through the half-open door.

    A woman’s voice.

    “Ethan-yes-right there-“

    His voice, ragged and raw: “You feel so good, Clara.”

    Clara. My best friend.

    Then something even worse than betrayal hit like a freight train.

    “When are you going to get rid of her, Ethan? Our son is already three years old. I’m tired of pretending.” Clara’s voice was sharp with impatience.

    Marcus. The little boy Ethan claimed we’d adopted because my human body supposedly couldn’t handle pregnancy, and the pack needed a pup to serve as the Alpha’s heir.

    I couldn’t breathe. The pup I had lovingly raised was Ethan and Clara’s biological child.

    Inside the office, Ethan sighed. “Just a little longer.” His voice was cold. “We still need her. The Pack’s finances are stable because of her work. Once we’ve locked everything down, I’ll cut her loose.”

    “What am I supposed to do until then? Keep playing victim while she parades around as Luna?”

    “You know she’s nothing to me. Just a tool. Once we’ve squeezed every last drop of value out of her…”

    I didn’t wait to hear more.

    I shoved the door open.

    Clara was perched on Ethan’s desk, her blouse undone, skirt pushed up to her waist. Ethan was buried inside her, his hips driving into her as she gasped against his mouth.

    It made me want to throw up.

    “Sorry to interrupt.” My voice sliced through the air like a blade.

    They froze. Clara scrambled to cover herself, nearly falling off the desk. Ethan jerked upright, his mouth wet, his eyes wide with shock.

    I leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed, a cold smile on my lips. “Don’t stop on my account. I’d hate to ruin the mood.”

    “Aria. You shouldn’t be here,” Ethan said with mild annoyance.

    “Shouldn’t I?” My voice shook with rage. “You told me I was your True Mate. You pursued me for months. You convinced me the Moon Goddess chose us. But now you’re sleeping with my best friend?”

    “There’s nothing to explain. Clara is my destined mate.” Ethan said it flatly, like it was the most obvious thing in the world. “The deal with V&A International Group needs final signatures. We need you for one last meeting as Luna. After that, we’ll give you reasonable compensation for your… services.”

    “Compensated?” The word tasted like poison. “You lied to me for two years. You used me to build your Pack’s business portfolio. And now you want to pay me off like a servant who’s served her purpose?”

    Clara walked toward me, adjusting her clothes with deliberate slowness. “You should be grateful, honestly. A human orphan with no family, no packs? Where else would you have ended up? If you’re smart, you’ll take whatever he offers and leave quietly. Otherwise-“

    I moved.

    I was across the room before Clara could finish, my hand fisting in her golden hair. Clara yelped, stumbling backward into the desk.

    “Aria!” Ethan grabbed my arm, twisting hard enough to make me gasp. Then he shoved me backward. Hard.

    I hit the floor, the impact jarring through my spine. Pain exploded in my tailbone. I looked up at him, stunned.

    Ethan stared down at me, his light blue eyes ice cold. “Touch her again and I’ll break your wrist.”

    The words hit harder than the fall.

    Something inside my chest cracked. Not my ribs. Something deeper.

    I pushed myself to my feet, my hands shaking. Everything hurt. Not just my body.

    “You’re going to regret this,” I said quietly. “Both of you.”

    I turned and walked out before either could respond.

    Back in my car, I dialed the lawyer’s number. “Mr. Castellano. About Vincent Smith’s estate. I’m ready to talk.”

    “Good. I need to confirm-inheritance requires the heir to sign as an independent individual. If married, the spouse must witness the process. Otherwise-“

    “I’m single,” I cut him off. “Legally, I always have been.”

    Silence for two seconds.

    “Understood,” Castellano said, his tone shifting, becoming more formal. “That simplifies things considerably. Are you available to meet soon?”

    “The sooner the better. I have plenty of time these days.”

    “My office then. This afternoon?”

    “I’ll see you at three.”

    I sat in the parking lot for another five minutes, staring at nothing.

    Two years of lies, manipulation, and humiliation. Two years of believing I was fighting for something real.

    But it was over now.

    Ethan was about to discover exactly what the fury of an heiress looked like.

    The Fake Luna: Marked By The Alpha King Chapter 2 How pathetic

    Aria’s POV
    After signing the inheritance papers at Mr. Castellano’s office, I drove home in a daze.

    The house blazed with warm light. Through the front window I saw them-Ethan, Clara, and Marcus around the dining table like a perfect family portrait. Ethan laughed at something Clara said, his hand resting on the back of her chair. Marcus sat between them, grinning up at his father. Clara ruffled the boy’s golden hair; Ethan caught her hand and pressed a kiss to her knuckles.

    Domestic bliss.

    Everything I’d been too blind to see for two years snapped into clarity. The late nights he called “Pack business.” The way Marcus flinched whenever I tried to hold him. Clara’s constant presence, always with some excuse. They’d all known. Everyone except me.

    I forced myself to breathe. Not yet. Not here. I needed to play this smart.

    I walked in and schooled my face to careful neutrality. The laughter died the instant I stepped inside.

    “Aria.” Ethan stood quickly, putting distance between himself and Clara, as if that erased what I’d witnessed in his office. “You’re home early.”

    “Am I?” I crossed to the kitchen and filled a glass of water, more to occupy my hands than anything. My heart pounded in my ears.

    “Can we talk?” His voice was low, careful.

    I turned slowly. “About you and Clara?”

    “It’s not what you think. Clara’s going to be staying here as Marcus’s nanny. He needs consistency, and frankly, you’re not around enough-“

    “Not around enough?” I cut him off. “I’ve been running this Pack for you, Ethan. Every meeting, every decision-while you were off doing what, exactly?”

    His jaw tightened. “That’s not the point.”

    “Then what is?”

    “Marcus needs to be taken care of.”

    “I disagree. This is my home. I didn’t agree to a live-in nanny.”

    “She’s not just a nanny. She’s helped raise Marcus since he was born. He needs her here.”

    Of course. Because she was his real mother.

    “That’s not my problem,” I said. “If you want Clara housed, buy her an apartment. She’s not living under my roof.”

    “You’re just tired.” He raised a hand, his tone measured-managing me, like my opinion was a tantrum to be waited out. “We’ll discuss this after dinner.”

    “There’s nothing to discuss.”

    “Bad woman!”

    Marcus appeared out of nowhere, small face twisted with rage. “You’re really bad! You’re mean to Clara!”

    “Marcus, that’s enough-” Ethan started.

    But the boy was already charging at me, hands outstretched. He slammed into me with surprising force. I stumbled back, my hip colliding with the corner of the side table-exactly where I’d hit the floor in Ethan’s office earlier. Pain exploded through my lower back; my vision went white.

    “Marcus!” Ethan grabbed him by the shoulders. “What the hell are you doing?”

    “She’s mean!” Marcus wailed, but his eyes were dry-nothing but calculated defiance. “She’s mean to Clara and mean to you and I hate her!”

    Ethan reached for me. “Aria, I’m sorry, he didn’t mean-“

    I jerked away. “Don’t touch me.”

    I pushed myself upright, ignoring the swimming in my vision. My tailbone throbbed from earlier; now my hip would bruise too.

    Clara burst in and gathered Marcus into her arms, stroking his hair while he buried his face in her neck. The devoted mother, perfectly performed.

    “He’s just a kid,” she murmured, kissing his temple. “Please forgive him.”

    “What a touching scene of motherly devotion,” I said. “I’m starting to wonder if he’s actually your biological pup.”

    Clara’s expression tightened-clearly she wasn’t sure how much I’d overheard.

    “Aria, as your friend, I’m very disappointed in you-“

    I turned and walked upstairs, each step sending fresh jolts of pain through my hip.

    I spent the next hour in the guest bathroom, running the hottest water I could stand. My hip had already darkened to purple, matching the bruise on my tailbone. Two injuries in one day. Both from the same “family.”

    By the time I emerged in pajamas, the house had gone quiet. A knock at the door.

    “Come in.”

    Ethan stepped inside, closing the door carefully. He looked tired. Worried. Like he actually gave a damn.

    “How are you feeling?”

    “Fantastic. Your son has quite the arm.”

    His jaw tightened. “He’s been disciplined. It won’t happen again.”

    “Right. Like the last dozen times really stuck.”

    He exhaled, running a hand through his hair. “I know today has been difficult. But Clara needs to stay here. Marcus needs her. She’s been more of a mother to him than-“

    “Than me?” I finished. “Yes, I’m aware. Hard to bond with a child who’s been taught to hate me since birth.”

    “That’s not-” He caught himself, changing tactics. “This isn’t about you and Clara. This is about what’s best for Marcus. He’s settled here. Taking Clara away would disrupt his entire world.”

    I stared at him, this man I’d believed was my husband, my mate. This man who’d convinced me I was broken. This man who’d built his entire Pack’s success on my labor while keeping his real family hidden in plain sight.

    He was still lying. Still manipulating.

    Fine. Let him think he’d won.

    “I have a condition,” I said.

    Wariness flickered across his face. “What kind?”

    “My birthday is next week. You forgot last year, and the year before. So this year, I want a proper gift.” I kept my voice light. “The penthouse at Meridian Tower. Top floor. In my name only.”

    He went very still. “That’s a fifteen million dollar property.”

    “Is it?” I tilted my head. “I think it’s fair-as a birthday gift, and as compensation for what you’ve done.”

    The muscle in his jaw jumped. For a moment I thought he might finally drop the pretense. Instead, he pulled out his phone.

    “Fine. Consider it an early birthday present.”

    “And the transfer note,” I added. “For Aria’s house fund. Happy birthday.”

    He tapped at the screen, expression darkening with every second, then turned the phone toward me. Fifteen million dollars. Transfer note included.

    “Happy birthday,” he said flatly.

    “Thank you, Ethan.” I let the endearment drip with acid. “You’re so generous.”

    He pocketed his phone. “Clara stays.”

    “Clara stays,” I agreed.

    He nodded and left.

    I waited until the door clicked shut, then pulled out my phone and opened the banking app.

    Balance: $15,150,000.00

    Two years as Luna-hosting banquets, negotiating alliances, building his reputation. My card had never seen a single paycheck, not a penny of Pack money. The only funds I’d ever had were fifteen thousand saved from part-time jobs during school.

    Now, because I’d caught him with Clara-because she was the leverage that finally forced his hand-he remembered I existed.

    How pathetic.

    The Fake Luna: Marked By The Alpha King Chapter 3 Now it was his turn

    Aria’s POV
    I woke to the smell of pancakes and coffee.

    For a moment, still half-asleep, it felt almost normal. Then I heard Clara’s laugh drifting up from the kitchen, and reality came crashing back.

    I took my time getting dressed. Let them have their little domestic fantasy. I could afford to be patient. After all, I was a billionaire now. And their client.

    By the time I came downstairs, a plate of eggs, toast, and bacon sat waiting on the counter-the kind of gesture meant to look like an apology. I reached for it.

    Marcus lunged forward and yanked it away, the plate clattering against the marble. “No! This is for Clara! Daddy made it special for her!”

    Clara hurried over, hands fluttering. “Marcus, sweetie, that’s not how we treat people. Apologize to Aria.” Her words were honey. Her eyes, locked on mine, were pure triumph.

    Ethan appeared in the doorway. “Marcus. Apologize. Now.”

    The boy shuffled toward me, not meeting my eyes. “Sorry,” he muttered.

    I didn’t accept it.

    I stood, crossed the room, grabbed him, and pressed him against the wall. I took a thin branch from the nearby vase and brought it down hard on his backside.

    He burst into tears.

    “Aria, that’s too much.” Clara stepped forward. “He already apologized-“

    “Funny,” I said, landing another strike. “By what right do you interfere with a mother disciplining her child?”

    Clara’s face went white. “He’s still young… he didn’t do anything that wrong…”

    “Small mistakes uncorrected become big ones. If I don’t discipline him now, I’ll have a harder time later.”

    That shut her up.

    Ethan stepped forward and caught my wrist. “That’s enough.”

    He was right. The anger had cooled. I tossed the branch to the floor. Marcus scrambled behind Clara, sobbing too hard to even glare at me.

    “Marcus.” I fixed my gaze on him. “As long as I’m your mother, you will show me respect. If you can’t learn that, I’ll adopt a better child to be the pack’s rightful heir.”

    The room went quiet. Even Marcus stopped crying. I was smiling when I said it.

    “Aria, don’t-” Ethan’s voice tightened.

    “Don’t what?” I turned to him, sweetly. “Since I accepted adopting one child with no blood relation to me, I can certainly adopt a second. As long as you want me to stay with this pack, don’t try to provoke me.”

    Looking at their three faces, all dark as thunder, I cheerfully picked up my purse. “Enjoy your breakfast. All of you.”

    I was halfway to my car when footsteps followed.

    “Aria, wait.” Ethan caught up, slightly breathless. “I’ll drive you to the office. We can go over the Riverside contract on the way.”

    “I’m not going to the office.”

    “What? We have the meeting with-“

    “Reschedule it.” I pulled open the car door. “I have other plans.”

    “What other plans?”

    “I’m going to look at a house.”

    I closed the door and started the engine. In the rearview mirror, he stood in the driveway, fists clenched at his sides.

    The Meridian Tower was everything the listing had promised. Floor-to-ceiling windows, soaring ceilings, and most importantly, it was mine.

    Now I just needed furniture.

    The furniture district catered to Pack elite-somewhere I’d never shopped before, too expensive for someone like me. Now, walking through the gleaming showrooms, I felt like a kid in a candy store.

    That was when I saw it. A sofa in deep charcoal leather sat center stage. The tag read “Russo Collection – Limited Edition. 1 of 3.”

    Perfect.

    I was reaching for my phone when a voice cut through the air.

    “Excuse me, but I’m taking this one.”

    A woman about my age stood there, arms crossed, looking at me like I was something unpleasant she’d found on the bottom of her shoe. Dressed head to toe in designer labels, blonde hair in perfect waves, makeup flawless.

    “I’m sorry?” I said.

    “The sofa.” She gestured impatiently. “I saw it first. So you’ll have to find something else.”

    “I don’t think that’s how shopping works.”

    Her lips thinned. “Do you have any idea who I am?”

    “Should I?”

    A flush crept up her neck. “I’m Vanessa Crane. My father is Alpha Richard Crane of the Riverside Pack. And when I say I want something, I get it.”

    “That’s nice,” I said, turning back to the sofa. “I’m still buying it.”

    Vanessa’s face flushed scarlet. She snapped her fingers. Two large men in black suits materialized from behind the displays. “This woman is harassing me. Escort her out.”

    They moved toward me. I tensed.

    “I wouldn’t do that if I were you.”

    A deep, cultured voice from the entrance-carrying the kind of authority that made everyone freeze. A silver-haired man in a perfectly tailored three-piece suit strode in, flanked by six men in dark suits. He moved like someone who had wielded power for decades and never once had to raise his voice.

    Vanessa’s guards stepped back instantly. Her face drained of color.

    “Beta Harrison,” she stammered. “I didn’t know you were-“

    “Clearly.” He didn’t look at her. His attention was fixed entirely on me. He inclined his head in something close to a bow. “Miss Smith. It’s an honor to finally meet you.”

    The showroom went silent.

    “I’m Harrison Reid, Beta of Crescent Moon Pack. Your uncle Victor sent me to find you.”

    “Wait.” Vanessa’s voice came out strangled. “Smith? As in-Vincent Smith?”

    Harrison finally turned to her. “Miss Crane. I believe you were just threatening my boss’s daughter and sole heir. Would you like to rephrase your earlier comments?”

    Vanessa went from pale to gray. “I didn’t-she didn’t say-I had no idea-“

    “Ignorance is not an excuse for disrespect. Particularly when you were having her physically removed from the premises.”

    She turned to me, all earlier arrogance dissolved. “I’m so sorry. If I had known-“

    “You would have been polite?” I said. “How nice. Unfortunately, basic decency shouldn’t require a family pedigree.”

    “Please-if there’s anything I can do to make this right-“

    “An apology is enough. You can go.”

    She practically fled, her guards scrambling after her.

    I turned to the sales associate. “I’ll take the sofa. Have it delivered to the Meridian Tower, penthouse floor.” I paused. “And the matching armchair.”

    Then I faced Harrison. “Quite an entrance.”

    “Word will spread quickly. But it was necessary. Aria Smith is not to be trifled with. It will save you considerable trouble down the line.”

    He gestured toward the exit. “The car is waiting, Miss Smith. Shall we?”

    “Where are we going?”

    “Crescent Moon Pack house.” A slight smile. “Your home.”

    I was silent for a moment. My father-Vincent Smith. A billion-dollar inheritance had landed in my lap. Going to Crescent Moon was inevitable.

    “Alright,” I said. “If it’s my home, I should at least see it for myself.”

    What was meant to come would come eventually.

    👉 CONTINUE READING

  • Jilted Wife Returns As A Billionaire Heiress by Paula Gardini

    Jilted Wife Returns As A Billionaire Heiress by Paula Gardini
    👉 READ NOW

    Chloe had just given birth to twins, lying exhausted in a cramped, bustling hospital ward.

    When she called her husband, Julian, he was busy partying with his actress mistress. He coldly hung up on her, having already drafted a brutal divorce agreement that would leave her with a pittance.

    Strangers in the next bed loudly mocked her pitiful state, gossiping about how Julian was dumping her. For years, Chloe had erased her own identity to fit into his elite world, only to be thrown away like garbage. She was completely alone, clutching her helpless babies, bracing herself to sign the cruel papers just to survive.

    She couldn’t understand why her absolute devotion was met with such chilling indifference. Why did she have to suffer this ultimate humiliation while he celebrated with the woman who ruined her life?

    But then, a senior doctor noticed a unique mole on her wrist and ran a secret DNA test. The results were staggering: Chloe was the long-lost daughter of the billionaire Beaumont family. With her fiercely protective parents and three powerful brothers suddenly forming an impenetrable fortress around her, Chloe picked up her phone and texted her arrogant husband.

    “City Hall tomorrow at 10 AM. If you don’t show up, my lawyer will handle everything. And trust me, you won’t like their terms.”

    👉 READ NOW

    Jilted Wife Returns As A Billionaire Heiress Chapter 1

    A sharp, piercing cry sliced through the sterile air of the delivery room, followed immediately by another.
    Chloe Hayes’s vision swam. Sweat pasted strands of hair to her temples. The exhaustion was a physical weight, pressing down on her bones, but the sound of her babies’ cries was a tether to life. Tears, hot and thick, blurred the already hazy lights above her.
    With a kind expression on her face, the midwife placed the two warm little babies on Chloe’s chest. The weight was surprisingly solid. A tiny, thumping heartbeat pulsed against her own exhausted one. A wave of love, so fierce it felt like a physical blow, crashed over her, stealing what little breath she had left.
    The midwife ’s voice a soothing balm. “You gave birth to a pair of adorable boy and girl twins . Both perfectly healthy.”
    Chloe smiled weakly, trying to look at the two babies surrounded by the midwives.
    Outside the delivery room, a nurse cried out, “Where’s Chloe Hayes’s family? Where are Chloe Hayes’s parents?”
    She called out again and again, but no one responded.
    On the hospital bed, Chloe’s face turned even paler at the sound.
    Had Julian really not come?
    Even though they were divorcing, he was still the children’s biological father. So before entering the delivery room, she called him.
    She lay in the hospital bed, completely exhausted and weak.
    The doctor and nurse quickly took her to the ward.
    However, she wasn’t taken to the private VIP ward that Julian had promised her, but rather an ordinary multi-person room.
    There were many people in the ward. Besides her, there were also pregnant women lying in the other three beds. Each of them was attended to by several family members.
    Some were taking care of their wives, some were leaning over the baby cribs to watch their children, and there were also new dads holding their babies and comforting them. Everyone had a happy smile on their face.
    A sense of icy humiliation swept through Chloe’s entire body.
    She gave birth suddenly, and now there was no one to take care of her. She was unable to care for the baby on her own, and the nurses couldn’t help all the time. So, she decided to call Julian for help.
    A nurse handed Chloe her phone. Her trembling fingers fumbled across the screen until she found Julian Sterling’s name in the contacts. The sharp-looking business photo he used as his profile picture seemed to mock her from the screen.
    She took a deep, shaky breath and pressed the call button.
    The sound that answered wasn’t his voice. It was the cacophony of a party-loud music, the clinking of glasses, a swell of laughter.
    Then, his voice, sharp and impatient. “Chloe? What is it? I’m busy.”
    The coldness in his tone was a familiar ache. She squeezed her eyes shut, forcing the words out. “Julian, the babies… have been born. “
    A beat of silence on the other end. Just long enough for a sliver of hope to flicker in her chest.
    Then it was extinguished. “Okay. Send the details to my assistant.”
    Before she could form a reply, a woman’s laugh, high and melodious, echoed close to the receiver. It was a laugh she recognized from countless celebrity news segments. Amelia Hayes.
    Julian’s voice returned, layered with a dismissive politeness that was worse than outright anger. “I have to go. We’re celebrating Amelia’s new movie deal.”
    The line went dead.
    The dial tone buzzed in her ear, a relentless, mechanical sound that felt like it was drilling into her skull. Chloe’s hand fell limp, the phone slipping from her grasp onto the starchy white sheets.
    The tears finally came. Not loud, hysterical sobs, but silent, wracking tremors that shook her entire body. She curled onto her side, facing the wall, pressing her face into the thin pillow to muffle the sound. She couldn’t bear the thought of the woman on the other side of the curtain hearing her.
    A boisterous family spilled in, their happy chatter filling the small space.
    “Look at the one in the next bed,” a middle-aged woman said, her voice a stage whisper. “So pitiful. Gave birth and her husband isn’t even here.”
    A younger girl replied, “Isn’t that Chloe Hayes? The one who married into the Sterling family.”
    “That’s the one!” the woman confirmed, her voice dropping conspiratorially. “The papers are saying Julian is going to divorce her for that actress, Amelia Hayes.”
    “I heard Amelia’s pregnant too,” the girl added. “This is going to be some drama.”
    Each word was a fresh cut. Pity and malice, a cruel cocktail served by strangers.
    In fact, not many people knew about their marriage, as Julian always refused to bring her into his life.
    Occasionally, a few people might have seen her through certain channels and learned who she was. But so what? She smiled bitterly. Even if she became an actress like Amelia and was exposed to everyone, it was also possible that no one would recognize her as Julian’s wife.
    Chloe clamped her hands over her ears, but she couldn’t block them out. She squeezed her eyes shut, the darkness a welcome relief.
    A gentle squeak of wheels broke through her misery. A nurse was pushing a clear, plastic bassinet towards her bed, then another. The two sleeping infants were placed beside her.
    Chloe’s sobs caught in her throat. She pushed herself up, her sore muscles protesting, and gazed at her children.
    Their faces were so new, so perfect. The boy had her brow, a serious little frown even in sleep. The girl had a delicate nose that was an exact replica of Julian’s.
    She reached out a hesitant finger, her nail bitten and short, and gently stroked her daughter’s cheek. The skin was impossibly soft.
    In that moment, something shifted inside her. A foundation of steel began to form where only rubble had been. She was no longer just a wife, waiting for a man who would never love her.
    She was a mother.
    She wiped the tears from her face with the back of her hand. Her gaze, once filled with despair, now held a new, hard-edged resolve.
    For her babies, she had to be strong.
    She picked up her phone again. Not to call Julian. She scrolled through her contacts, a desperate search for a friend, a lifeline. Her finger swiped past business contacts for the Sterling family, past numbers for caterers and florists from a life that was no longer hers.
    The scrolling stopped. The screen glowed with the names of people who were not her people. She had spent years trying to fit into Julian’s world, and in the process, she had erased her own.
    She was utterly, completely alone.

    Jilted Wife Returns As A Billionaire Heiress Chapter 2

    The early morning sun cast long, pale stripes across the floor. Chloe hadn’t slept all night. Her eyes burned with a dry, gritty exhaustion that went deeper than the physical toll of childbirth.
    She watched the gentle rise and fall of her son’s chest, the tiny flutter of her daughter’s eyelids. And as she watched them, a memory, sharp and unwelcome, surfaced.
    Six months ago, Julian, who hadn’t been home in ages, suddenly returned and handed her a divorce agreement.
    The terms were a public execution on paper. She was to relinquish all claims to any Sterling assets. She would receive a one-time payment, barely enough to cover a year’s rent in a decent neighborhood. In return, she had to sign a non-disclosure agreement so ironclad it would prevent her from ever speaking about their marriage, his family, or even the existence of the agreement itself.
    “Sign this,” he had said, his voice devoid of any emotion. He didn’t even look at her, his gaze fixed on the skyline outside his window. “Amelia is the partner I should have had from the beginning.”
    “What about the babies?” she had asked, her hand instinctively going to her swollen belly.
    He had finally turned to look at her then, his eyes filled with a chilling indifference. “The Sterling family will provide for their financial needs. But don’t think you can use them as leverage for anything more.”
    She didn’t want to agree at all. She even thought that she’d be willing to endure this situation for the rest of her life. She refused to get a divorce. Even if his heart belonged to Amelia, she would still keep his wife’s title, ensuring that Amelia could never be anything more than a mistress.
    But she was willing to risk her entire life, yet she lost to his ruthlessness.
    He threatened her with the children—if she didn’t sign, the babies in her womb had to be aborted!
    She couldn’t give up her children.
    The doctor said that she had a special physical condition. If she aborted the babies, she might not be able to get pregnant again in the future.
    She had no relatives left. Her children were her only hope.
    For the sake of her children, she ultimately signed the divorce agreement.
    But she never expected that this man would be so heartless as to wouldn’t even take a look at his own children.
    Was it just because she was only a foster daughter of the Hayes family, while Amelia was the biological one?
    Twenty-two years ago, her adoptive parents, who had been unable to have children after years of marriage, adopted her from an orphanage. But no one expected that just a few months after adopting her, the adoptive mother became pregnant and gave birth to their own daughter, Amelia. From then on, she became the daughter whom the family didn’t really care for. Her adoptive parents always favored Amelia.
    Three years ago, Julian was in a car accident and fell into a vegetative state. In their own interest, the Hayes family put her forward as Julian’s wife in exchange for investment from the Sterling family.
    A year ago, Julian woke up unexpectedly. She thought that at last, after all the hardships, sweetness would come. But to her surprise, her sister Amelia fell in love with him at first sight.
    Throughout her life, she had already given in to Amelia far too much. She didn’t want to let her husband go to Amelia as well. In the end, she cut ties with her adoptive parents, because she truly loved him.
    But no matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t win Julian’s heart.
    Now, back in the stark reality of the hospital room, her nails dug into her palms. They signed the divorce agreement last time, but they haven’t officially gone to the civil affairs office to get the divorce certificate. So, legally speaking, they’re not yet divorced. She was determined to put an end to this as soon as possible.
    For her children, she had to. She had to take the money and get them as far away from the Sterling name as possible.
    A soft knock on the door interrupted her thoughts.
    A man in a crisp white coat entered, a warm, professional smile on his face. He was older, perhaps in his late fifties, with kind eyes and a calm demeanor that immediately set him apart from the rushed nurses. His name tag read: Dr. Quentin Beaumont, Head of Obstetrics.
    He was the department head. She wondered why he was doing routine rounds in a shared ward.
    “Good morning, Mrs. Sterling,” he said, his voice gentle. He asked about her recovery, his questions precise and his manner so genuinely caring it caught her off guard.
    Chloe answered politely, a wall of practiced courtesy around her.
    Quentin’s gaze drifted to the bassinets. His friendly expression tightened, just for a second. His eyes narrowed slightly.
    He turned back to her, his tone casual. “The children resemble you. Are your family coming to visit soon?”
    The question landed like a stone in her stomach. Chloe’s gaze dropped to her hands, clasped tightly in her lap. “I don’t have any family,” she said, the words tasting bitter.
    A fleeting, elusive expression crossed Quentin’s face. He noticed a small, light-brown mole on the inside of her left wrist, just below the pulse. That mole was identical to the one his sister-in-law Eleanor Beaumont had.
    His heart trembled violently. An idea, a hope that he had buried for over twenty years—a wild and seemingly impossible hope—struggled to surface in his mind.
    His heart gave a sudden, violent lurch. That was exactly why he came here. Confirm the birthmark.
    Yesterday, when he accidentally saw Chloe, he was shocked. Her appearance was too similar to his sister-in-law’s. There was even a faint resemblance to his brother Richard Beaumont in the girl’s features. He immediately thought of her niece who had gone missing 22 years ago.
    In the end, he couldn’t resist and secretly took a sample of the girl’s blood for a paternity test.
    The test results would be available today, and he would know the answer soon.
    “Get some rest,” he said, “I’ll make sure the nurses take good care of you.”
    Quentin returned to the office with steady steps, ready to endure the wait for the test results.
    The wait was agonizing. He paced the confines of his office like a caged animal. Every tick of the clock on the wall was a hammer blow against his nerves.
    An hour later, an email notification pinged. The subject line was stark: “99.99% Match.”
    Quentin’s hand shook so badly he could barely control the mouse. He clicked open the email. He stared at the report, at the undeniable, scientific proof on the screen.
    The doctor who had delivered thousands of babies, who had faced life and death with unwavering composure, felt his eyes burn with tears.
    He had found her.
    He had found Richard’s daughter.
    He grabbed his phone, his fingers punching in a number he knew by heart.

    Jilted Wife Returns As A Billionaire Heiress Chapter 3

    In a sprawling corner office atop a skyscraper in New York City, Richard was concluding a transatlantic video conference. His voice was a low, commanding rumble, and the executives on the screen listened with rapt attention. He was a man accustomed to absolute control.
    Suddenly, his private, encrypted cell phone vibrated against the polished surface of his desk. It was a frantic, insistent buzz. The caller ID showed a single name: Quentin.
    Richard knew his younger brother. Quentin would never call this line, at this time, unless it was a matter of life or death.
    He held up a hand to the screen. “Meeting adjourned.” He didn’t wait for a response before ending the call, plunging the screen into darkness.
    He answered the phone, his voice tight with apprehension. “Quentin, what’s wrong?”
    The voice on the other end was choked with an emotion Richard hadn’t heard in years. It was a raw, trembling mix of shock and elation.
    “Richard… I found her. I found your daughter. Her name now is Chloe Hayes.”
    The words struck Richard like a physical blow. The world tilted on its axis. He shot up from his leather chair, the heavy, gold-plated fountain pen in his hand clattering to the floor.
    “Are you sure?” he demanded, his voice a strained whisper. “One hundred percent?”
    “DNA match. 99.99%,” Quentin’s voice cracked. “She’s here, Richard. In my hospital. She just gave birth to twins, a boy and a girl.”
    Richard stumbled back, his hand flying to his mouth to stifle a sound that was half-sob, half-gasp. Twenty-two years of hollow anniversaries, of his wife’s silent tears.
    He took a deep, shuddering breath, the titan of industry forcing himself back into the role of the patriarch, the protector. “Don’t let anyone near her,” he commanded, his voice now laced with steel. “I’m on my way.”
    He hung up and slammed a small, red button concealed on the underside of his desk.
    Within seconds, his chief of staff burst into the office, his face pale with alarm.
    “Get the jet ready. We’re flying to Massachusetts. Now,” Richard ordered, his voice leaving no room for questions. “And get Eleanor, Alexander, Sebastian, and Nicholas on a conference call. Immediately.”
    The assistant, sensing the seismic shift in his boss’s universe, simply nodded and vanished.
    Minutes later, the Beaumont family’s emergency protocol was activated.
    On a screen in Richard’s office, four faces appeared. His eldest son, Alexander Beaumont, the formidable lawyer, was in his chambers, a court recess just beginning. His second son, Sebastian Beaumont, the hardened police detective, was at his desk in a bustling precinct. His youngest son, Nicholas Beaumont, the maverick film director, was on a chaotic movie set in California.
    Richard looked at his sons, his composure a thin veneer over a raging sea of emotion. “We found her,” he said, his voice thick. “Your sister is alive.”
    A stunned silence fell over the call. It was broken by a collective gasp, a chorus of disbelieving voices.
    At a charity luncheon on the Upper East Side, Eleanor was gracefully holding court. An assistant discreetly handed her a phone with an urgent message. Excusing herself with a serene smile that betrayed none of the sudden panic in her heart, she stepped into a private powder room and joined the call.
    When she heard her husband’s words, the regal composure she had maintained for decades shattered. A sob escaped her lips, and she pressed a silk handkerchief to her mouth, her perfectly applied mascara threatening to run for the first time in public memory.
    “She’s in a hospital in Massachusetts,” Richard continued, his voice firm, a general rallying his troops. “She needs us. Everyone, drop what you’re doing. We’re going to get her back.”
    The response was immediate and absolute.
    “Cancel all my appointments for the next week,” Alexander told his assistant off-screen.
    Sebastian was already on his feet, grabbing his keys. “Family emergency, cover for me!” he yelled to a bewildered colleague.
    On the film set, Nicholas ripped off his headset and bellowed into a megaphone, “Wrap for the day! Everyone go home!” The entire production ground to a halt, leaving a crew of hundreds standing in stunned silence.
    The vast, powerful machinery of the Beaumont family, an empire that spanned continents and industries, stopped on a dime. All for one girl.
    Back in Massachusetts, Quentin had already set his own plans in motion. He walked with purpose down the hospital corridor, his white coat a banner of authority. He stopped outside the door to multi-patient wards.
    He took a deep breath. His first job was to get his niece out of this public, undignified room. He was going to take her to a place where she would be safe, cared for, and treated like the princess she was.
    He raised his hand and knocked gently on the door, composing his features into the kindest, most reassuring smile he could muster.

    👉 CONTINUE READING

  • The Neglected Wife’s Vicious Comeback Game by Xiu Luo

    The Neglected Wife's Vicious Comeback Game by Xiu Luo
    👉 READ NOW

    On our third anniversary, my husband canceled our dinner, claiming a sudden work emergency.

    I tracked his phone to an exclusive French restaurant, only to find him tenderly fastening a blessed bracelet—one I had flown across the world to get for him—onto his college ex-girlfriend’s wrist.

    The sheer shock triggered a violent placental abruption. Bleeding out in my car just across the street, I frantically called his number. Through the window, I watched him glance at his screen, frown in annoyance, and press decline to focus on his lover. While I was wheeled into a freezing operating room for an emergency C-section utterly alone, he took his mistress back to our marital bed.

    He didn’t even bother to check if I was alive, completely oblivious that our premature daughter was fighting for her life in the NICU. I soon discovered our entire marriage was a sham. He had used my family’s wealth to save his company, and now he was trading me to secure a massive business deal with his ex’s father. The man I loved didn’t exist; he only saw me as a disposable asset.

    “I’m going to make him wish he had never been born.”

    After secretly securing my baby in a private retreat, I ordered a medical-grade silicone pregnancy belly to hide my flat stomach. I stepped back into our penthouse, ready to burn his precious empire to the ground.

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    The Neglected Wife’s Vicious Comeback Game Chapter 1

    “I made the reservations at Per Se, just like you wanted.” Adalynn Craig smoothed down the silk of her dress, her voice a little too bright in the cavernous silence of their penthouse apartment. She ran a hand over her seven-month belly, a reflexive, protective gesture.
    Across the room, Julian Hawthorne didn’t look up from his phone. “Cancel it.”
    The words, clipped and cold, hung in the air. Adalynn’s fingers tightened on the photo album she was holding—a leather-bound collection of their three years of marriage, her anniversary gift to him. “But… it’s our anniversary, Julian. I thought we could—”
    “Something came up at work. Emergency board meeting.” He finally looked at her, his expression impatient, as if she were a minor annoyance he had to deal with. “We can do it another time.”
    He never specified when “another time” would be. It was his standard line, the one he used to brush her off for the last six months. A familiar, cold knot formed in Adalynn’s stomach. She forced a smile, the muscles in her face feeling stiff. “Okay. Of course. Work is important.”
    She watched him grab his keys, his movements brisk and final. He didn’t kiss her goodbye. He didn’t even glance at her belly. The heavy front door clicked shut, leaving her alone with the perfectly set dinner table for two and the scent of the roast cooling in the oven.
    Disappointment, sharp and bitter, rose in her throat. She sank onto the velvet sofa, the photo album a heavy weight in her lap. She wouldn’t let him ruin this. Maybe he was telling the truth. Maybe he was just stressed. An idea sparked—a desperate, hopeful one. She would go to him. She would bring him a thermos of the soup he loved, show him she supported him. A surprise.
    A few minutes later, dressed in the dress he once told her made her eyes look like the sea after a storm, she grabbed the gift and headed for the garage. As she started the car, a familiar, sick feeling of doubt crept in. It was a small, ugly habit she’d developed—checking his location. She told herself it was just for peace of mind.
    She opened the app on her phone. Her thumb hovered over his icon. The screen refreshed, and a small dot appeared on the map. It wasn’t at the Hawthorne Group headquarters downtown. It was pulsing steadily over a small, exclusive block in the West Village. Over Le Ciel, the most expensive, most romantic French restaurant in the city.
    Her breath hitched. Maybe it’s a surprise, she thought, her heart hammering against her ribs. A reverse surprise. He’s waiting for me there. The thought was flimsy, a paper-thin shield against a much darker possibility, but she clung to it.
    She drove, her knuckles white on the steering wheel. A light rain began to fall, blurring the city lights into long, weeping streaks. Her stomach churned, a mixture of bad premonition and pregnancy-induced nausea.
    She parked across the street from the restaurant. The rain was heavier now, drumming a frantic rhythm on the roof of the car. Through the enormous, floor-to-ceiling window, she saw him. He was seated at a secluded corner table, bathed in the warm, intimate glow of a candle.
    And he was not alone.
    Across from him sat Carlene Shaffer. His college girlfriend. The one he’d sworn was just a part of his past. Carlene looked elegant, her blonde hair catching the light as she laughed at something he said. Julian was smiling back, a soft, unguarded smile that Adalynn hadn’t seen directed at her in years. It was a physical blow.
    Then, he reached into his pocket. He pulled out a small, velvet pouch. From it, he drew a bracelet made of dark, polished sandalwood beads.
    Adalynn’s vision tunneled. She felt the air leave her lungs in a painful rush. It was the bracelet she had flown twelve hours to a remote temple to get for him, a blessing for his loyalty and success that she had prayed over for hours. He had promised to wear it forever.
    She watched, frozen, as Julian leaned across the table. He took Carlene’s delicate wrist in his hand and gently, tenderly, fastened the bracelet around it. Then he raised her hand to his lips and pressed a soft kiss to her knuckles.
    A sound escaped Adalynn’s throat—not a scream, not a sob, but something raw and involuntary, like an animal caught in a trap. Her hand flew to her mouth, pressing hard against her lips as if she could force the sound back inside. But she couldn’t tear her eyes away. She pressed her other palm flat against the cold glass of the car window, her fingers splaying wide, her breath fogging the pane in short, ragged bursts.
    Her entire body began to tremble—not from the cold, but from a seismic shift happening deep within her. The woman who had climbed into this car an hour ago, still clinging to the hope that her marriage could be saved, was dying. And in her place, something else was being born. Something cold. Something unforgiving.
    She didn’t cry. She didn’t look away. She pressed her hand against the cold glass of the car window, her eyes burning into the scene in front of her, and she burned every detail into her memory. The way his thumb stroked Carlene’s wrist. The way Carlene tilted her head, basking in his attention. The way her bracelet—her blessing, her prayer, her twelve-hour flight—dangled from another woman’s arm like a trophy. She would remember this. When the time came, she would remember every single detail. And she would make sure he regretted it with every breath he took.
    The world tilted. The gift box in Adalynn’s lap slid to the floor, landing with a dull, final thud. At the same instant, a vicious, searing pain tore through her abdomen. It was a cramp so intense it stole her breath, making her double over. It wasn’t like the Braxton Hicks contractions she was used to. This was different. This was violent.
    With trembling fingers, she pulled out her phone and dialed Julian’s number. She watched through the window as he glanced at his screen, a flicker of annoyance crossing his face before he pressed the decline button.
    The pain sharpened, a hot blade twisting deep inside her. She tried again. He declined it again, this time silencing his phone and placing it face down on the table, his full attention returning to Carlene.
    She watched Carlene glance at the phone, then look up at Julian with a knowing smile. She watched Carlene’s lips form the words: “Is it her again?” She watched Julian shrug—actually shrug—as if his wife’s life-or-death emergency was a minor inconvenience. And then she watched Carlene laugh.
    A wave of dizziness washed over her. Another cramp, stronger this time, made her cry out. A sudden, warm gush of fluid soaked through her dress and onto the leather seat. Her water had broken. Panic, cold and absolute, seized her.
    She fumbled with her phone, her fingers slick with sweat. She couldn’t think. 911. She had to call 911. She managed to dial the numbers, her voice a choked whisper as she gave the operator her location.
    Inside the restaurant, Julian raised his wine glass, toasting the woman across from him. He was completely oblivious to the flashing lights that were now approaching, to the wife who was fighting for her life and the life of their child just a few feet away.
    The paramedics were gentle but firm, pulling her from the car and onto a gurney. As they lifted her into the ambulance, her gaze found the restaurant window one last time. Julian was leaning in, his eyes locked on Carlene’s, his expression full of a tenderness that had once been hers.
    The doors slammed shut, and Adalynn’s heart shattered into a million pieces. The physical agony and the emotional devastation merged into a single, overwhelming wave of blackness.
    At the hospital, a doctor with tired eyes, Dr. Foster, spoke to her in urgent, clipped tones. “Severe placental abruption. The baby’s in distress. We need to do an emergency C-section. Now.”
    They wheeled her into the sterile, freezing operating room. There was no one to hold her hand. No Julian to whisper that everything would be okay. His wedding vow, “I will never let you be alone,” echoed in her mind, a cruel, mocking joke.
    As the anesthesia began to pull her under, a single thought burned through the pain and the fog: My baby. Please, let my baby live.
    She was vaguely aware of frantic voices, the words “hemorrhaging” and “losing her” floating somewhere above her.
    Hours later, after a romantic dinner and a nightcap in his office, Julian Hawthorne finally checked his messages. He saw the missed calls from Adalynn and rolled his eyes, assuming it was just another one of her needy episodes.
    In the hospital, Adalynn was fighting for her life.
    When she finally stabilized, her daughter had already been born. Lily Craig Hawthorne, weighing just three pounds, was whisked away to the Neonatal Intensive Care Unit before Adalynn even had a chance to see her.

    The Neglected Wife’s Vicious Comeback Game Chapter 2

    The first thing Adalynn felt when she woke was a line of fire across her lower abdomen. The pain was a brutal confirmation that the night before had not been a nightmare. It was real. The empty chair beside her hospital bed was also real.
    A kind-faced nurse named Olivia Price came in to check her vitals. “How are you feeling, sweetie?” she asked, her voice soft with a pity that made Adalynn’s skin crawl.
    “My baby,” Adalynn rasped, her throat raw. “Is she…?”
    “She’s a fighter,” Olivia said with a reassuring smile. “Stable for now. She’s in the NICU, getting the best care.”
    A sliver of relief pierced through the fog of pain and betrayal. Stable. That was enough for now. The anger, however, was becoming clearer, sharper. She reached for her phone on the bedside table, her movements slow and agonizing. She would give him one last chance. One final opportunity to not be the monster she now knew he was.
    She dialed his private number. It rang. And rang. And rang. Finally, someone picked up.
    But it wasn’t Julian’s voice.
    “Hello?” The voice was feminine, husky with sleep, and sickeningly familiar. It was Carlene Shaffer.
    Adalynn’s heart stopped. In the background, she could hear the distinct sound of the rain showerhead in their master bathroom. Their bathroom. In their home.
    “Julian’s in the shower right now,” Carlene continued, her tone dripping with smug ownership. “Can I take a message?” A beat of silence, then, “If this is a business matter for Mr. Hawthorne, you can try his office later.”
    The implication was clear. She was the personal. Adalynn was the business.
    While Adalynn had been bleeding on an operating table, her husband had taken his mistress home to their bed. The bed where their child was conceived.
    Adalynn’s voice, when it came, was not the broken whisper of a wounded wife. It was ice. “Carlene,” she said, and she heard the sharp intake of breath on the other end of the line—the sound of a woman realizing she had been caught. “You’re in my house. Wearing my bracelet. Sleeping in my bed. Enjoy it while it lasts. Because when I’m done, you won’t even be a footnote in his story. You’ll be the punchline.”
    She hung up before Carlene could respond.
    Without a word, Adalynn ended the call. The last, fragile thread of hope she didn’t even know she was holding onto snapped. It wasn’t just an affair. It was a complete and utter replacement.
    A cold, terrifyingly clear thought formed in her mind. He cannot know about the baby. Lily was not a Hawthorne. She was a Craig. She was hers alone. This child would not be a pawn in a divorce, a bargaining chip for a man who didn’t deserve the title of father.
    Her hands shook as she scrolled through her contacts and found Sloane Hayes. Her best friend. Her rock.
    Sloane picked up on the first ring. “Addy? What’s up? Ready for our yacht weekend?”
    A choked sob escaped Adalynn’s lips. “Sloane,” she whispered, and then the dam broke. The story spilled out in a torrent of broken, gasping sentences—the restaurant, the bracelet, the rejected calls, the emergency surgery, Carlene answering his phone from their bed.
    On the other end of the line, Sloane’s silence morphed from shock into pure, unadulterated rage. “That son of a bitch,” she finally hissed. “That absolute, grade-A piece of human garbage. I’m going to make him wish he was never born. I’m coming. Don’t move. I’ll be there in twenty minutes.”
    After hanging up, Adalynn wiped the tears from her face with the back of her hand. Her eyes were dry, burning with a new, cold fire. She was done crying. She was done being a victim.
    In the penthouse, Julian stepped out of the shower, wrapping a towel around his waist. Carlene was perched on the edge of his desk, wearing nothing but one of his dress shirts. Her face was pale, her hands trembling slightly.
    “Your wife called,” she said, her voice lacking its usual smug confidence. “I answered for you.”
    Julian frowned, a flicker of annoyance crossing his face. He rubbed at his temples. “What did she want?”
    “She… she knew I was here. She said—” Carlene stopped, unable to repeat Adalynn’s words. “She’s not what you told me she was, Julian. She’s not weak.”
    “She’s always dramatic,” Julian muttered, pouring himself a scotch. “It’s exhausting. Whatever she said, ignore it. She’s harmless.”
    Carlene opened her mouth to argue, then closed it. Harmless. The woman on the phone had not sounded harmless. She had sounded like a promise.
    He accepted the explanation without question. It was easier than confronting the truth.
    Twenty minutes later, Sloane burst into the hospital room, her face a mask of fury and concern. She took one look at Adalynn’s pale face, the IV in her arm, and the slight mound under the blanket where her stomach was bandaged, and her eyes filled with tears.
    “Oh, Addy.”
    Adalynn met her gaze, her own eyes steady and resolute. “I’m going to hide her, Sloane,” she said, her voice low and even. “He can never know she was born.” She took a breath. “Secure the child, ditch the father.”
    Sloane stared at her, the shock on her face quickly replaced by a fierce, predatory grin. “Damn right,” she said, her voice full of admiration. “That’s my girl. We are not letting that bastard or his dragon of a mother use that baby to control you or the trust fund. Not happening. When we’re done with him, he won’t even be able to afford the shirt on his back.”
    Sloane immediately took charge. “You rest. I’m going to go meet my goddaughter.” She squeezed Adalynn’s hand. “And don’t you worry. He’s going to pay for this. For every single thing.”
    As Sloane left, Adalynn’s phone buzzed. It was an Instagram notification. A new post from Carlene Shaffer. The photo was a selfie, taken from behind Julian’s desk, the glittering skyline of the city spread out behind her. Her chin was tilted up in a look of triumph. On her wrist, the sandalwood bracelet was prominently displayed.
    The caption read: “A new chapter.”
    Adalynn stared at the photo. Then, very calmly, she took a screenshot. She created a new folder on her phone and labeled it: “Evidence.” The screenshot went in, alongside the call log showing her rejected calls to Julian, the timestamp of her 911 call, and a photo of her empty hospital room.
    “A new chapter,” she murmured to herself. “You have no idea.”
    Sloane, who had paused in the doorway to check her own phone, saw it at the same time. A low growl escaped her throat. “I am going to rip her hair out.”
    “No,” Adalynn said, her voice stopping Sloane in her tracks. It was quiet, but held a core of steel. “Not yet. We don’t get emotional. We get strategic.” She looked at her friend, her eyes dark with purpose. “She just publicly wore stolen property and called it a new chapter. When I’m done with her, her entire story will be a cautionary tale that women whisper about at dinner parties for the next twenty years.”
    Sloane saw the look on her face and knew it was true. The sweet, accommodating Adalynn Craig she had known was gone. In her place was a woman who had been pushed past her breaking point and had come back as something far more dangerous.

    The Neglected Wife’s Vicious Comeback Game Chapter 3

    After Sloane left for the NICU, Adalynn’s gaze kept returning to the picture of Carlene on her phone. To the bracelet. The memory was so vivid it felt like it was happening now. A year ago, she had taken a solo trip to a small, secluded monastery in the mountains of Bhutan. Julian’s company had been on the verge of a hostile takeover, and he had been a wreck, consumed by anxiety.
    She’d spent two days with the monks, praying for him, for his peace of mind, for the protection of his legacy. They had blessed the sandalwood beads, infusing them with prayers for fidelity and strength. When she gave it to him, he’d been moved to tears. He’d kissed her and promised he would never take it off, that it would be a symbol of their unbreakable bond.
    Now that symbol was on another woman’s wrist, a trophy of his betrayal. The memory, once a source of comfort, now felt like a shard of glass in her heart. But she didn’t flinch. She let it cut. Let it bleed. Every scar from this moment forward would be a reminder of what she was fighting for.
    Meanwhile, on the fifth floor of the very same hospital, Julian was trying to charm Mr. Knight, a key investor whose health was failing. Carlene was by his side, playing the part of the concerned, attentive associate. They had ridden the elevator up, completely unaware that Julian’s wife was lying in a hospital bed two floors below, recovering from major surgery.
    After the visit, they stopped by the nurses’ station to inquire about scheduling a follow-up. As they approached, they could hear two nurses, Patty Hicks and Olivia Price, talking in low voices.
    “That poor woman in 302, Mrs. Craig,” Patty said, shaking her head. “So beautiful, and she had to go through that emergency C-section all alone. The husband hasn’t shown his face once.”
    Olivia sighed, refilling a cup with water. “I know. And the baby, a little girl, so premature she’s still in an isolette. What kind of man misses a moment like that?”
    Julian froze. The name “Craig.” The room number “302.” The word “C-section.” A cold finger traced down his spine. He turned to the nurses, his voice sharper than he intended. “What did you say the patient’s name was?”
    Patty looked up, startled. “Mrs. Craig. Adalynn Craig. She came in last night. Emergency C-section. Almost didn’t make it. Why—do you know her?”
    For one breath, for one heartbeat, the truth hung in the air between them. Julian opened his mouth—
    And Carlene’s hand clamped down on his arm. “Julian,” she said, her voice tight. “We’re going to be late for your meeting.”
    He hesitated. He looked at the nurses. He thought of Adalynn—his wife, his pregnant wife, who was supposed to be at Sloane’s, safe and angry at him, not bleeding out on an operating table. But Carlene’s grip was insistent, her nails digging into his sleeve. And the truth was too big, too terrifying. If he acknowledged it, everything would change.
    So he didn’t.
    “No,” he said, his voice flat. “I don’t know her.”
    He turned away from the nurses’ station and walked toward the elevator, Carlene’s hand still on his arm. He didn’t look back. But the words echoed in his head with every step: emergency C-section. Almost didn’t make it. Husband hasn’t shown his face once.
    He knew. Some part of him knew. But he had already chosen not to care.
    Just as they turned the corner, Sloane Hayes walked directly into their path, coming from the direction of the NICU.
    Sloane stopped dead in her tracks. A slow, dangerous smile spread across her face. “Well, well. If it isn’t Mr. Hawthorne,” she said, her voice dripping with sarcasm. “Fancy meeting you here. Of all the hospitals in all the world.”
    Julian’s face darkened. “Sloane. What are you doing here?”
    Her eyes flicked dismissively over to Carlene, then back to him. “I’m visiting a friend,” she said, her voice sharp as a blade. “A friend whose husband was too busy wining and dining his mistress to answer his phone while she was bleeding out on the side of the road. You wouldn’t know anything about that, would you, Julian?”
    The blood drained from Julian’s face. For a split second, he looked like a man who had just been punched in the gut. Carlene’s grip on his arm tightened convulsively.
    “Watch your tone, Sloane,” he managed, but his voice had lost its commanding edge. It sounded weak. Defensive. Guilty.
    Sloane just laughed, a cold, humorless sound. She didn’t give away a single detail about Adalynn’s current condition. She didn’t need to. “You’d better hope you haven’t done anything you’ll regret, Julian,” she said, her smile vanishing. “Because I’ve seen what happens to men who cross the Hayes family. Spoiler alert—they don’t recover. And you?” She looked him up and down with utter contempt. “You crossed the wrong woman. And you don’t even know it yet.”
    Carlene, sensing the conversation was about to escalate into a full-blown scene, pulled Julian’s arm again, more insistently this time. “Let’s just go, Julian. She’s not worth it.”
    Julian shot Sloane one last glare before letting Carlene lead him away. The encounter left him feeling irritated and vaguely uneasy, but more than that—he felt exposed. Sloane knew something. Something about Adalynn. Something he should know but was too afraid to ask.
    Sloane watched them go, her fists clenched. She took a deep, calming breath before turning back towards Adalynn’s room. She decided not to mention the run-in. Adalynn didn’t need the extra stress.
    When she entered the room, her expression was bright. “She’s beautiful, Addy,” she gushed, pulling out her phone to show Adalynn a picture she’d snapped through the glass of the isolette. “She’s tiny, but she has your nose. And she’s a fighter. I can already tell.”
    Adalynn stared at the image of her daughter, a tiny, perfect creature connected to a web of wires and tubes. A fierce, primal wave of love washed over her, so powerful it momentarily eclipsed everything else. This tiny person was all that mattered now. The last lingering shred of attachment she might have felt for Julian, the man who co-created this life, severed completely. He was nothing. A stranger. An obstacle.

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  • Moon-Born Outcast: The Alpha’s Broken Mate by Ghostly Mode

    Moon-Born Outcast: The Alpha's Broken Mate by Ghostly Mode
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    Fear follows Alpha Samson wherever he goes. As the ruthless leader of the Blackthorn pack, he and his beast, Savage, bow to no one. But when a haunting scent leads him to a neighboring pack’s dungeon, he finds his fated mate-bloody, broken, and chained to the wall.

    Alora is a half-wolf, half-witch hybrid falsely accused and left to die. But her abusers made one fatal mistake: they touched the mate of a monster.

    Rescued by the fierce Alpha, Alora begins a journey of healing that uncovers a lifetime of lies. She isn’t just a survivor; she’s a weapon. Together, Samson and Alora will unleash hell on those who wronged her, unearthing dark family secrets and claiming the crown that was stolen from her birth.

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    Moon-Born Outcast: The Alpha’s Broken Mate Chapter 1

    ALORA

    (16 years old)

    I struggle against the guards, and they force me further into the cells.

    The smell alone makes my stomach churn. Between the dead bodies and blood, it is hard to work out, which is worse.

    As we approached the end cell gate, there stood my father and his chosen mistress of the month. My father’s stare was blank, but that was how he had ever since that night. I hated him after what he did to my mother. The way he treated her and me and everything was all because she couldn’t give him a son.

    The guards guided me to the gate and launched me into the cell, like I was nothing. I landed with a hard thud on the ground and rolled until I hit the wall. I groan as my back it the wall hard.

    The worst part is that it reopened some old wounds that my father’s mistress gave me a few hours ago.

    Blood sank through the old top I had on.

    There was a thud, which only made my father growl as I heard footsteps coming toward the cell. “What the hell, alpha?” he boomed as he got nearer. He stopped and looked inside as I looked up. His eyes narrowed in on me but softened when he saw me.

    “She’s just a child,” he shouted, only for my father to grip him by the neck. “Enough, gamma,” he gritted out. “She stole from Madaline. She needs to pay.”

    My eyes shot to his mistress, who had a sinister smirk. She knew how to wrap my father around her finger. She was his favourite, but that soon could change.

    My father was a ruthless alpha and worse father. I was born into a werewolf pack, only to have half of wolf abilities, but no wolf. But I was also part of something else. This part was meant to be told to me by my mother, but that never came as my father and the woman, who stood before me, had killed her when I was ten.

    I saw everything and was forced to live in the basement of the pack house. I was never tyo leave unless I had someone with me at all times. So, me stealing something from my father’s whore was outstretched at best. He locked me away like I was nothing.

    Over the years since I was born, my mother and I were placed into a section of the house away from the pack members. With only the Gamma family to rely on, as that was their job, it was just us. We had a small apartment that had very little to do, but we managed.

    Moving up slightly and leaning on the wall to ease the pain in my back, I stare at the pair.

    Gamma Ryan has been loyal to my mother and me since birth, and I know I can rely on him. He was the only one who bought me new clothes and books to read. I had nothing to my name, and I mean nothing.

    My father’s face turned and glared at me. “You will stay in here till I see fit,” he growled.

    “But alpha, she couldn’t have done anything,” Gamma Ryan pleaded. “She was locked up in the basement. I heard from one of the guards that they had to kick down the door to get her.”

    My father turned his attention to Gamma Ryan and launched at him, pinning him to the wall behind him. My eyes widened as he growled. “Enough,” he gritted out. “She may not have stolen anything but deserves to live in this place.”

    I felt my heart sink. How could my father be so cruel?

    Madaline looked over at me, giving me an evil look. “I think we should tell them, babe,” she whispered, making my father look at her in awe.

    I felt sick.

    My father let go of Gamma Ryan and turned around to face me. His eyes switched from his wolf to his again, as always. “Madaline is pregnant,” he said, keeping his eyes on me.

    My stomach tightened. Pregnant? No, that means…

    Madaline’s smile grew as she knew it sunk in what that meant. “It means I will have an heir for the alpha,” she said cheerfully. “Unlike your mother, I will give him a son. Not a pathetic daughter, wolfless too.”

    Madaline giggled, placing her hand on her stomach. “This will be the son of the alpha,” she said.

    I snigger.

    “Do you think your child would be accepted as an heir?” I blurt out. “What if you have another girl? We both know how he treats them when he has them.”

    Madaline’s face goes white as she looks at my father. But he ignores her as he glares back at me. “You ungrateful bitch,” he grits out. “I gave you a home. I never hurt a child.”

    “No, you let your guards do it,” I muttered.

    My father takes a few steps inside the cell. My eyes stay focused on him, but out of the corner of my eye, I see Gamma Ryan pleading with me to stop.

    My father crouches and places his finger under my chin to make me see him. “You ever talk back to me again,” he grits out. “Now, this will be your own little room. You will never leave here ever. I have control over you, and no one, and I mean no one, will save you. You have no one.”

    I felt my heart sink deep in my chest as a lone tear escaped.

    My father moves up and walks back until he exits the cell. He turns around, pins Gamma Ryan against the wall, and releases his alpha aura. I watched as my father used a command that even broke my heart.

    “You will never serve her,” my father commanded. “You will do your gamma duties, and that is it. You will never see or speak to her again. Is that understood?”

    Gamma Ryan tries to fight the command, but he can’t and agrees.

    My father let go of him and stared. “Now, go and train the pack members,” he said.

    I watched as Gamma Ryan left without looking back at me.

    My eyes moved to the two people who were left.

    Madaline grinned as my father wrapped his arm around her waist. “We will have a son,” he said, leaning into her neck and looking at me. “Beck will be the one who will give you some food. As for punishments, they will be dealt with by me and whoever I have with me. You are never leaving this place, daughter.”

    I watched as my father and Madeline left.

    My heart breaks. I was alone once again.

    No one will save. How could they? No one knew I existed. My father made sure of that.

    When my mother had me, he announced that I had died at birth and that Luna was recovering. It never stopped him from trying to conceive another child with her, but when my mother could only have girls. When she did have a boy, he died after twenty weeks. My father called her everything.

    Whenever he came to see her, I had to hide.

    Another tear escaped as I looked around the small cage to be my home from now on.

    I would be living in hell, even though I was already there.

    The only hope I had left was my mate finding me, and now even that was a stretch. Who would want someone like me?

    Moon-Born Outcast: The Alpha’s Broken Mate Chapter 2

    ALORA

    (5 years later)

    My eyes stay on the ceiling as the breeze from the gap in the window whistles, rippling over me, making me cold.

    Moving the thin fabric over me, even though it doesn’t keep me warm. I shudder slightly when it hits my arm’s recent new whip mark, making it sting. I grip the sheet tighter as I move my legs up and wrap my arms around my legs to try and keep warm.

    Five long years have passed since I was placed in this damn cell, and five years I have been tortured more than my fair share. I don’t think any rogues have been through the same fate as me. To be honest, I think they have better treatment than I do. They would kill them as soon as they put them in a cell, or they would make them suffer.

    The screams some made, made my ears bleed. Many gave in after the first few attempts and died. Whoever came in here, they never leave. I always wondered about my fate, but it has been five years. Something told me that I wouldn’t know until it was too late.

    Madaline, my father’s chosen mate now instead of his mistress, gave birth to a son. I haven’t met him, and I don’t want to. It would probably be evil if the baby were like my father or her.

    I heard a noise outside the window, but it was hard to tell what was happening. It has been very noisy here lately. Guards who watch over me, Beck mainly, but they don’t talk to me. They stay quiet and even participate in the torture that Madaline puts on me.

    No one cares for me; they don’t know who I am. My father made sure of it. He told the guards that I was a stupid human who wandered onto the pack grounds, and he didn’t know what to do with me. It should shatter me with the way he speaks about me, but why should I now? He didn’t want me in the first place.

    Beck was left to guard me for the last five years. He never speaks to me, but I have grown on him over the last five years. Whenever Madaline tortures me, she makes him step outside, but afterward, he comes in and cleans my wounds the best he can. Beck was the one who gave me this fabric sheet to cover myself with when it gets cold here.

    Another bang came from outside, making me flinch as my eyes stayed on the window.

    What the hell was that? I tried to listen to what was happening, but hearing anything with the wind was hard.

    I may have no wolf, but I do have some characteristics of one, such as heightened senses and hearing. I don’t know if I have anything else, but they are the only two I know I have.

    Another noise comes from outside the window, and a meow comes through as a little black fur head sticks through the window’s opening, and its eyes look at me.

    Moving slightly, I smiled as the little four-legged fur creature came toward me and climbed into the little opening between my legs and stomach.

    This little black ball of fur has kept me company for the last few months. Who would have thought a cat would wander into a wolf pack and survive? I sure as hell didn’t think so, not when my father was in charge. He would have had it for supper.

    The cat snuggled into me, letting her heat sink into me as she tried to warm me up.

    “Thank you,” I whispered, placing my hand on her head and giving her a gentle smooth. “You shouldn’t be in here, you know that.”

    I sigh as the cat moves and sticks its head under my chin, rubbing along my jaw as it starts to purr. I smooth over its smooth fur till it settles down to sleep. My eyes go to the cat, who looks back at me with its bright green eyes. “What do I call you?” I whispered as I stroked its head.

    The cat let out a little meow, which only made me sigh.

    “I can’t keep calling you cat or pussy,” I muttered. “It’s silly. How about I say a name, and you nudge my hand when you like a name.”

    The cat bored its eyes at me. Damn, I felt stupid talking to it.

    “Let’s see…” I said and started to roll off names. “Angel, Lucky, Poppy, Aero…” The cat doesn’t move as I groan. “What about…” I said, but stopped when a film I watched as a kid with my mum flooded my mind—The Lion King. I remember when Gamma Ryan brought it one day. I must have watched it so many times over the years, but it was the best thing I had from anyone.

    “What about Simba, Nala—” I said, but the cat nudges its head as I say Nala.

    I smile.

    “Nala,” I murmured. “Perfect for a gorgeous cat like yourself.”

    Nala purred as it settled back against me.

    The door to the cells opens, which doesn’t make her move as we hear the footsteps come closer. I place the thin fabric over her little head as I look to the gate when Beck comes into view. He stares at me but looks toward the way he came from. He moves closer and kneels. I watch as he moves something from his pocket and puts his arm through the barrier till he places an apple on the ground.

    I stare at it momentarily, thinking I was dreaming as the last time I had food was two days ago. Beck only brings what he can, but it’s never enough.

    I look up at him, and he nods as he moves up from the ground and turns around. I watched as he got into the position of guarding me.

    Moving slightly and trying not to disturb Nala, I grabbed it and bit into it. The taste of apple was sweet, something I missed every day when I was with my mother. She used to make an apple pie every Sunday in our little kitchen, and it was when the Gamma family came to see us. They would bring what we needed that week and leave after an hour. It was unconventional to say, but they were the only family I had besides my mother.

    I ate the apple quietly, and once I finished it, I placed it in the next cell so it looked like it was from whoever it was in there last.

    Madaline doesn’t want me to feed. She stated that was my father’s rule, but Beck had broken it several times. The only thing I am allowed on a daily basis, which Beck does every morning and evening, is fresh water. It has to be used for drinking and even washing. I hate washing in it as it is freezing, and Beck has to watch me, which is unnerving.

    I bet servants get treated better than I do, and that says a lot about this pack. Many omegas are mistreated; I used to watch through the basement keyhole or the window. Omegas would be pushed around and beaten if they stepped out of line.

    Gamma Ryan never laid a finger on them, but it was mainly my father or his Beta.

    Beta Logan and my father have been friends since high school. He follows his every word, including mistreating me. I know what my father told him, and many pack members all believed him. Who wouldn’t? He was the Alpha. After all, he doesn’t tell lies about anything except when it comes to me.

    There was silence around the cell until I heard the door open again.

    Nala sticks her head up and looks over the sheet, but I push her back inside and flip it off, keeping her covered as I move it under the bed. I knew who was coming, and it was inevitable that she would be here, like clockwork.

    “Wake up!” she screeches as I stumble from the bed and lean against the wall. My eyes move to her as she steps into view.

    Madaline, ever since the first day I saw her, hasn’t changed one bit. Only the wrinkles by her eyes give away her age now, and she also looks like she has added pounds to her weight. Whereas I am so skinny, if anyone saw me now and picked me up, I would be nothing in weight.

    Madaline stares at me as a sinister smile appears on her lips. “Good, you awake,” she said as she stood by the gate. “I have some news for you. Later this evening, we are being visited by alphas from all packs close to us,” she said as I stood still and froze slightly as the cold air swiped into the cell. As much as I want to put the sheet over me, I know I can’t, or Madaline would take it away. She knows it’s there, but she hasn’t done anything about it. I didn’t want to add anything to the fuel of what she did to me.

    Madaline looked at me and smiled. “Tonight, your father is declaring that our son, Michael, will be the next in line to the alpha position,” she said, making my stomach churn. I know that role was meant to be mine, but after everything I have been through within this pack, I would rather die than be anything to them. “Do you know what that means?”

    I shook my head as Madaline’s smile grew. “Oh, let me tell you,” she said. “That means after tomorrow, when everyone has left to return to their packs, your father and I will get to kill you.”

    My heart sank.

    My eyes darted to Beck, who seemed to stand straighter than normal.

    “You will die,” she said, sounding happy. “But I must admit, I will miss these little chats and the punishments.”

    I said nothing.

    Punishments are what she called the torture she inflicted on me. I never knew why she came down here until one day last week when she screamed out in pain. I watched it happen as she gripped her chest, like my mother. My father was doing what he did to my mother to her; he was with another. I used to watch my mother suffer every damn day when he was with her, and now she was getting the same treatment. I don’t know whether it was karma, but when she witnessed her in pain, the torture she inflicted on me was unreal. I couldn’t get up for days with the marks I had all over my body. Some are scars today, which are hideous.

    “Saying that…” she said, pulling me from my thoughts and looking at her wide-eyed, but she laughed. “Na, I will wait till later. I have to get the pack ready before all the alpha’s come,” she said. “I am Luna, after all.”

    It took everything in me not to roll my eyes. The role was my mother’s, not hers. After Madaline gave my father the heir he wanted, he marked her and made her his Luna.

    Being away from all the gossip around the pack has left me wondering what he has told them about my mother, but it may have something to do with me.

    “I will see you tomorrow for your death,” she hissed as she turned and looked at Beck. “You can leave now. You don’t need to be down here at all.”

    Beck looked at me but moved away. There was nothing but a blank expression on his face as he walked away.

    My heart sinks again as they both leave. I can hear the excitement in Madaline’s voice as she tells Beck that she will be the one to kill me like she did her mother.

    What the hell was I going to do now?

    There was no denying it now, and I had to accept my fate. I would die tomorrow in the same hands as the ones who killed my mother.

    I closed my eyes as a lone tear escaped. I prayed over the years to the moon goddess, the same moon goddess that was supposed to watch over me, but ever since my mother died, I was made to live in isolation away from everyone. Why would I put all my trust in her now?

    I was done for.

    There was no one to save me now. I had to accept that I was going to die.

    Moon-Born Outcast: The Alpha’s Broken Mate Chapter 3

    ALPHA SAMSON

    The car goes over the bump, which makes me bang my head on the roof. I let out a low growl. “Careful,” I grunt as I glare at my driver through the rear view mirror. His eyes widen and looks back at the road ahead of him.

    “Calm down,” Jenson, my beta said. “He is trying to get us there sooner like you wanted. You’re the one who wanted to get there and leave early.”

    I huff as I look out the window and watch the forest pass us.

    As an alpha to the largest pack in the state, I had to attend alpha ceremonies for young alpha’s who would be taking the reins after their fathers handed them over to them. But this was all new to me. The alpha in question was staking a claim that he had a son and would be the one who would take over from him, whatever age.

    “I still think it’s strange that they are doing this,” Jenson mumbles, making me look at him. “The child is barely five. Why would he announce this now? The child won’t even have his wolf yet, let alone know how to fight anyone.”

    I said nothing as Savage, my wolf, grunted. He hated any form of celebration, even if it meant that he would find our mate one day, but that has been scarce over the years. I’m now twenty-eight and what you call our kind old, but we are not. If we were any other alpha, some elder would come to the pack and force the rule of picking a chosen mate, but they are scared of me; we are not your average wolf. We are bigger than all wolves, bigger than you can imagine.

    Our pack is the biggest and most feared due to Savage and me. No wolf will dare to go up against savage, whereas no human will go against me. I stand at six foot nine and weigh over three hundred and fifty pounds.

    Shaking my thoughts away, I looked at him. “Well, Alpha Karl hasn’t had much luck with his family,” I muttered. “He lost his mate and unborn child. He had to choose someone, and now they have one. They are not taking no chances.”

    “There is taking a chance,” Jenson muttered. “Then there is taking it all too far. Five years old tho, what did you do at five?”

    “Not the same,” I grunted as I pulled the sleeve of my jacket into place. I was wearing a suit for this damn ceremony, and I hated it. Nothing fits me due to my size. “My parents had me at a young age, and not the same for Alpha Karl.”

    Jenson stared at me, but his eyes softened. I knew why he did that—my parents. I felt my heart sink at the mere thought of them. My mother died in a rogue attack, and my father died shortly after from heart failure. Some pack members believe that he died of a broken heart. He didn’t take my mother’s death well and locked himself away. It was hard to watch. Sometimes I wish I never met my mate as I don’t want to have the same fate.

    “We won’t,” Savage grunted as he came closer. “Our mate will be special.”

    I look back at him with an arched eyebrow. “Special, huh?” I asked. “How would you know that?”

    Savage’s dark brown eyes bored back into mine but said nothing. Lately, he hasn’t been himself, but as soon as the invitation came, he was all for going, and I felt pressured into going by him, which is uncalled for. When has a wolf ever wanted to do a human thing? Never.

    When I received the invitation, I was shocked to learn that the young alpha was not even old enough to agree to the terms, but underneath Alpha Karl stated that he wanted to know that he had a son who would take over the pack when he was old enough. He wanted all the alpha’s to attend so they could be happy for the pack.

    Part of me could understand the scenario and why he was doing it, but there was another part of me that there was something more at play. Alpha Karl had been a constant thorn in my side, asking me to turn up and see his pack. He is one of many allies I have around here, and he was one of them. I was initially unsure what to make of the pack, as there seemed to be more power play than what they could offer me. I want fighters and people I can trust that will be there if I need them someday, even though it is the other way around. Many wanted us to be there for them when they needed us, but Alpah Karl never asked when rogues attacked his pack.

    Alpha Karl asked for advice about what he could do to make things better, and I suggested asking for some trainers to come to help from other packs. He asked me to send some, and I did, but the trainers came back with a different outlook. Most of his pack was scared of Alpha Karl, but there were loads of rumors floating around about him. Some were hard to register as true. I wanted to leave early and get there so I could see for myself.

    Jenson and I planned to stay longer, leaving my gamma Oliver to keep things running with the pack back home. All I had to do was pretend to help out , while I kept Alpha Karl busy; Jenson would go around and try to find out the truth before I made a decision about sticking with Alpha Karl. I didn’t need him. It was the other way around. I hated alphas who never respected their pack members. Pack members are what holds and makes a pack what it is. I might be ruthless as they come, but I respect every member of my pack, including all omegas. No one is left out.

    “Samson,” Jenson called out, making me look at him as he sighed. “The plan will be in motion when we get there. Do you think he will do anything?”

    I shook my head and leaned back in my seat. “Hardly,” I muttered. “I think he will be nice, possibly too nice for his good, or maybe have all the single she-wolves ready to pounce, I don’t know.”

    Jenson’s lips curled up into a grin at the mere mention of she-wolves, which only made me groan. “Keep your dick in your pants,” I grunted. “We are not here to get laid.”

    “Speaking of the one who would rather have blue balls than have a tight cunt wrapped around his cock,” he chuckled.

    Savage roars into laughter in my head as I keep my mouth shut for a moment while glaring at my best friend. “At least I won’t get a disease or something,” I muttered, which made him look at me with an arched eyebrow. “You went there, huh?” he muttered.

    I said nothing as I looked through the window again.

    There was no reason for the lack of women on my part; many threw themselves at me, and I liked it, but being as big as I am, it is hard to find someone who can tame a savage beast like my wolf, who seemed to want to be rough. Many women would endure it until they couldn’t take it anymore.

    “We need mate more,” Savage piped up in my head as he listened in on my thoughts, which I hated him doing. “Mate will take us. She will be a perfect fit for us, too.”

    I said nothing and shook my thoughts away; I watched as we approached Alpha Karl’s pack.

    “I am so not looking forward to this,” Jenson muttered, making me look at him. His eyes were on the opposite window. “I hate all the falseness of these alphas. They show no shame when they want your attention.”

    I couldn’t help but agree with him on that. Many alphas have done weird things, remembering one incident in particular where an alpha let their daughter come into my bedroom at night while I stayed, which didn’t help her as Savage was on one, especially being woken up from his sleep. He hates being disturbed. That was a mistake and half; the alpha tried to make me take his daughter as my Luna, which was not for me. If anyone were going to be my Luna, it would be my mate, not a hot-headed bimbo who thinks everything should be pink and sparkle. Others have tried to play games with me and lost. It’s a stupid alpha thing for me to see who is true to their word or who would swipe a rug from underneath me where I stand.

    I said nothing to him as I turned my attention to the gates that were being opened for us. This was it. There was no going back now. I came here to do what I had to do, and no one was going to stop me.

    👉 CONTINUE READING

  • From Wolfless Omega To The Rival Alpha’s Queen by Jun Shangye

    From Wolfless Omega To The Rival Alpha's Queen by Jun Shangye
    👉 READ NOW

    For three years, I poured my blood, sweat, and tears into building Blackwood Group for Alec, my Alpha and the man I thought was my mate.

    But on the day of our work anniversary, I stood outside his office door and heard him talking with his Beta, shattering my entire world.

    “Kay is just a wolfless Omega, useful for paperwork,” Alec sneered coldly.

    “The bonding ceremony is just a show for the elders. The real Luna, the one who carries the bloodline that matters, is Breanne. I’m transferring all of Kay’s core project files to Breanne tomorrow. Let her take the credit.”

    He even texted me later, telling me to wear a blue dress to the upcoming gala because it made me look “obedient.”

    I had turned down a Wharton scholarship for this man. I had spent countless nights fixing his mistakes, building his empire, and giving him my youth.

    Yet to him, I was nothing but a disposable placeholder, expected to smile and bow while another woman stole my life’s work and my place by his side.

    The agonizing pain in my chest didn’t break me; it forged me into ice.

    I didn’t cry, and I certainly didn’t beg.

    Instead, I wiped his servers clean of every strategy I had ever created, left a wax-sealed resignation on his desk, and accepted a job offer from his most ruthless rival.

    👉 READ NOW

    From Wolfless Omega To The Rival Alpha’s Queen Chapter 1

    Kay POV:
    I stood outside the frosted glass door of the Alpha’s office, my fingers locking around the cardboard tray until the paper cups groaned.
    As the official project lead for Blackwood Group’s expansion in Chicago, I was used to managing multi-million-dollar logistics. But today, my hands trembled. Inside the cups were two lattes—extra vanilla syrup for him, just the way he liked it. It was a small, devoted detail I had kept up for seven years, ever since I had sacrificed my full scholarship to Stanford to help Alec Collins build his empire.
    I was a wolfless Omega—a broken, shifting-less anomaly in a world ruled by bloodlines and teeth. Alec was the blood-born Alpha of the Blackwood Pack, the powerful CEO of the conglomerate, and, unofficially, the destined mate I was supposed to bind with next month.
    Now, standing in the quiet corridor, my sharp ears picked up the low, serious murmur of voices from behind the cracked door.
    I recognized them instantly: Alec, and his loyal Beta, Ethan Hayes, the second-in-command of our pack.
    “Are the preparations for the bonding ceremony finalized?” Ethan’s voice was low, laced with a tension I couldn’t place.
    A sharp, impatient sound—a scoff from Alec—cut him off.
    “It’s a formality, Ethan. A show for the elders to secure the final votes for the merger. You know that.”
    The cardboard tray in my hands suddenly felt flimsy. Hot coffee sloshed over the rim, scalding my skin, but I barely felt it.
    My breath hitched. A formality?
    “But Alec,” Ethan pressed, his voice dropping lower. “Kay has been by your side for seven years. She literally designed the entire market strategy that saved our expansion. She’s earned the title of Luna.”
    “Earned what?”
    Alec’s voice was laced with a chilling amusement that made my stomach clench. “The privilege of being my Luna? She’s a wolfless Omega, Ethan. She should be grateful I even look at her. Her devotion is expected. It’s the least a defective creature like her can do to prove her worth to this pack.”
    The words hit me like a physical blow, stealing the air from my lungs. Wolfless. The dirty little secret the pack pitied and scorned me for, now spoken by my destined mate as a measure of my uselessness.
    “Her work on the acquisition strategy was brilliant,” Ethan argued, a hint of desperation in his voice.
    “Her work was adequate,” Alec corrected him coldly. “It was a good way for her to contribute, to make up for… other deficiencies. And now that Breanne is back…”
    Breanne Weiss. The name was a whisper of silk and old money. A true-blooded, noble Omega who possessed the perfect bloodline and the inner wolf I lacked.
    “Breanne is who I want.” Alec’s voice was raw, stripped of all pretense. “She is the Luna this pack deserves. Her bloodline, her grace… she is my equal.”
    My equal. The words echoed in the sudden, roaring silence of my mind. If she was his equal, what was I?
    A placeholder. A tool. A seven-year-long convenience.
    “So, the plan is still to reject Kay after the merger is finalized?” Ethan asked.
    “I can’t risk the instability now.” Alec said, his voice hardening again, becoming the Alpha. “We’ll go through with the ceremony to appease the elders. Once everything is settled, I’ll handle the rejection. She’s weak, Ethan. She’ll cry, but she won’t fight it. Where would she even go without us?”
    A wave of nausea washed over me. The phantom mate bond on the back of my neck, the one-sided connection I had cherished, flared with a white-hot, agonizing pain.
    “And her project? The Phoenix Initiative?”
    “I’m giving it to Breanne.” Alec said, the casual cruelty of it knocking me back a step. “A welcome home present. Let her put her stamp on it.”
    My project. My baby. The one I had built from the ground up.
    A bitter, metallic taste filled my mouth. It was the taste of betrayal. Of my own foolishness. I had given up a full scholarship to an Ivy League school for him. I had believed his promises, his whispered words in the dark, his assurances that my lack of a wolf didn’t matter to him.
    Lies. All of it.
    “I’ll pick Breanne up from the airport this weekend.” Alec continued, his voice shifting, becoming lighter. “We’ll have dinner.”
    This weekend. Saturday. My mother’s birthday—the one he had promised we would celebrate together.
    It was over. The perfect, fragile illusion I had built my entire adult life around had just been shattered into a million pieces.
    I heard the scrape of a chair inside the office. Footsteps. Ethan was leaving.
    My body moved before my mind could catch up. There was no conscious thought, only a primal instinct for survival. I couldn’t let him see me. I couldn’t let them know I’d heard.
    I spun around, my movements swift and silent. The trash receptacle, a sleek stainless steel cylinder, was three feet away. In one fluid, decisive motion, I tipped the tray. The two vanilla lattes, the symbols of my pathetic, hopeful love, dropped into the bin with a soft, final thud.
    Not a single drop spilled on the pristine carpet.
    I didn’t look back. I didn’t wait to hear the office door open. I slipped into the adjacent doorway, pushing open the heavy metal door to the fire escape.
    It slammed shut behind me, the boom echoing in the concrete stairwell, plunging me into dim, dusty silence.
    The sound finally broke my paralysis.
    I slid down the wall until I was sitting on the gritty steps, my corporate suit jacket bunching around my waist.
    No tears came. Only a vast, cold emptiness.
    My phone buzzed in my pocket. I pulled it out with a trembling hand. The screen lit up, showing my wallpaper: a smiling photo of Alec and me from last year’s pack gala. His arm was around me, his eyes crinkling at the corners. He looked so happy. He looked like he loved me.
    A cold, hard fury, something I hadn’t felt in years, began to burn through the shock. It started in my gut and spread through my veins, chasing away the ice.
    My fingers moved with a new, chilling precision. I went into my settings and changed the wallpaper to the phone’s default, a bland, abstract swirl of blue. The photo of us vanished.
    I opened my notes app. I created a new, encrypted file. I titled it: “Extraction Protocol.”
    Another buzz. An email notification flashed across the top of the screen. It was from HR.
    Subject: URGENT: Venue Confirmation for Collins-Silva Bonding Ceremony.
    The email asked for my digital signature to confirm the booking.
    A laugh escaped my lips. It was a harsh, ugly sound in the quiet stairwell.
    I tapped the notification. The email opened. At the bottom were two buttons: “Approve” and “Reject.”
    My thumb hovered over the screen for a single, heartbeat. Then, I pressed “Reject.” A confirmation box popped up. “Are you sure you want to reject this request?”
    I pressed “Yes”.
    And then, for good measure, I deleted the email.
    I closed my eyes. I didn’t pray to the Moon Goddess for strength or guidance. I made her a promise. I would not be the weak, crying Omega Alec expected. I would not accept this sham of a bond. I would not be his fool.
    After a few minutes, the shaking stopped. The cold fury settled into a block of ice in my chest. I stood up, brushing the dust from my skirt. I straightened my jacket, smoothing the wrinkles with methodical, detached movements.
    I pushed the fire escape door open and stepped back into the plush, silent hallway. The air was no longer filled with promise. It was just recycled, sterile air.
    I didn’t go back to my desk. I didn’t go to the restroom to fix my face.
    I walked directly to the elevator bank and pressed the down button.
    The elevator descended. As it passed the lower floors, I made a decision. I wasn’t just going to leave. I was going to erase myself from his life and his company so completely that it would be as if I had never existed.
    The doors opened onto the lobby. The cold Chicago wind hit me as I pushed through the revolving doors, a blast of reality that felt like a baptism. It didn’t make me shiver. It made me feel awake.
    I didn’t walk to my car. I walked to the curb, raised my hand, and hailed a cab.
    As I slid into the back seat, giving the driver my address, I knew exactly what I had to do first.

    I was going to draft my formal notice of mate rejection.

    From Wolfless Omega To The Rival Alpha’s Queen Chapter 2

    Kay POV:
    The taxi ride back to my apartment was a blur of steel-grey buildings and headlights, but my mind was operating with the cold, clicking precision of a high-end server.
    I had spent seven years building a fortress for a man who planned to tear me down; now, it was time to dismantle it brick by brick.
    Inside my apartment, the silence was absolute. I didn’t turn on the lights. I walked straight to my home office, my steps even and measured, illuminated only by the faint city lights of Chicago cutting through the blinds.
    I woke up my MacBook. The cool, blueish light reflected off my face, devoid of any expression.
    First things first.
    My fingers flew across the keyboard, navigating through firewalls and encrypted servers with a muscle memory honed over seven years. I accessed the Blackwood Group’s central database. My database. The one I had designed.
    I began the download. Every project file, every financial model, every marketing strategy, every piece of intellectual property I had ever created for them. The ones with my name on them, and more importantly, the ones without. It was a massive amount of data. The progress bar crawled. It would take hours.
    My phone, sitting face down on the desk, lit up. It buzzed once.
    From: Alec
    Don’t forget the charity gala tomorrow night. 7 pm. The Vanderbilts will be there. Be ready.
    No “hello.” No “how was your day.” Just a command. The casual entitlement of it, the sheer arrogance, sent a fresh wave of cold fury through me. He was ordering me around while planning my replacement.
    I stared at the message, the name “Alec” at the top seeming alien. A corner of my mouth lifted in a sneer. I didn’t reply. I just flipped the phone back over, silencing it.
    I opened a new Word document.
    The words came easily, stripped of all emotion. It was a legal document, not a breakup letter.
    NOTICE OF MATE REJECTION
    Pursuant to the sacred laws upheld by the Moon Goddess and recognized by all packs, I, Kay Silva, formally and irrevocably reject you, Alec Collins of the Blackwood Pack, as my fated mate.
    This rejection is final and absolute.
    Let this document serve as the complete and total severance of the bond between us.
    I typed my name at the bottom. As my finger hovered over the last key, a faint, sharp sting pricked the back of my neck, right over the spot where his mark should have been. It was the bond, a phantom limb, protesting its own amputation.
    I ignored it and hit “Print.”
    The whirring of the printer was the only sound in the apartment. It was the sound of a life being unmade. The paper slid out, warm to the touch. I didn’t reread it.
    To ensure it couldn’t be dismissed as a prank or a fit of pique, I found one of the Blackwood Group’s official letterhead envelopes I kept for work. It had the embossed wolf seal. I folded the notice, slid it inside, and sealed it with a firm press of my thumb. Official. Undeniable.
    I wouldn’t give it to him myself. That would lead to a confrontation, to him trying to use his Alpha presence to force me into submission. No. I would give it to Ethan. Let the Beta deliver the news.
    With the letter lying on my desk like a verdict, I turned my attention back to the future. I opened my LinkedIn profile. It was painfully out of date. I started drafting a new summary, my mind already shifting from the past to the practicalities of survival.
    As I navigated to my inbox to clear out old messages, I saw it. An unread email, sent three days ago. The subject line made my heart skip a beat.
    From: Hamilton Jarvis, CEO, Vertex Group
    Subject: Strategic Consultant Inquiry
    Vertex Group.
    The name alone was enough to make any Alpha in the Midwest break a sweat. They were Blackwood’s biggest rival on the East Coast, a shadowy, powerful conglomerate run by a man spoken of only in whispers. Hamilton Jarvis. A Lycan. A creature of legend, more powerful, more ancient than any Alpha.
    My hand trembled slightly as I clicked the email open.
    Ms. Silva,
    Your work has come to my attention. Specifically, your unsigned strategic analysis on the Sterling-Cross acquisition and the risk-mitigation model for the Tundra Logistics merger. They were… impressive.
    Vertex Group is expanding its operations. We require a strategist with your unique foresight. I am prepared to offer you the position of Chief Strategic Advisor.
    The compensation package will be triple your current salary at Blackwood. Relocation to our Manhattan headquarters will be fully covered.
    I believe your talents are being wasted. Let’s rectify that.
    H.J.
    A cold shock went through me. Hamilton Jarvis knew. He had bypassed Alec’s public credit-stealing and pierced the Blackwood corporate veil to find the true brain behind the empire. A profound sense of validation—something I had been starved of for seven years—bloomed in my chest.
    I didn’t reply immediately. This could be a trap, a corporate espionage play. I spent the next hour researching Vertex Group’s recent market activity, cross-referencing their known holdings with their latest SEC filings. It was all legitimate. They were poised for a massive move into the Midwest. They were coming for Blackwood.
    *
    The next evening, I stood in front of the mirrors at the hotel ballroom. I had chosen a simple, severe black sheath dress.
    It wasn’t designed to attract attention. It was armor.
    I walked into the glittering ballroom, took a glass of champagne from a passing waiter, and retreated to the shadows near the grand entrance.
    I spotted them instantly.
    Alec was in the center of the crowd, holding court like a king. And clinging to his arm was Breanne Weiss, wearing a blood-red gown that left nothing to the imagination. She laughed, a high, tinkling sound, and did a pathetic, theatrical wobble on her high heels, collapsing against his chest.
    Alec didn’t push her away. He smiled, his hand coming up to steady her, his fingers splayed possessively across the small of her back.
    I watched them, my hand holding the champagne flute perfectly steady. I felt nothing. No jealousy. No pain. Just a profound, pitying disgust for the woman I used to be, the one who would have been shattered by this sight.
    “They look perfect together, don’t they?”
    I turned.
    Chloe Sullivan, my childhood best friend, stood beside me. She had known every sacrifice I had made for Alec, yet her eyes held a malicious glint of triumph. She was already aligning herself with the winning side—the new, noble Luna.
    “A true Alpha and his noble Luna,” she said, her voice dripping with faux admiration. “It’s what the pack has always needed.”
    I looked at her, really looked at the cheap ambition in her eyes.
    “You’re right,” I said, my voice quiet, flat, and lethal. “They are a perfect match.”
    I paused, holding her gaze.
    “A bitch and a dog usually are.”
    Chloe’s face went white, her mouth opening and closing like a fish landed on concrete. Before she could recover from the sheer venom in my tone, I turned my back on her, leaving her sputtering.
    I navigated the edge of the ballroom and spotted Ethan Hayes near the restrooms, coordinating security on his phone. I waited.
    When he finished, I stepped into his path.
    He frowned when he saw me. “Kay. You should be with Alec. The Vanderbilts are asking for you.”
    “I have something for you,” I said, my voice devoid of warmth. I held out the thick, sealed envelope with the gold wolf seal.
    He looked at it, then at me, his brow furrowed in confusion. “What’s this?”
    “Give it to him,” I said. It wasn’t a request. It was an order. I pushed the envelope against his chest until his fingers automatically closed around it.
    Before he could ask another question, I turned and walked toward the exit. I didn’t look back.
    The cool night air of the city street was a relief. I took a deep breath, the scent of exhaust fumes and damp pavement filling my lungs. It was the smell of freedom.
    I pulled out my phone, my fingers no longer trembling. I opened the email from Hamilton Jarvis. My thumb hovered over the reply button.
    Then, with a decisive tap, I began to type.
    Mr. Jarvis,

    I accept your invitation for a meeting.

    From Wolfless Omega To The Rival Alpha’s Queen Chapter 3

    Kay POV:
    The Uber glided through the steel and glass canyons of Manhattan. I watched the city blur past, a stark contrast to the familiar, almost provincial feel of Chicago’s business district. Here, ambition was a physical presence, humming in the air.
    The car stopped in front of a skyscraper that seemed to scrape the clouds. A single, minimalist silver word was etched into the black marble facade: VERTEX.
    I took a deep breath, smoothed the front of my dark blue suit, and pushed through the revolving glass doors.
    The lobby was a cathedral of cold, gray minimalism. Polished concrete floors, a massive, raw-stone reception desk, and a ceiling so high it felt like open sky. There was no gold, no mahogany, none of the opulent, almost gaudy luxury that defined the Blackwood Group headquarters. This place wasn’t trying to look rich. It just was. It exuded a quiet, terrifying confidence.
    “Kay Silva for Hamilton Jarvis,” I said to the receptionist, a woman with a severe haircut and an earpiece.
    I gave her the appointment code from the email. Her eyes widened fractionally as she scanned it. Her professional demeanor instantly warmed with a deep, ingrained respect.
    “Of course, Ms. Silva. Right this way.”
    She didn’t point. She personally escorted me to a private elevator bank, a sleek, unmarked panel that slid open at her approach. Inside, there was no button for the top floor. She pressed her thumb to a biometric scanner.
    “Mr. Jarvis will meet you in his office,” she said, her voice a respectful murmur. “The elevator will take you directly there.”
    The doors slid shut, and the elevator ascended with a stomach-dropping speed. A faint sense of pressure built in my ears. I gripped the railing, my knuckles white, my heart hammering against my ribs. This was it. The point of no return. I forced myself to let go, to stand straight, to breathe.
    The elevator slowed to a smooth stop. The doors opened not onto a reception area, but a long, wide hallway. At the far end, a single set of massive, dark walnut doors stood closed.
    I walked the length of the hall, my footsteps silent on the dark wood floor. I reached the doors and hesitated for a half-second, my hand raised to knock.
    Before my knuckles could touch the wood, a soft green light glowed on a panel beside the frame. With a near-silent hiss, the heavy doors slid open, retracting into the walls.
    The office was vast. One entire wall was a floor-to-ceiling window offering a breathtaking, god-like view of Manhattan.
    A man stood with his back to me, his hands clasped behind him, looking out over the city he seemed to own.
    He was tall, broad-shouldered, and dressed in a bespoke dark suit that fit him like a second skin. He didn’t turn immediately. He let the silence stretch, a subtle assertion of power.
    I stepped inside. The doors slid shut behind me.
    At the sound of my footsteps, he turned.
    The air in the room crackled. It was like a sudden drop in barometric pressure. A wave of pure, undiluted power washed over me, a force so immense it was almost a physical weight. It was the presence of a Lycan. Primal. Ancient. Absolute.
    My Omega instincts screamed at me to lower my eyes, to bow my head, to show submission. My knees felt weak.
    I locked them. I lifted my chin and met his gaze.
    His eyes were a startling shade of gray-blue, the color of a stormy sea.
    A flicker of something-surprise? respect?-passed through those cold eyes.
    “Ms. Silva,” he said. His voice was a low, resonant baritone that vibrated in the air. It held no warmth, only a deep, calm authority. “Please, sit.”
    He gestured to one of the two leather armchairs positioned in front of a massive, clean-lined desk. I walked forward, my back straight, and sat down. The leather was cool against my skin.
    He didn’t move to sit behind his desk, the throne of his power. Instead, he walked to a discreet wet bar built into the wall.
    “Water? Something stronger?”
    “Water is fine,” I said.
    He retrieved a bottle of sparkling water and a glass. He didn’t pour it over ice. He poured the room-temperature water into the glass and brought it to me, placing it on the small table beside my chair.
    It was a small thing, but it was a calculated one. He had noticed. He had noticed the slight tremor in my hand, the tension in my shoulders. An Omega in distress, especially one who had just severed a mate bond, would be physically and emotionally chilled. Ice water would have been a shock to the system.
    This wasn’t just a CEO. This was a predator who noticed every detail.
    He finally moved to his side of the desk, settling into his large chair. He steepled his long fingers, his gray-blue eyes fixed on me.
    “The Sterling-Cross acquisition,” he began, dispensing with any pleasantries. “Your strategy was to create a shell corporation to buy up their debt anonymously, forcing them to the negotiating table at a fraction of their market value. Alec Collins took the credit, but the idea was yours.”
    It wasn’t a question. It was a statement of fact.
    “Why are you so interested in a wolfless Omega from a rival pack, Mr. Jarvis?” I asked, my voice steady. I had to know. I had to understand the angle.
    A low chuckle, devoid of humor, rumbled in his chest. “I am not interested in your bloodline, Ms. Silva. Or the lack of it. I am interested in results.”
    He slid a thick file across the polished surface of the desk. It stopped perfectly in front of me.
    “Blackwood Group has seen a seventeen percent growth in their portfolio over the last three years,” he said. “All of it tied to initiatives that bear the hallmarks of your strategic style: aggressive, unconventional, and meticulously planned. But your name is on none of them.”
    He leaned forward, his presence intensifying. “I don’t care if you’re wolfless. I don’t care if you’re a rogue. I care that you have a mind capable of dismantling my competition from the inside out. And I want that mind working for me.”
    He laid his cards on the table. “Vertex is preparing a hostile takeover of key territories in the Midwest. Blackwood is the primary obstacle. I need a Chief Strategist who knows their playbook, their weaknesses, their every move. I need you.”
    This was more than a job offer. It was a declaration of war. And he was handing me the sword.
    A part of me, the vengeful, wounded part, wanted to scream yes. But the strategist in me, the part he was hiring, took over.
    “I am still, technically, in a separation period with the Blackwood Pack,” I said carefully. “There are legal and pack-law sensitivities. A non-compete clause. The mate bond severance isn’t finalized until the rejection is formally accepted.”
    He leaned back, a ghost of a smile touching his lips. “Vertex Group’s legal department is… formidable. They will handle any and all external obstacles. Consider your non-compete clause a historical artifact. As for the rejection… let Mr. Collins worry about that.”
    His confidence was absolute. He was offering me not just a job, but a shield. A fortress.
    I looked into his eyes and saw something I had never, not once, seen in Alec’s.
    Respect.
    He saw me not as a broken Omega, not as a mate or a possession, but as an asset. An equal.
    “My terms,” I said, my voice gaining strength, “I need one month for the transition, to completely sever my ties. And when I assume the role, I require absolute autonomy on strategic deployment. No interference.”
    He didn’t hesitate. He didn’t consult a lawyer or a subordinate. He simply reached for a pen on his desk-a heavy, black Montblanc. He pulled a pre-printed contract from a drawer, uncapped the pen, and signed his name at the bottom with a flourish of sharp, decisive strokes.
    He pushed the contract and the pen across the desk to me.
    “Welcome to Vertex, Ms. Silva.”
    I picked up the contract. The terms were even more generous than he had stated in the email. The salary was astronomical. The autonomy I’d requested was spelled out in iron-clad legal terms.
    My last shred of doubt evaporated.
    I took the pen he offered. My own signature, next to his powerful scrawl, looked almost delicate. But as I signed my name, I felt a lifetime of being underestimated fall away. I was no longer Kay Silva, Alec Collins’s wolfless mate.
    I was Kay Silva, Chief Strategic Advisor for the Vertex Group.
    He stood up, and I followed suit. He extended his hand across the desk. It was a large hand, the fingers long and elegant, the knuckles prominent. A hand that held immense power.
    I placed my hand in his.
    The moment our skin touched, a jolt, sharp and electric, shot up my arm. It was so intense it made me gasp, a wave of heat washing through my entire body. Sparks seemed to dance on my skin. My heart hammered against my ribs, and for a dizzying second, the world seemed to narrow to the point of contact between our hands.
    I saw his eyes darken, his pupils dilating. He felt it too. His grip tightened for a fraction of a second, a possessive, instinctual reaction.
    Then, as quickly as it came, it was gone. He masked his reaction, his expression becoming impassive again. He released my hand, his touch lingering like a brand.
    “My assistant will show you out,” he said, his voice a little rougher than before.
    I nodded, unable to speak. I picked up my copy of the contract, my fingers still tingling, and walked out of the office on unsteady legs.
    The elevator doors closed, and as I descended from the heavens of his office, I clutched the contract to my chest. I didn’t know what that electric shock was.

    A fluke? Static electricity?

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