After My Alpha Chose Her, I Took His Throne

The Manhattan night air bit at my skin as I patrolled the territory boundary, my boots crunching softly against the frost-covered earth. This was supposed to be a routine check before tomorrow's mate ceremony—the day I would finally become Luna of the Silverfang Pack, Lucca's official mate after years of waiting. But something felt wrong tonight. Lucca had insisted on handling the northern border himself, claiming he needed to 'sort some pack business.' I'd nodded, accepting his explanation as I always did, but something in his voice had been off. Now, as I inhaled deeply, letting the cold air fill my lungs, my enhanced senses caught something that made my blood freeze. Floral. Musk. A scent that didn't belong here—not in our territory, not mingled with the commanding silver-wolf aura that could only be Lucca's. I stopped walking, my hand instinctively pressing my thumb against my wrist where his mark would soon be permanent. The scent was intimate, entwined with his in a way that spoke of proximity, of shared breath, of a connection that went beyond mere presence.

Chapters

Chapter 3

The grand ballroom of the Silverfang estate glittered with crystal chandeliers and the polished smiles of the pack's elite. I stood at the entrance, my hand resting lightly on Eren's forearm, feeling the quiet strength beneath his tailored jacket. The whispers began the moment we appeared—a wave of shocked murmurs that rippled through the crowd like a stone disturbing still water.

'We're making an impression,' Eren observed quietly, his breath warm against my ear. 'Are you ready for this?'

I squeezed his arm, drawing strength from his steady presence. 'I've been ready since Lucca chose her over me.' The silver gown I wore—Luna Rivers' choice, not mine—catching the light as we descended the grand staircase, the fabric whispering against the marble steps.

Eyes followed our every move. The sight of an Omega, polished and poised, escorting the would-be Luna sent the carefully maintained hierarchy into visible disarray. I caught sight of Luna Rivers across the room, her expression a masterful blend of surprise and calculated assessment. Beside her, my mother Sylvie offered the slightest nod of approval.

'Lakelyn.' The voice cut through the music like a blade. Lucca stood before us, his silver-streaked hair gleaming under the chandeliers, his eyes dark with barely contained fury. 'What game are you playing?'

'No game, Alpha,' I replied, my voice steady despite the hammering of my heart. 'I'm simply attending the gala with a suitable companion.'

His gaze shifted to Eren, hardening to something dangerous. 'An Omega has no place here.'

'He has every place I allow him,' I countered, feeling Eren's body tense beside mine, ready for the confrontation we both knew was coming.

Lucca's eyes flashed gold, his Alpha aura surging outward in a suffocating wave meant to force Eren to his knees. The pressure was palpable, the air thickening with his dominance. Around us, lesser wolves bowed their heads instinctively, but Eren remained standing, his jaw clenched, his gaze locked with Lucca's.

Then, with a subtle shift of his body, he positioned himself slightly in front of me, shielding me from the worst of Lucca's oppressive power. The gesture was small, almost imperceptible to the watching crowd, but I felt it—the protective instinct, the quiet defiance.

'You forget yourself, Alpha,' Eren said, his voice low but unwavering. 'She's not yours. Not yet. And perhaps not ever.'

The tension between them crackled like lightning, but the music continued, the dancers flowing around our frozen tableau. Lucca's aura receded, but the threat in his eyes promised this confrontation was far from over.

Hours later, the political maneuvering and forced smiles had left me exhausted. I slipped away from the glittering ballroom, seeking refuge in the estate's sprawling gardens. The night air was cool against my flushed skin, the moon casting silver shadows across the manicured hedges.

I wandered deeper into the labyrinthine paths, the distant sounds of the gala fading behind me. The gardens were silent, peaceful—until a familiar scent caught my attention. Floral. Musk. Zara.

My heart froze in my chest as I followed the scent, my feet carrying me toward a secluded alcove shielded by ancient oak trees. There, bathed in moonlight, stood Lucca and Zara, their bodies entwined in the sacred intimacy of a mate-marking ritual.

Lucca's hands cradled Zara's face with a tenderness I'd never known from him, his lips brushing against her ear. 'My wolf has chosen you,' he murmured, words meant only for her, yet I heard every one. 'You are mine alone.'

Zara's eyes fluttered closed as Lucca's fangs grazed the delicate skin of her neck, preparing to leave his mark. The sight shattered something inside me—the last fragile hope that his betrayal was temporary, political, anything but the deliberate choice it clearly was.

I stood frozen in the shadows, a silent witness to the death of everything I'd believed in, as the moon watched over a betrayal that would change the course of my life forever.

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The corset was killing me. Not metaphorically. The wardrobe department had laced it two inches tighter than the fitting, and every time I drew a full breath, the boning bit into my ribs like a reminder that beauty in this industry was always a little bit punishment. I stood at the edge of the soundstage in full period costume — ivory silk, hair pinned up with about forty pins I could feel individually — and ran my lines in my head for the fourth time that hour. This role mattered. I needed it to matter in the right way, the kind that had nothing to do with who was backing me or what I'd traded to get here. Director Elliott Shaw had made it clear from the first table read that he didn't think I could carry the emotional weight of the third act. He'd said it with a smile, the kind that comes with plausible deniability. I'd smiled back and gone home and worked until two in the morning for six weeks straight. So I was focused.

Modern Romance

8.8

Hiding My Son from My Billionaire Ex-Husband

8.8

When Isabella discovers her cold, powerful husband is cheating with his “first love,” she walks away—pregnant and broken. But the Sinclairs don’t let go easily. Betrayed by her husband and father on the same night, Isabella fakes her death and vanishes into the night. Three years later, she returns to the world as Isabelle Rossi, a rising fashion mogul with a secret son and a heart forged from fire. Her designs burn through the luxury world—and her revenge burns through Julian’s empire. But when the man who once destroyed her finds out she’s alive, the game changes. He wants answers. He wants forgiveness. And this time… she’s the one holding all the cards.

Billionaire Modern Romance

8.4

Marked By His Sin

8.4

"You don't belong in my world," he growled, his hand tightening around my waist. "Then why do you keep pulling me deeper into it?" I whispered. Ten years ago, I lost everything, my parents, my innocence, my trust in fate. I only remember his shaking hands... and the birthmark on his arm. Now, the most feared man in the city wants me. A billionaire who commands blood and silence. A mafia king who kneels only in the dark, only for me. But what happens when I discover that the man I love... ...is the same man who destroyed my life?

Billionaire Mafia Modern

8.7

My billionaire ex-husband wants me back

8.7

Gianna Windsor and Brandon Baker have been married for two and a half years. Since it was an arranged marriage, Gianna accepted the fact that Brandon would never love her, but she was satisfied with the respect and care he showed her. That was until Brandon's best friend, Bailey, announced her pregnancy with his baby. The bubble Ginanna had created for herself shattered and she had no choice but to divorce him and make room for the child. A few weeks after leaving, she finds out she's pregnant as well. When Brandon sees a child that resembles him a few years later, he is determined to get back in Gianna's life and take care of her and their child. Will Gianna allow him back into her life? Will she fall for him again?

Billionaire Modern Romance

8.8

My Cruel Ex-Husband Demands A Remarriage

8.8

I spun the dial on the hidden wall safe, expecting to find the Glock 19 Aiden insisted I keep. Instead, I found a ledger proving my husband, the Mafia's most feared Enforcer, was funding a secret family with my dead father's money. For seven years, I had been his obedient doll. I cleaned the blood off his knuckles and justified his violence. But the ledger showed he had siphoned my entire inheritance into a trust for a child he had with his brother's wife. When I tried to leave, his mistress framed me as a spy. Aiden didn't ask for proof. He didn't hesitate. He dragged me to a damp warehouse, hooded me, and beat me until my ribs cracked. He left me to rot in the dark, ignoring the diamond bracelet on my wrist—the very one he had gifted me the day before as a symbol of his "ownership." He thought he had broken me. He thought I would die in that basement, a silent collateral of his rage. But he made a fatal mistake. He left me alive. I escaped through a ventilation grate and ran straight to the one man Aiden feared most: his sworn enemy, Jensen Levy. "Make me a weapon," I told him. Two years later, I walked back into Aiden's office. Not as his battered wife, but as the CEO of the corporation that had just bought his empire's debt. He looked at me with horror, realizing the ghost he created had come back to burn him down. "Hello, Aiden," I said, pressing a high-voltage tactical pen against his chest. "You're trespassing."

Horror Modern Romance

8.5

Running Into My Ex While Black Friday Shopping

8.5

I straightened and pushed our shopping trolley forward, navigating through the crowd with practiced ease. The weight of our purchases made the cart slightly unwieldy, but I didn't mind. There was something comforting about the mundane task of holiday shopping, about being just another mother in a sea of families preparing for Christmas. Then I turned the corner. The trolley's wheel caught on something, jerking to a sudden stop. I looked up, an apology already forming on my lips. The words died in my throat. Benedict Flood stood three feet away, surrounded by a group of men I vaguely recognized as his friends. Time seemed to slow, the noise of the mall fading to a distant hum as my brain struggled to process what I was seeing. Six years. Six years since I'd last seen that face—those sharp cheekbones, that confident smirk, those eyes that once made me feel like I was drowning. His expression shifted from mild annoyance at the collision to something else. Recognition. Then something darker. Triumph. "Fiona." My name came out like a possession claim, not a greeting. I froze.

Billionaire Modern Romance

After My Alpha Chose Her, I Took His Throne

Chapter 3

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