ALPHA'S DARK PAYMENT. HE REJECTED HER. HIS WOLF CHOSE HER.
"Say it."
Elara's throat tightened.
"I belong to you," she whispered. "I am your slave."
Kane Blackthorn's gaze hardened.
"And?"
Her voice broke.
"I am... your sex slave."
The Alpha stepped closer, his shadow swallowing her whole.
"You will expect no kindness," he said coldly. "No affection. No protection. You exist to obey me."
"Yes, my Lord."
"Strip, Elara."
Elara once lived in the Blood Moon Pack as the daughter of a powerful man.
Now she lives in the Alpha's palace as something far worse than a servant.
A slave.
Alpha Kane Blackthorn rules his pack with an iron will and an untouchable reputation.
Mercy is not something he offers twice.
And Elara belongs to him now.
She should hate him.
She tries to.
But the deeper she falls into the Alpha's dark world, the more dangerous things become.
Because Kane Blackthorn doesn't look at her like a slave.
He looks at her like something far more dangerous.
Something he might never let go.
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Chapter 5
Elara froze the second his voice filled the room.
"Spread your legs, Elara."
The way he said her name-slow, calm, and deliberate-sent a cold shiver through her.
This was the second time he'd spoken it tonight, and somehow the sound of it in his mouth hit differently: soft, heavy.
She obeyed immediately.
Stop, she warned herself. Don't think. Don't feel.
She waited, longing for a touch, for anything-but nothing came.
The absence was worse than pain.
Was this all part of her punishment, or did sex slaves not deserve pleasure? Making her feel unworthy even of being touched? As if holding her might grant her comfort, might make her feel human again, and he refused to allow even that.
The first thrust caught her completely off guard.
It wasn't just unexpected... it was brutal, deep, and hard, searing pain through her body.
"Ahhhh!" Elara's screams tore through the chamber, clutching the bedsheets as if they were the only thing keeping her strong.
He was too big for her... too huge for her tight pussy, leaving her bleeding and confused. Was it because it was her first time or because of his hard, brutal thrusts?
There was no one to ask.
No mother.
No comfort.
No answers.
Now she was here again.
Her fingers tightened around the fabric as agony tore through her, worse than anything she'd ever endured, even worse than watching her father be executed. This particular pain pierced deeper.
Kane did not slow his pace.
He did not care.
His dick thrust deeper inside Elara.
"Ahhhh!" Elara groaned, a low cry escaping her throat-half sob, half pounding breath. This wasn't desire. It was nothing close to it.
It was punishment.
Pure torture.
When he pulled out, Elara gasped, clinging to the brief relief, but it vanished as quickly as it came when Kane thrust into her again.
She bit down on her lip, fighting back her cries. What if he grew angrier? What if it got worse?
Tears streamed freely now, blurring her vision.
Her pussy stretched beyond its limits, every nerve screaming. It was unbearable.
"My lord!" she cried, instinctively trying to move-but he pinned her down.
"My lord, please!" she begged.
"My lord..." she whispered again. "Please... be gentle."
Her words meant nothing.
He did what he came to do.
He punished her.
He said nothing.
The silence was merciless.
"My lord, please!!!" she screamed. Not a single word or sound came from him, not even a moan, but the torture only increased. He was really punishing her with all he had.
"That hurts, Kane!" Elara shook her head, tears rolling down her cheeks.
He pulled out of her, and her face fell on the bed. She couldn't breathe; her pussy felt so hot and it stung. She swallowed hard, but still, she couldn't move her body or remember that she had just called him by his name.
**She called you by your name.** His wolf muttered...
Kane ignored him, staring at the bloodstain on the bed...
**I love her audacity. He continued. And she's a virgin too.**
**"Shut up,"** Kane snapped and cut off the link.
He walked away. Elara sat up weakly and helplessly, sweat dripping down her body, her face covered in tears and her long black hair sticking to her wet skin.
She felt something wet dripping down her thighs. She sniffed, not bothering to look. She had never felt such pain in her life. She had just lost her virginity to the same man who ordered the execution of her father.
She stood up, limping towards the door when she heard Kane's cold voice.
**"If I meet you in my chamber, you will send my regards to your father."** The door slammed shut.
Elara swallowed painfully before forcing herself to move. Every step was torture. Her legs shook as she dressed slowly and carefully, leaning against the wall for support.
She made it into the lounge before her strength failed.
She collapsed.
Holding onto a pole, she dragged herself upright again.
Guards stared openly as she passed, their eyes following her battered form-but none of them moved to help.
They wouldn't dare.
Elara kept walking.
**She's just faking it.**
**I'm sure she enjoyed every bit of it.**
Elara wept, hearing their cruel words.
Crying.
Alone.
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7.8
I was the "perfect" fiancée for Harrison Vincent—regal, silent, and low-maintenance. For two years, I suppressed my career as a forensic accountant to be the "safe" choice that polled well with his family’s shareholders.
But at a high-society gala, I found him in a VIP lounge with a socialite wrapped around him. He told her I was just a "boring art piece display stand" he had to drag around until his trust fund was unlocked.
I didn't scream or make a scene. I mentally filed a "bad debt" report, tossed my emerald engagement ring into a glass of stale champagne, and walked out of his life. That same night, I found myself in a dark jazz club bathroom, using a strip of my velvet dress to stop the bleeding of a mysterious man with a gunshot wound and eyes like grey flint.
The fallout was immediate. Harrison blocked my credit cards, assuming I’d crawl back once I couldn't afford rent. His mother called me a "nobody" while simultaneously begging me to handle the family's medical emergencies because they were too panicked to function. They treated me like a tool they could discard and pick up at will, never realizing I had already moved my things into a cramped Brooklyn apartment.
I couldn't understand why they thought I was still their puppet, or why a black Maybach began following me through the city streets. I had saved a stranger's life and ended a toxic engagement, yet the air around me felt heavier and more dangerous than ever.
The truth came out at the hospital when the most feared man in the city stepped out of the shadows. It was the man from the bathroom—Collis Vincent, the ruthless head of the family. He didn't just humiliate Harrison; he took my hand in front of everyone and made a chilling declaration.
"Harrison is a fool to have let you go, Helena. Your arrangement with him is terminated. From now on, you'll be working with me."
7.7
Deidre went to the clinic and learned she was finally pregnant, but her failing heart meant carrying the baby would kill her.
Before she could process the grief, she received an anonymous photo of her husband, Danial, tenderly escorting a heavily pregnant woman into a VIP hospital.
The woman was his cousin, Daria.
Following them, Deidre overheard Danial call her a "sterile decoration," promising to get rid of her while securing a Cayman trust fund for his illegitimate child.
The nightmare only worsened when Daria gloatingly confessed to a horrifying truth.
Daria had stolen the credit for saving Danial in a fire—a heroic act that had actually destroyed Deidre's heart.
Even more sickening, Daria had bribed a doctor two years ago to fake Deidre's ectopic pregnancy, tricking Danial into authorizing the surgery that murdered their perfectly healthy baby daughter.
When a grief-stricken Deidre attacked the murderer, Danial furiously shoved his wife to the ground.
Ignoring her heart spasms and gasps for air, he threw her out into a freezing New York blizzard to die.
Lying in the snow, Deidre's love turned to pure ash as she realized she had sacrificed her body and her child for a blind monster.
But she didn't die that night.
Rescued by Danial's biggest Wall Street rival, Deidre marched into her husband's office the next morning alongside New York's most ruthless divorce lawyer.
"Sign it, or I'll freeze your offshore trust and burn your empire to the ground."
8.3
"Strangers in the dark can change your life in the light."
Evelyn never meant to uncover the truth.
But one question won't leave her mind
What's really on those tapes?
What begins as curiosity drags her into a world of secrets, danger, and a man who is everything she should fear.
Lucas is darkness wrapped in temptation.
Ruthless. Dangerous. Untouchable.
He warns her away.
He gives her a chance to run.
But Evelyn doesn't.
Because there's something about him that pulls her closer even when every instinct scream to escape.
He's the villain everyone fears.
And the one she can't stop craving.
In a world where nothing is safe and desire is a weapon, Evelyn must decide:
Run from the monster...
or fall straight into his arms.
Because something can be both delicate and violent.
And loving Lucas might be the most dangerous choice she'll ever make.
8.1
The sound of my bone snapping echoed through the bathroom like a gunshot.
Austen didn't even blink as he broke my hand for the ninety-sixth time.
His reason? I was in the shower and missed a call from Joyce, the woman he believes saved his life fifteen years ago.
But the nightmare didn't end there. When Joyce cut her own arm with glass and framed me for poisoning her, Austen didn't check the evidence.
He dragged me to the damp basement and picked up a mechanical drill coated in pure silver.
"This hand threw the vase," he said, his voice terrifyingly calm.
He drilled a hole straight through my palm.
He gave Joyce the precious healing serum for a tiny scratch, while leaving me with permanent nerve damage, claiming my pain was the only way to pay his life debt to her.
He calls this justice. He calls me the villain.
But he is a blind, arrogant fool.
He doesn't know that fifteen years ago, it was me who crawled into that burning car. It was my White Wolf blood that healed him. Joyce just stole the credit when I passed out.
Looking at the smoking hole in my hand, the last ember of love finally died.
I opened my secure server and messaged his sworn enemy, Alpha Dalton.
"I have the fortress blueprints. The price is extraction."
Tonight, his submissive wife dies, and the Architect goes rogue.
8.1
On my wedding day, the wedding planner looked at me with pity in her eyes.
She told me the groom had called with a last-minute request. He wanted the name on the floral arch changed from "Elena" to "Sofia."
Five years of loyalty to Dante Romero, and I found out he was planning a "secret" ceremony with his mistress an hour before ours.
He claimed she was dying of cancer. He said it was her final wish to be a bride, and that as a good mafia wife, I should understand. He swore it was just charity.
But I had seen the texts where he called me "furniture."
I had watched him step over my body when I fell down the stairs at a club, just so he could leave with her.
And this morning, I watched Sofia walk into the hotel lobby wearing *my* custom French lace wedding dress, smirking as she clung to his arm.
Dante thinks I'm crying in the bridal suite.
He thinks I will sit in the front row of his "fake" wedding and wait for my turn like a dutiful puppet.
He is wrong.
I wiped my tears and picked up my phone. I didn't cancel the wedding date. I just changed the location to the ballroom next door.
And I changed the groom.
As Dante says his vows to his mistress, I am walking down the aisle to meet the only man the Romero family fears.
The Reaper.
8.6
For two years, I was trapped behind my own eyes, a prisoner in my own skull.
A crazed fan had hijacked my body after a brutal car crash, wearing my skin like a cheap suit.
When my soul finally locked back into my flesh in a cramped hospital room, I realized she had destroyed everything I built.
This parasitic stalker had drained my massive fortune to zero, buying luxury gifts for a mediocre actor and turning me into the internet's most hated woman.
My phone was flooded with death threats, and the hashtag demanding I go to hell was trending at number one.
Even the hospital nurses despised me. One marched into my room, raising her hand to violently slap my pale cheek.
"You psychotic bitch, you make me sick!"
Worse, my sprawling Beverly Hills estate had been foreclosed and sold to a mysterious billionaire named Kasey Dominguez.
I had absolutely nothing left. No money. No reputation. No home.
The sheer violation of watching a psychotic stranger ruin my life while I was locked in the passenger seat of my own mind made my blood boil.
I refused to let her destroy my legacy.
As the nurse's hand descended, my atrophied muscles snapped into action.
I twisted her wrist until the joint popped, grabbed the keys to my freedom, and slipped out into the cold Los Angeles night.
I was going to take my life back, starting with the billionaire who thought he owned my house.