Betrayed By Alpha, Saved By The King
I was the Luna of the Black Moon pack, happily carrying the Alpha's heir and believing in our Fated Mate bond.
But on a romantic getaway to the mountains, my beloved mate Ryker suddenly pushed me off a cliff.
As I dangled over the abyss, pleading for help, he just sneered and crushed my fingers under his heavy boot.
"Such a shame, my dear Luna."
I survived the plunge but lost my baby in a pool of my own blood.
Lying half-dead in the dark forest, I heard Ryker and his Beta confirming my "accidental" death.
He hadn't just cheated on me. He had orchestrated my murder to officially welcome his Chosen Mate.
He traded my life and our unborn pup for a piece of territory, disgusted by my mother's healing bloodline.
I couldn't understand how the sacred bond of the Moon Goddess could be so easily discarded, or how a father could butcher his own flesh and blood for power.
My love and grief were instantly replaced by a burning, venomous rage.
Fortunately, the legendary Alpha King passed by and saved me from the woods.
Hidden away in an ancestral sanctuary, I opened my laptop and sent a message to a mysterious ally.
"I need to get my revenge."
This time, I was going to make them pay in blood.
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Chapter 8
Elara Vance POV:
We parked in a dense thicket of pines, the Packhouse a distant silhouette against the moonless sky. Alaric's plan was simple: he or Silas would infiltrate, confront Ryker, and enact the King's justice. But I refused.
"I have to go back," I said, my voice quiet but unyielding. "There's something in there—an heirloom my mother left me. I won't leave it for her. It matters."
It was more than just an object. It was a piece of my past, a symbol of the life and the mother he had insulted. It was the anchor for my vengeance.
Alaric studied my face in the dim light, seeing the iron resolve in my eyes. He gave a single, sharp nod. "Then I go with you. I am the Alpha King. My ability to move unseen in a mid-level pack's territory far exceeds your own. It is the safest option."
He was right, and his logic was undeniable.
We moved through the woods like ghosts, his immense power cloaking us, making the pack's patrols deaf and blind to our presence. I led him to a small, hidden service entrance I'd used as a child to sneak out for midnight runs. The door opened with a faint groan.
The moment we stepped inside, the wrongness of the place assaulted me. It was my home, yet it was not. The air was thick with that cloying, hateful scent of wild ginger flowers. It was everywhere now, clinging to the walls, woven into the very fabric of the house.
She wasn't just a visitor anymore. She was living here.
Lyra let out a vicious snarl in my mind, and I ruthlessly suppressed it. We couldn't afford a single mistake. Our target was my parents' old room on the second floor, where my mother's things were stored.
We ascended the grand staircase, our feet silent on the plush runner. As we neared the top of the landing, the door to the Alpha's study—*my* study, once—swung open.
Alaric reacted in a blur, pulling me back into the deep shadows of an alcove, his body a solid wall in front of me.
Ryker stepped out. He looked tired, an irritable frown creasing his brow. He ran a hand through his perfectly styled black hair and stalked down the hall towards the master suite without a single glance in our direction. My heart hammered against my ribs, a frantic prisoner in my chest.
He left the study door slightly ajar.
Alaric gave me a silent command to stay put, then moved with a predator's grace toward the sliver of light. But I couldn't stay. I had to see her. I had to see the face of the woman who had helped destroy my life. I crept up behind him.
He peered through the crack, and I saw his entire body tense, his shoulders hardening into plates of steel.
I looked over his broad shoulder, and my breath caught in my throat.
A woman in a slinky, silk robe was lounging in Ryker's high-backed leather chair, a glass of red wine held delicately in her fingers. She looked completely at home, the picture of smug satisfaction. The scent of wild ginger rolled off her in waves.
But it was her face that made the world tilt on its axis.
I knew her. Lila Monroe. The name hit me first, but then a confusing flicker of memory—hadn't I met a Vance at a gathering once? No, that was me. My own name. My mind was scrambling. It was definitely Lila Monroe, the daughter of the Alpha from the neighboring Silver Creek pack. We weren't close, but we had been friendly, sharing polite conversation and fake smiles at pack gatherings. A "friend."
I felt Alaric shift beside me. He recognized her too, or at least, he recognized the scent and lineage of the Silver Creek pack, and a dangerous light flared in his amber-gold eyes.
As if she felt our eyes on her, Lila's head snapped up. Her gaze, sharp and suspicious, shot directly toward the door.
Before I could even flinch, Alaric had me, pulling me deeper into the shadows, his body completely shielding mine. His scent of storm and pine enveloped me, a grounding force in the chaos.
Lila rose and walked to the door, her silk robe whispering against the floor. She peered out into the empty, silent hallway. After a moment of seeing nothing, she shrugged and closed the door with a soft, definitive click.
In the suffocating darkness of the alcove, the only sound was the wild, frantic beating of my own heart.
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9.3
On the first anniversary of our reconciliation, I thought my tech mogul husband and I had finally turned a corner. Then I discovered our entire marriage was a spectator sport. It was a cruel, year-long revenge game orchestrated by him and his lover, and I was the punchline.
For their amusement, I was poisoned with food contaminated with dog feces, publicly humiliated with a twenty-million-dollar auction scam, and beaten until my ribs broke by his family's private security. I endured it all, playing the part of the clueless, loving wife while they laughed about it in a group chat called "The Jillian Andrews Comedy Hour."
But their grand finale was a step too far. I overheard him calmly planning to leave me to die in a remote cabin during a blizzard, a "tragic accident" that would finally set him free to be with his mistress.
He thought he was writing the final chapter of my life.
He didn't know I was about to use his murder plot as my own perfect escape. I faked my death, vanished into thin air, and left him to explain to the world how his beloved wife disappeared off the face of the earth.
9.7
I was seven years into a perfect relationship, engaged to the man who helped me overcome my fear of commitment. I was even secretly pregnant with our first child.
A pet-sitting gig led me straight into the heart of his betrayal-a luxury apartment he shared with his mistress of a year. She had hired me personally to discover it all.
She then framed me for stealing the family ring he had promised me. At the police station, my fiancé rushed in not to defend me, but to shield her.
When I confronted him, he shoved me. Hard.
I hit the floor and lost our baby.
In the hospital, he had the audacity to beg for forgiveness, promising we could just "try again."
I saw the guilt in his eyes and used it. I made him sign over every asset we owned as penance. The moment the money was mine, I vanished. He thought he was buying my forgiveness.
He was funding my revenge.
7.5
"I know you're pregnant, Valentina. That's why you have to die tonight. Two lives for the price of one, efficiency was always my strong suit."
On her third wedding anniversary, Valentina was gifted a shallow grave.
Her husband, Kennedy, the man she adored, was never a billionaire. He was a fraud who drugged her, watched her drown in a poisoned bath, and ordered her burial so he could marry his mistress.
He didn't know the gardener would hesitate. He didn't know she would crawl out of the mud, pregnant, broken, and alive. And he never imagined that ghosts would come back with teeth.
Dragged from the storm by Ian Kingston, the Titan of industry, Valentina is saved by a man so powerful that Kennedy is nothing more than a disposable bookkeeper in his empire.
To the world, Ian is a monster.
To Valentina, he is survival.
But Ian doesn't see a victim.
He sees Misha, his vanished wife, the mother of his two children, the woman who disappeared without a trace.
"You have 365 days to prove you aren't her, little bird. Until then, you will sleep in my bed, wear my name, and obey every rule I set."
Trapped in a deadly case of mistaken identity, Valentina signs the contract.
She becomes Misha Kingston, cold, ruthless, untouchable. Wrapped in emerald silk and Ian's dark protection, she walks back into the world that tried to bury her.
The next time Kennedy sees his dead wife, she isn't in a coffin.
She's in the arms of his boss. Wearing a queen's crown. Looking down at him from a throne of gold.
But as Ian's control turns into obsession, Valentina faces an impossible truth.
She is hiding a child conceived by her enemy... While being claimed by a king who refuses to let her go.
He buried a wife.
He's about to kneel before a Goddess.
9.4
I was Aliana Donovan, a resident physician, finally reunited with the wealthy family I' d been lost from as a child. I had loving parents and a handsome, successful fiancé. I was safe. I was loved. It was a perfect, fragile lie.
The lie shattered on a Tuesday when I discovered my fiancé, Ivan, wasn't at a board meeting but at a sprawling mansion with Kiera Reese, the woman I was told had a mental breakdown five years ago after trying to frame me.
She wasn' t disgraced; she was radiant, holding a little boy, Leo, who giggled in Ivan' s arms.
I overheard their conversation: Leo was their son, and I was merely a "placeholder," a means to an end until Ivan no longer needed my family's connections. My parents, the Donovans, were in on it, funding Kiera' s lavish life and their secret family.
My entire reality-the loving parents, the devoted fiancé, the security I thought I' d found-was a carefully constructed stage, and I was the fool playing the lead role. The casual lie Ivan texted me, "Just got out of the meeting. So exhausting. I miss you. See you at home," while he stood beside his real family, was the final blow.
They thought I was pathetic. They thought I was a fool. They were about to find out just how wrong they were.
9.0
Seventeen years after going missing, Brooklyn was finally brought back to her ultra-wealthy biological family.
But instead of a tearful reunion, her parents and sisters treated her like infectious garbage, mocking her cheap clothes and calling her a country bumpkin.
They dumped her into a remedial class to hide her away, cut off her allowance, and threatened to lock down her trust fund to force her into absolute submission.
One night, Brooklyn stood in the shadows of the estate and overheard a conversation that shattered everything.
She hadn't wandered off as a child.
Her parents had deliberately thrown her away because a fake fortune teller claimed her birth chart was a jinx to the family's wealth.
They felt zero remorse, only plotting to banish her again the moment she turned eighteen.
Her biological father thought he was putting a leash on a helpless, uneducated girl by cutting off her pocket change.
He had no idea that Brooklyn was the anonymous VIP who casually dropped sixty million dollars on an emerald at the city's most exclusive auction.
He didn't know she was the elusive medical genius that the world's most powerful billionaires were currently tearing the city apart to find.
The last microscopic shred of hope for a family withered into cold ash in her chest.
"Lock down my trust fund?"
She pulled out her encrypted phone and activated her shadow networks, severing herself entirely from their pathetic surveillance.
Since they believed she was a jinx, she was going to show them exactly what a real curse looked like.
9.4
Arlene was bound to a hellish three-year contract marriage to save her family from total ruin.
Just as the contract was about to expire, she received a terminal brain cancer diagnosis and found out she was six weeks pregnant.
To protect the tiny life inside her, she refused all treatment, leaving her with only three months to live. When she tried to escape, her billionaire husband, Harrison, caught her. He dragged her back, brutally assaulted her, and forced her into the freezing cold to kneel at his father's grave. Even when she suffered a threatened miscarriage, bleeding and begging in agony, he showed no mercy. He simply left her alone in the dark and went straight to a hotel with his celebrity mistress.
For three years, she had endured his relentless revenge and his public declaration that he would rather his bloodline die than have a child with her. She was nothing but a prisoner in a gilded cage, waiting for a death sentence he didn't even know about.
But when Harrison shamelessly summoned her to act as the doting wife and clean up his cheating scandal, the old Arlene died. She didn't cry or beg. Instead, she blackmailed him and his mistress for millions in untraceable crypto.
"I'm saving up for my coffin fund."
Looking him dead in the eye, she calmly pocketed the extortion money, ready to play her final, ruthless game before her three-month clock ran out.