
Betrayed By My Alpha: The Ghost Luna's Revenge
I died alone in the medical wing giving birth to our son.
"Tell her to calm down and stop the theatrics."
Those were the last words my mate, the Alpha, said about me while I bled out.
Instead of passing on, my soul was tethered to the packhouse. I was forced to watch my best friend Seraphina seamlessly step into my life, taking my baby and my husband before my body was even cold.
To secure her place, she planted my blood-soaked birthing blanket in the woods to frame me for faking my own kidnapping.
Ryker swallowed her lies completely. He refused to send a search party, telling the entire pack my disappearance was just a pathetic plea for attention and money.
As a helpless ghost, I watched Seraphina brainwash my one-year-old son into calling her his mother and teach him to joyfully trample my beloved garden.
"Bad mommy ran away. Don't love Kaelen."
Hearing my own child parrot those venomous words was a dagger to my soul.
Whenever anyone questioned my absence, Ryker fiercely defended her, dismissing the desperate warnings of my loyal friends and his own elders.
The man I loved and died for treated my memory like a malicious joke, grateful for an excuse to replace me while living with my murderer.
But when Seraphina's mask finally slipped, and the horrifying truth of my death crashed down on him, it was far too late.
Seeing him crumble in agonizing regret brought me no comfort.
I no longer wanted his love or his desperate apologies.
Now, I only wanted his absolute ruin.
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Chapter 3
Debra's POV:
Two days passed in a blur of suffocating silence. I was a prisoner in my own home, the four walls of my room closing in on me. Vicky brought my meals, her face etched with worry, but we barely spoke. There was nothing to say. The truth of my situation was a heavy, unspoken weight between us.
On the third morning, there was a light knock on my door before it swung open. It wasn't Vicky.
It was Marley.
She glided in as if she owned the place, which, I supposed, she now did. She was dressed in a simple but elegant silk robe, her blonde hair falling in perfect waves over her shoulders. She looked rested, happy, and radiant. She looked like everything I wasn't.
"Good morning, stepdaughter," she said, her voice bright and cheerful. "I thought I'd come and see how you were settling in."
I remained silent, sitting on the edge of my bed and staring out the window.
"Still pouting?" she sighed dramatically, wandering around my room, her fingers trailing over my belongings. "You know, your father is very disappointed in you. He had such high hopes for us to be a real family."
Her words were laced with poison. Ivy growled low in my mind. *Lying bitch.*
Marley stopped in front of my mother's old vanity. "This whole wing is so… dated," she mused, picking up a silver-backed brush that had belonged to my mother. "Your mother's taste was rather plain, wasn't it? I'm thinking of redecorating. Something more modern. More… me."
My hands clenched into fists at my sides. "Get out," I said, my voice barely a whisper.
She turned to face me, a slow, malicious smile spreading across her lips. "Oh, I will. But I wanted to give you something to think about while you're cooped up in here."
She walked closer, her porcelain doll face turning ugly with her sneer. "Your father and I were talking last night. We agree that it's time you were mated. A girl your age, with your… temperament, needs a firm hand."
A cold dread washed over me.
"Perhaps to someone… older," she continued, her eyes gleaming. "More established. Alpha Gareth of the Stone Creek Pack, for example. He's a widower, looking for a new Luna to bear him some heirs. He's a bit rough around the edges, of course, but he would certainly teach a rebellious she-wolf some manners."
Alpha Gareth was sixty years old, notorious for his cruelty and for the mysterious deaths of his first two wives.
My blood ran cold. This wasn't just about humiliation anymore. This was a threat. She wanted to get rid of me, permanently.
"You wouldn't," I breathed, my voice trembling. "My father would never—"
"Your father," she interrupted, "wants peace. He wants a happy wife. And right now, you are the biggest obstacle to my happiness. Do you understand?"
*Let me out, Debra!* Ivy shrieked in my mind. *Let me tear that smug look off her face!*
But I was frozen, trapped by her words and the terrifying realization of my powerlessness.
She smiled, satisfied with my horrified reaction. "I'm so glad we had this little chat. You think about it."
With a final, triumphant glance, she turned and swept out of the room, leaving the door ajar. I was left shaking, the world tilting on its axis. She wasn't just trying to replace my mother. She was trying to destroy me.
Later that evening, Vicky snuck in with my dinner tray. She closed the door quietly behind her and rushed to my side.
"I heard her," Vicky whispered, her eyes wide with fear. "I heard her talking to her servant about Alpha Gareth. Debra, this is serious."
"I know," I choked out.
"We have to do something," she said, her voice urgent. She looked around nervously before leaning in closer.
"There might be… one small bit of good news," she said, her voice barely audible. "One of the kitchen staff who served the Alphas the other night… she said Alpha Ezekiel of the Black Moon Pack asked about you. He asked your name."
The memory of him—the storm-gray eyes, the scent of pine, the steadying grip of his hands—flashed in my mind. It was a tiny, flickering spark in an overwhelming darkness. But right now, it was all I had.
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8.3
On the night of my career-defining art exhibition, I stood completely alone. My husband, Dante Sovrano, the most feared man in Chicago, had promised he wouldn’t miss it for the world. Instead, he was on the evening news.
He was shielding another woman—his ruthless business partner—from a downpour, letting his own thousand-dollar suit get soaked just to protect her. The headline flashed below them, calling their new alliance a "power move" that would reshape the city.
The guests at my gallery immediately began to whisper. Their pitying looks turned my greatest triumph into a public spectacle of humiliation. Then his text arrived, a cold, final confirmation of my place in his life: “Something came up. Isabella needed me. You understand. Business.”
For four years, I had been his possession. A quiet, artistic wife kept in a gilded cage on the top floor of his skyscraper. I poured all my loneliness and heartbreak onto my canvases, but he never truly saw my art. He never truly saw me. He just saw another one of his assets.
My heart didn't break that night. It turned to ice. He hadn't just neglected me; he had erased me.
So the next morning, I walked into his office and handed him a stack of gallery contracts.
He barely glanced up, annoyed at the interruption to his empire-building. He snatched the pen and signed on the line I’d marked.
He didn’t know the page tucked directly underneath was our divorce decree.
He had just signed away his wife like she was nothing more than an invoice for art supplies.

9.5
Bridget left the office early on her anniversary, her pocket heavy with a custom velvet ring box meant for her fiancé.
But when she pushed open the bedroom door, she found him tangled in their bed with her best friend, Chloe.
"Bridget! Wait, it's not what it looks like!" Jacob stammered, his eyes wide with panic.
"Evidence," Bridget stated coldly, snapping a photo of their naked bodies before fleeing into the freezing New York night.
Desperate to numb the betrayal, she got blackout drunk at an underground lounge and threw herself at a dark, terrifyingly handsome stranger.
She woke up in a penthouse suite alone, finding only a limitless black credit card left on the nightstand.
Humiliated and feeling like a cheap escort, she ran away, swearing to forget the nightmare.
But the nightmare had just begun. When she rushed into the office, she discovered the stranger was Jevon Rocha—the ruthless billionaire CEO of her company.
He didn't fire her. Instead, he trapped her in a twisted, obsessive power game, forcing her into his private life and demanding she report to his penthouse.
Bridget couldn't understand why a ruthless billionaire was so dangerously fixated on a low-level employee.
Until she stumbled upon his secret social media account and saw a crayon drawing of a little kid, captioned with a single word: "Finally."
A wave of absolute horror washed over her. He wasn't just playing games; he was hiding a secret child and a messy, high-stakes family drama.
She refused to be the naive collateral damage in a billionaire's twisted life.
Trembling, Bridget hit "Block" on his profile, determined to escape his dangerous web.

7.5
I thought my best friend Mila and my lover Preston were my only salvation from Essex Langley, the ruthless billionaire who kept me caged in his estate.
I trusted them blindly when they planned my grand escape.
But it was all a cruel setup.
Mila deliberately leaked the plan to Essex's guards to win his favor, and Preston only wanted my family's shares to pay off his massive debts.
When we were caught in the rose garden, Preston shoved me toward the guards and ran for his life.
"You're insane if you think I actually loved a freak like you!"
I was dragged back into the manor, my ribs cracking under heavy boots.
I bled out on the freezing marble floor, staring into Essex’s unhinged, mad eyes as I took my last agonizing breath.
Until the moment I died, I couldn't accept it.
I had ruined my own life, adopting a hideous punk look with fake tattoos and piercings just to make Essex hate me, all for two people who saw me as nothing but a sacrificial lamb.
Why was my blind rebellion rewarded with such a brutal betrayal?
Opening my eyes again, the white-hot pain was gone.
I was back in the freezing bedroom on my eighteenth birthday, the very night Mila would come to orchestrate my ruin.
I looked at the rebellious, smudged stranger in the mirror.
This time, I calmly washed off the black makeup, took out my lip ring, and put on a pristine white dress.
If fighting the devil got me killed, then in this life, I would tame him and make them all pay.

9.5
After months of tearing the continent apart, I finally found her. Covered in mud and blood, raw from the river, I was a monster, a ghost. Across the street, June looked peaceful, utterly unaware.
Then, a man stepped out, shielding her with an umbrella, his arm a casual, possessive claim. My heart stopped.
I unleashed my Alpha aura; June shivered, thinking it a cold snap. Frankie turned, a mocking smile in his eyes. He knew.
Marcus broke ribs restraining my rage as June and Frankie drove away, taking the only light in my miserable world.
The 'Tabula Rasa' spell hadn't just erased her memory; it rewired her soul, making her immune to our mate bond. She saw an ordinary stranger. Her scent gone, preferences changed. Agony shredded my mind; my power useless.
My magic failed, but I had other weapons. "Buy the street. Buy the shop. Buy every property within five miles. Suffocate them with cash," I commanded. Tomorrow, I'd be Bren, a bankrupt man seeking solace, ready to reclaim what was mine.

7.5
Julianna was drowning in a corporate warzone, fighting a massive department deficit while fending off her mother’s relentless matchmaking.
Then, a ghost from her past returned to shatter her reality.
Eight years ago, Aidan Caldwell walked out of her life without a word. Now, he was back in New York as a ruthless billionaire, and a pitch-black Maybach started stalking her in the dim underground garage.
She had no idea the driver hiding behind the obsidian-tinted glass was Aidan.
She didn't know he had just choked a confession out of an executive, discovering that her "betrayal" eight years ago was a complete lie.
"Stay away from her. The rules are mine now."
Aidan had warned his rivals, his sanity tearing at the seams as he watched from the shadows while a creepy coworker put an arm around her shoulder.
He shattered glasses and crushed her favorite white flowers in his penthouse, driven by a lethal, obsessive jealousy seeing other men touch what belonged to him.
Julianna was completely in the dark, feeling only a heavy, predatory stare pinning her to the cold concrete.
When a sudden, heartbreaking scent of cedarwood rolled out of the cracked car window, her brain short-circuited.
Why was this terrifying stranger stalking her in the shadows?
Desperate to save her career, Julianna recklessly agreed to fake an engagement with a wealthy heir this weekend.
But she had no idea Aidan had already rigged her company's crisis, and the predator was about to tear her world apart to claim her back.

7.4
To escape my psychopathic, controlling lover, I faked my death in a Syrian war zone.
Thirty-seven reconstructive surgeries later, the terrified girl he kept locked in a basement was gone. I returned to New York as an untouchable neurosurgeon, Dr. Alivia Clay.
I only came back to save his grandfather—the one man who helped me escape.
I thought my flawless new face was the perfect armor. But the moment Collis Duncan saw me, he cornered me against the hospital wall.
He didn't recognize my face, but he recognized my panic. He trapped me in his arms, inhaling the faint scent of vanilla and orange blossom on my skin.
"You smell exactly like a ghost I used to know," he whispered.
Worse, a traumatized, mute little boy with Collis's exact gray eyes stumbled into me in the hallway.
The boy clutched my white coat and handed me a flashcard with a crude drawing of a woman.
"Mama."
My blood turned to ice. Five years ago, I was told my newborn baby burned to ashes in that medical tent.
How could this boy be alive? Why did Collis have my son while I mourned a pile of dust?
Now, Collis is ordering a microscopic background check, desperate to tear my fake life to the ground and cage me again.
But I'm not running anymore. Once I finish this surgery, I'm taking my son back.