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 7
Debra's POV:
Ezekiel led me not to my room, but out onto a secluded stone terrace overlooking the pack gardens. The cool night air was a welcome relief after the suffocating atmosphere of the dining hall. The moon was high and full, casting a silvery glow over everything.
He finally released my hand and turned to face me, his tall frame silhouetted against the night sky. For a long moment, we just stood in silence.
"Thank you," I finally whispered, the words feeling inadequate. "You didn't have to do that."
"Yes," he said, his voice a low rumble. "I did."
I looked up at him, confused. "Why? You and I both know we're not mates."
A faint, almost imperceptible smile touched his lips. "Do we? My wolf seems to think otherwise. He's been restless ever since I first saw you."
My own wolf, Ivy, who had been silent and sullen for days, stirred at his words. *He is strong,* she admitted grudgingly in my mind. *His scent is good.*
I shook my head, trying to clear it. "But the bond... it's not there. You're lying to protect me. Why?"
He took a step closer, and the scent of pine and winter frost enveloped me again. "Let's just say I don't approve of Alphas who treat their daughters like property to be traded. And I especially don't approve of men like Gareth." His silver eyes darkened. "I saw the way he looked at you. No she-wolf should be subjected to that."
His sincerity was disarming. He was a complete stranger, yet he seemed to see the injustice of my situation more clearly than anyone.
"But you've put yourself in a difficult position," I argued, a knot of guilt tightening in my stomach. "You've declared me your mate in front of two Alphas. You can't just take that back."
"I have no intention of taking it back," he said calmly.
My heart skipped a beat. "What are you saying?"
"I'm saying the claim stands," he explained, his gaze intense. "Come back with me to the Black Moon Pack, Debra. As my chosen mate. I can offer you protection. A home. Respect. Something you clearly are not getting here."
It was a crazy, impulsive offer. To leave my home, my pack, everything I had ever known, and go with a man I barely knew. It should have been terrifying.
But the alternative—staying here under the thumb of Marley and my father, waiting for them to find another Alpha Gareth—was infinitely more terrifying.
"What do you get out of this?" I asked, my voice laced with the suspicion that had been my constant companion for years. "There has to be something you want."
He was silent for a moment, his gaze searching my face. "Perhaps I simply want a Luna with a strong spirit," he said softly. "Someone who isn't afraid to speak truth to power, even when it's dangerous. I saw that in you tonight."
He saw strength where my father saw only defiance. He saw spirit where my family saw a problem.
Tears pricked my eyes, but this time they were not tears of sadness or rage. They were tears of overwhelming relief.
"My father will be furious," I said, thinking of the political fallout.
"Your father," Ezekiel said with a dismissive shrug, "is no longer your concern. You will be under my protection. No one will harm you. I swear it."
I looked into his stormy silver eyes and saw an unwavering promise. He was offering me an escape. A new life.
It was a leap of faith into the unknown. But as I stood there on that moonlit terrace, I knew it was a leap I had to take.
"Okay," I whispered, my voice trembling slightly. "I'll go with you."
The corner of his mouth lifted in a true, breathtaking smile. "Good. Go and pack. I will meet you and your maid at the pack line at dawn."
He even remembered Vicky. This man missed nothing.
I nodded, turned, and walked back inside, my steps lighter than they had been in years. For the first time, I wasn't running from something. I was running *to* something.
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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.