Claimed by the Alpha's Redemption

The champagne in my glass was vintage Dom Pérignon, crisp and biting against my tongue, but the air in the ballroom tasted stale. It was the specific staleness of old money and desperate ambition mixing under the heat of a thousand crystal chandeliers. The Starlight Charity Gala was in full swing, a sea of black tuxedos and designer gowns swirling through the cavernous hall of the Pierre Hotel. I stood near the periphery, away from the frenetic energy of the dance floor. My fingers idly traced the rim of the flute. I wasn't hiding, exactly. I was observing. Three years ago, crowds like this would have made my heart hammer against my ribs like a trapped bird. Now, I just felt a quiet, observant calm. I adjusted the silk of my gown—a deep midnight blue that Adrian had selected because he said it matched the quiet storm in my eyes.

I tapped my pencil against the edge of my sketchpad, staring at the half-finished design for the ceremonial necklace I planned to surprise Marcus with for our fifth anniversary. The silver and moonstone piece would symbolize our enduring bond—five perfect years as Alpha and Luna of the Silverstone Pack. "What do you think, Lyra?" I whispered to my wolf, who purred contentedly in my mind. *Beautiful, like all your creations, Victoria.* My inner wolf had always been my greatest supporter, even before Marcus. I smiled, setting down my pencil and stretching my arms above my head. The afternoon sun streamed through the windows of our shared study, casting a warm glow over the polished oak desk. Marcus had left his tablet behind this morning in his rush to handle what he'd called an "urgent pack matter." I reached for it, thinking I could review some of the anniversary celebration plans we'd been discussing. We'd granted each other access to our devices years ago—a symbol of trust between mates. The screen lit up at my touch, revealing a messaging app I rarely used. A notification blinked insistently in the corner—from Amber Rodriguez, our new pack coordinator.

I woke up with that familiar churning in my stomach, the third morning in a row. My inner wolf, Lily, stirred restlessly as I bolted to the bathroom, barely making it before emptying what little remained in my stomach from last night's dinner. '*This has to be it*,' I thought, pressing my palm against my still-flat abdomen. After three years as Ryan's Luna, the Moon Goddess had finally blessed us. I splashed cold water on my face and brushed my teeth, studying my reflection. My skin glowed despite the nausea, and my wolf seemed unusually protective, urging me to rest more, eat better. All the signs were there. "We need to be sure before we tell him," I whispered to Lily, who hummed in agreement. I padded back to our bedroom, noticing Ryan had left his laptop open on his desk. He'd rushed out before dawn for an emergency meeting with neighboring packs—at least that's what he'd said.

The day before the wedding, the extravagant custom-made Victorian-style dress my husband ordered finally arrived. I gently touched my slightly rounded belly and asked him for a divorce. Colton's secretary called, her voice trembling as she explained, "Mrs. Carpenter, this is all my fault. I misunderstood your preferences. Please, don't blame Mr. Thompson." Colton's calming voice came through the phone, leaving me with just one sentence: "Don't regret this." I packed my things and left without a backward glance. After gathering my belongings, I was ready to leave, dragging my suitcase behind me, when I ran into Colton just coming home. He saw the suitcase in my hand and furrowed his brow, his voice cold and detached. "Mina, you're still upset?

My husband, Jeremiah, let me die from an allergic reaction because he couldn't pause his video game. He dismissed my kidnapping as a prank and refused to come to the hospital when I was miscarrying our child. But the final straw came when he ordered doctors to carve skin from my body for his mistress's minor burn. He thought he had broken me, but he was wrong. I exposed his affair, took his company, and left him with nothing. Years later, he crashed my wedding to another man, begging for a second chance. "Elena lied to me! She manipulated me! It was always you, Celina!" I looked at the monster who had destroyed my life, my family, and my child. Then I picked up a wine bottle and smashed it over his head.

Chapter 1 It was their seventh wedding anniversary. Carolyn found the divorce agreement in Roger’s nightstand. The pages were covered in scribbles and corrections, as if he’d agonized over them for years. *"If, during the marriage, I fall in love with another person, I voluntarily relinquish all assets and leave with nothing. Asset details as follows…"* His first impulse had been to walk away empty-handed. But the asset section told a different story—a mess of revisions. First, he’d crossed out the property he intended to give her. Then, the fifty million earmarked for her was scratched out and replaced with five hundred thousand. Finally, as if in penance, he had written a single line. *"Better to have Carolyn leave with nothing. No choice, Catherine is pregnant."* … Carolyn sank onto the bed, disbelief washing over her. On the agreement, Roger’s signature was clean and decisive, without a hint of hesitation. And the document had been drafted seven years ago—the very year they married. That year, Roger had been willing to give up everything for her. Yet every year after, he had crossed out another piece of their shared life. Now, seven years later, the one leaving with nothing would be her. Her phone buzzed abruptly. A message from Roger. *"Urgent business. Won't be back."* She called, only to find his phone already switched off. Another notification flashed—a screenshot from a friend. Catherine, the student she sponsored, had posted on social media. *"Wow, got praised! To commemorate my first period without a leak, the big boss said we should celebrate properly!"* In a nine-photo collage, Roger gazed at her, eyes crinkling with affection as he fastened a dazzling gemstone necklace around her neck. The post was tagged at a couples-themed hotel. Carolyn’s breath caught. He couldn’t remember seven years of marriage, of weathering storms together—but he could find the energy to celebrate Catherine’s… leak-free period. And that pendant… she’d seen it at an auction just last week. It was her mother’s lost heirloom. She’d been ready to bid when her bank card was frozen. She’d asked Roger why. A long time later, he finally texted back, telling her not to waste money on such impractical things. Clutching her bidding paddle, she’d sat helplessly in the auction hall. In the end, she resolved to sell one of her own designs to raise the funds. But someone on the phone swooped in with an unbeatable offer and took it. For weeks afterward, Carolyn hated herself—hated that she couldn’t protect her mother’s last keepsake. She never imagined the one who snatched it away was Roger. He knew exactly how much that pendant meant to her. Yet he gave it to Catherine. Even on their seventh anniversary, Roger had lied about being busy with work, while wining and dining the girl she’d sponsored. The anniversary gift he left her was a divorce agreement demanding she leave with nothing. Seven years of marriage. Seven years of infidelity. And Carolyn had known nothing. She’d even introduced the other woman to him herself. Catherine was the impoverished student Carolyn sponsored. The first time Catherine came to their home to give thanks, Roger found her intrusive and disliked her on sight. *"That girl has no manners. Tracked mud all over my cashmere rug."* *"If her grades aren’t up to par, cut the sponsorship."* Back then, Carolyn had teased him, saying not to be jealous—it was good the girl had a grateful heart. She never once suspected Roger and Catherine. For seven years, everyone in their circle believed Roger never played around. That he loved only Carolyn. But by their next meeting, Catherine had become Roger’s personal assistant. Roger explained, *"The girl’s had it tough. You’ve sponsored her for years. Giving her a job is just helping you out."* Carolyn had laughed it off. Now, hands trembling, she opened Catherine’s social media feed. Catherine had always hidden her posts from Carolyn. Now, she seemed desperate to flaunt everything. While Carolyn drank until her stomach bled to secure a deal for Roger, Catherine was using Roger’s card to buy her first Louis Vuitton. While Carolyn changed bedpans for Roger’s bedridden grandmother, Roger was taking Catherine to a perfume atelier for a blending class—calling it a business trip. Catherine had even complained online. *"Your wife is such a pampered princess. Can't handle the tiniest thing without you running back. Can she not live without a man?"* And Roger had replied beneath it. *"If she were half as independent as you, I’d have an easier life."* But that day… Carolyn’s mother had lost her battle with cancer. She’d cried until her heart felt shredded, scrambling to handle the arrangements. All the while, Roger kept checking his phone impatiently, eager to leave. Not for work, she realized now—but because he was desperate to get back to Catherine.